47: Emma

He leaned forward then, pressing his lips to my forehead in a gesture so tender it nearly broke something inside me. The kiss was chaste, respectful, and somehow more intimate than anything I'd experienced before. His lips were warm against my skin, and I closed my eyes, letting myself exist fully in that moment of connection.

When he began to pull away, something in me rebelled. My hand found the lapel of his jacket, fingers curling into the fine fabric. Our eyes met, a silent question passing between us. I saw the exact moment his pupils dilated, the amber of his irises nearly swallowed by black.

I rose slightly on my toes, erasing the last whisper of space between us. Our lips met, and the world condensed to that single point of contact. His mouth was soft against mine, the kiss gentle at first—a question, an offering. Then something shifted, a dam breaking somewhere deep inside me. My fingers slid from his lapel to the nape of his neck, threading through the short hairs there.

Theo made a sound, low in his throat, that reverberated through me like the deepest note of a cello. His arms encircled my waist, drawing me closer until I could feel the solid plane of his chest against mine. The kiss deepened, my lips parting under his, inviting him in. The taste of him—wild honey and midnight air—flooded my senses.

Time dissolved. There was only the heat of his mouth, the strength of his hands at my waist, the intoxicating rush of being desired by him. My wolf, usually so cautious around others, especially Lycans, seemed to purr with satisfaction. This felt right, felt necessary, in a way I couldn't begin to articulate.

When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless, my heart hammering against my ribs like it might break free. Theo looked equally affected, his usually perfect composure beautifully disrupted. A flush coloured his sharp cheekbones, and his eyes had taken on an almost luminous quality.

"I should go," he said, though his hands remained at my waist, contradicting his words.

"You should," I agreed, making no move to step away.

He smiled then, a private expression I was beginning to recognize as reserved just for me. His thumb traced the curve of my cheek, and I leaned into the touch, unashamed of my need for this connection.

"I'll see you in the morning for breakfast," he said, his voice husky with emotion. Then, so quietly I almost didn't catch it: "My queen."

The words sent a shock through me, electric and terrifying. Not just for their implication—though that was monumental enough—but for how right they sounded in his voice. How possible they suddenly seemed, despite everything that stood between us.

Before I could respond, he pressed one final kiss to my lips, brief but full of promise, and then he was stepping back, creating necessary distance between us.

"Sleep well, Emma," he said, formal once more, though the heat in his eyes belied the propriety of his words.

"Goodnight, Theodore," I replied, using his full name as an anchor against the dizzying intimacy we'd just shared.

He inclined his head slightly, the gesture somehow both regal and personal, then turned and walked back down the corridor. I watched him go, admiring the straight line of his shoulders, the confident stride that spoke of centuries of knowing exactly who and what he was.

Only when he'd disappeared around the corner did I finally push open my door and step into the darkness of my suite.

I didn't immediately turn on the lights, preferring instead to stand in the moonlit stillness. The room smelled of fresh linens and the faint trace of the lavender sachet I'd tucked into my luggage—a piece of home here in this neutral space. I kicked off my heels, feeling the plush carpet beneath my bare feet, and moved to the window overlooking the Royal City.

Lights twinkled below, the concentric circles of the city's design visible even at night. Somewhere down there, decisions were still being made, alliances formed and tested, centuries of prejudice either reinforced or slowly dismantled. And here I was, thinking about the feel of the king's lips on mine.

My fingers rose to touch my lips, tracing their outline as if I might find some residue of him there. I could still taste him, still feel the phantom pressure of his mouth. The memory sent another cascade of heat through me, pooling low in my belly.

What was I doing? This was more than just a diplomatic complication. If things progressed between us, if the whispered "my queen" became more than just a tender endearment... the implications were staggering. A werewolf queen would upend centuries of Lycan rule. It would change everything, for everyone.

And yet, standing there with moonlight washing over me and the ghost of his kiss still warm on my lips, I couldn't bring myself to regret it. Whatever came next—whatever challenges we would face from both our worlds—that kiss had felt like truth. Like stepping into a role I hadn't known I was meant to play.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the window, letting it soothe the flush that still heated my skin. Tomorrow would bring the summit's next round of negotiations, more diplomatic dance, more careful navigation of ancient prejudices. But it would also bring breakfast with Theo, and the chance to explore whatever was growing between us.

I touched my lips one more time, a smile curving them despite the complexity ahead. Whatever came next, I knew with bone-deep certainty that something fundamental had shifted tonight—not just between Theo and me, but perhaps for our entire world.