38: Emma

The evening progressed in a blur of introductions and calculated conversations. As the crowd gradually thinned, Theo leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. "Would you like some air? There's a private balcony off the east wing with a beautiful view of the gardens."

The prospect of escaping the weight of so many watchful eyes was too tempting to refuse. I nodded, grateful when he guided us toward a discreet side door rather than cutting directly across the ballroom floor. The route he chose avoided Benjamin entirely—a consideration that didn't escape my notice.

The night air embraced us as we stepped onto the balcony, cool and fresh against my flushed skin. After the perfumed stuffiness of the ballroom, the clean scent of night-blooming flowers and distant pine forest felt like freedom. Above us, stars punctured the velvet darkness with silver light, mirrored by the scattered lanterns illuminating the garden paths below.

I moved to the balustrade, resting my hands on the cool stone as I drank in the peaceful scene. The formal gardens gave way to wilder growth at the edges, where carefully tended beds yielded to the natural forest beyond—a boundary between civilisation and wilderness that felt oddly symbolic.

Theo remained a few steps behind me, his presence a steady warmth at my back. I could sense his hesitation—the careful distance he maintained, respecting boundaries I'd established without being asked. The consideration in that small act touched something deep within me.

Benjamin had never respected boundaries. He'd claimed they were unnecessary between mates, that my desire for personal space was "defective," as he'd so often labeled me. But here was Theo, a king with every reason to expect compliance, deliberately holding himself back to ensure my comfort.

I turned to face him, taking in the sight of him in the moonlight. His dark hair caught silver highlights, his amber eyes reflecting starlight. Even in his most relaxed moments, he carried an innate regality—not the rigid posture of someone performing authority, but the natural confidence of a man comfortable in his own skin. Yet beneath that composure, I could sense a vulnerability, a question he wouldn't voice for fear of pressuring me.

The realization settled over me with surprising clarity: I wanted to bridge this gap between us. Not because Artemis demanded it, though she definitely did, but because I chose to. Because this man, this king, had shown me that power could exist alongside respect, that strength didn't necessitate dominance.

I took a step toward him, then another, before deliberately moving into his space. For a heartbeat, he remained still, his eyes searching mine with a question I answered by leaning into his chest.

His arms came around me with gentle certainty, enfolding rather than entrapping. I rested my head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear. My hands found purchase against the solid warmth of him, and something tight in my chest began to unravel—a knot of tension I'd carried for so long I'd forgotten it wasn't part of me.

Artemis practically rolled with joy inside me, her happiness bubbling through our shared consciousness like sunlight through water. ‘Yes, yes, YES,’ she chanted, broadcasting images of wolves curled together in perfect contentment.

Theo's lips brushed my forehead, a touch so gentle it almost didn't register, yet it sent ripples of warmth cascading through me. Artemis's reaction was immediate and far from subtle—a stream of decidedly non-PG images flashing through my mind with such intensity that a laugh escaped me before I could contain it.

"Are you alright?" Theo asked, his voice rumbling beneath my ear.

I nodded against his chest, not ready to break the contact. "Artemis is just... making comments that wouldn't be suitable for the council chamber."

His chuckle vibrated through his chest and into mine, the sound rich with genuine amusement. "If they're anything like what Aeson's been suggesting all night, the council would be scandalized beyond recovery." His lips found my forehead again, lingering this time, and Artemis practically melted with pleasure.

Another giggle escaped me, surprising in its lightness. When had I last laughed with such freedom? The realization was both welcome and bittersweet—a measure of what Benjamin had taken from me, and what I was slowly reclaiming.

I tilted my head back, looking up at Theo's face. His eyes were soft in the moonlight, filled with something that made my breath catch. My gaze dropped to his lips then returned to his eyes, finding his attention had followed the same path across my features. The air between us seemed to thicken, charged with possibility.

Artemis pushed forward, her eagerness a physical pressure beneath my skin. For once, I didn't resist her. Instead, I rose onto my toes, my hands sliding up to the back of Theo's neck, fingers threading through the soft hair at his nape. His breath hitched, but he remained still, allowing me to set the pace, to maintain control of this moment.

Our lips met, and the world contracted to this single point of contact. Soft at first, tentative, then blooming into something deeper as his arms tightened around me. Artemis howled with triumph inside me, her joy so intense it brought tears to my eyes. This wasn't like Benjamin's kisses—demanding, possessive, taking. This was mutual, a conversation rather than a conquest.

Theo growled against my mouth, the sound vibrating through us both as his hands came up to cup my face. The gentle restraint in his touch despite the hunger in his kiss spoke volumes about his character, about the kind of mate he would be. I felt myself melting into him, barriers lowering that I'd kept fortified for years.

When I finally pulled back, just far enough to look into his eyes, I found Aeson gazing back at me—those remarkable purple-blue eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. My own vision had sharpened, colours intensifying in the way that told me Artemis had pushed forward, her yellow-green eyes meeting his.

Inside my mind, Artemis pranced and bounced with impatience. ’Do it,’ she insisted, broadcasting her certainty with unrelenting enthusiasm. ‘I can feel you thinking about it. DO IT!’

For once, I didn't second-guess her urgency. The words rose within me, ancient and binding, carrying the weight of choice rather than compulsion. My voice emerged low and steady, resonating with Artemis's power beneath the human tones:

"I, Alpha Emeline Maxwell of the Blood Moon Pack, accept you, King Theodore Lykoudis, as my mate."

The declaration hung in the night air between us, more powerful in its simplicity than any royal decree or diplomatic treaty. I had spoken my truth, had chosen this connection with clear eyes and full awareness of its consequences. Whatever came next—whatever political storms or personal challenges we faced—we would face them bound by something older and deeper than crowns or councils could fully comprehend.