10: Theodore

"Tell me more about the earthquake," I said, leaning slightly closer. "Not just the damage, but your experience of it. Were you in Blood Moon territory when it happened?"

Emma nodded, her expression sobering. "I was on patrol near our southern border with two younger pack members. Training run." Her eyes grew distant, remembering. "It started as a low rumble, like thunder but coming from below rather than above. The ground... shifted. Not violent at first, just... wrong. The trees swayed without wind."

As she spoke, I could almost see it through her eyes—the forest floor moving in ways it never should, the disorientation of having solid ground become suddenly treacherous.

"The younger wolves panicked a bit," she continued. "We'd had tremors before, but nothing like this. I ordered them into the clearing, away from falling branches."

"Quick thinking," I observed.

She shrugged. "Basic training. The real challenge came afterward. Communication lines were down, and we had injured pack members scattered throughout the territory. I organized search teams, prioritizing areas with cubs and elders."

"How many injured?"

"Twenty-three, thankfully none critical. Two broken legs, one concussion, mostly cuts and bruises." Her eyes darkened slightly. "Eclipse Moon wasn't so lucky. They lost three pack members when their hunting lodge collapsed."

The casualty figure hit me like a physical blow. Three lives lost—three subjects I had failed to protect, even indirectly. "I wasn't informed of any fatalities."

"I'm not surprised," Emma replied, her voice gentle but firm. "Werewolf deaths don't tend to make it into official reports."

The implication hung between us—another symptom of the systemic inequality I'd been fighting to dismantle. Three lives deemed not important enough to report to the king because they were werewolves, not Lycans. The old anger stirred again, but I contained it this time, channeling it into determination rather than rage.

"That will change," I said, the words emerging as both promise and declaration. "Starting with full reparations to Eclipse Moon Pack and immediate rehousing of those displaced families."

Emma's eyes widened slightly. "Reparations?"

"For the withheld aid and the subsequent suffering it caused," I explained. "Including compensation for the families who lost members."

"That would be..." She paused, seeming to search for the right word. "Unprecedented."

"Many things about my reign will be unprecedented, Emma," I said quietly. "Equal treatment under law. Equal access to resources. Equal value placed on all lives, regardless of species."

She studied me, her gaze penetrating as if trying to see beneath my words to my true intentions. "Those are dangerous ideas, Your Majesty."

"They're only dangerous to those who benefit from inequality," I replied. "And please— it's Theo."

"Theo," she repeated, my name soft on her lips. Something shifted in her expression then, a subtle softening that made my heart beat faster. "I want to believe that's possible—the equality you're describing."

"It won't happen overnight," I acknowledged. "Centuries of prejudice don't dissolve in a single reign. But every step matters, every policy, every precedent."

"Like helping Eclipse Moon rebuild," she suggested.

"Exactly like that," I agreed. "Concrete actions that improve lives while simultaneously challenging outdated beliefs."

She nodded slowly, something like cautious hope flickering across her features. "The families staying with us—one has twin cubs, just two years old. They've never had a permanent home. They were born three weeks before the earthquake."

The image struck me with unexpected force—wolf cubs, barely more than babies, starting life in the chaos of disaster and displacement. "What are they like?" I found myself asking. "The cubs."

Emma's expression softened, genuine warmth replacing caution. "Terrible troublemakers. They've taken over our pack house completely. No one's shoes are safe." A fond smile curved her lips. "But they're bright, resilient. The boy has the most serious little face when he's concentrating. The girl never stops moving—she'll be a formidable hunter someday."

I watched her as she spoke, captivated by this glimpse of the woman beneath the careful gamma exterior. Her hands moved expressively, her eyes brightened, and her voice carried an undercurrent of affection that revealed more about her character than hours of formal conversation could have.

"You care about them," I observed.

"Of course," she replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "They're pack, even if temporarily."

In that simple statement lay everything I admired about werewolf culture—the depth of their bonds, their innate understanding that strength came from unity and mutual support. It was something many Lycans had forgotten, their individualism calcifying into isolation and superiority over centuries of privileged existence.

"I want to help them," I said. "Not just as their king, fulfilling a political obligation, but because it's right."

Emma's eyes met mine, holding my gaze steadily. "I believe you."

Three simple words, yet they felt momentous—the first tendrils of trust extending across the chasm of species difference and her personal history. Not acceptance of our mate bond, not yet, but trust in my intentions, my principles. It was a beginning, fragile but real.

"Thank you," I said quietly, meaning it more deeply than she could know.

Around us, the summit continued—diplomats circulating, alliances forming and dissolving, the careful dance of politics playing out against the backdrop of centuries of tradition. But here, in this small space we'd carved out at the corner of the bar, something new was taking root—a connection that defied convention, that whispered of possibilities beyond the boundaries of what had always been.

I raised my glass slightly. "To new beginnings?"

Emma hesitated only briefly before touching her glass to mine, the crystal singing softly on contact. "To new beginnings," she echoed, her voice soft but steady. "And to the wolves who've been waiting for them."

The promise in those words settled around us like a mantle, both blessing and challenge. Whatever came next—between us, between our species—would not be easy. But as I looked at her, backlit by the golden glow of chandeliers, her eyes reflecting both caution and courage, I knew with bone-deep certainty that it would be worth fighting for.