58: Theodore
I walked the plush carpeted hallway from my suite to Emma's, a smile playing at my lips that I couldn't quite suppress. The image of her face when she'd first seen my bathtub—eyes wide with wonder, lips parted in delight—had etched itself into my memory. Such a simple thing, that massive marble tub with its gold fixtures and multiple jets, something I'd taken for granted my entire royal life. But through her eyes, I was seeing my world anew, seeing the privilege for what it was. And somehow, that made me want to give her everything.
The memory of last night lingered like a sweet taste on my tongue. Just twenty-four hours ago, we had accepted each other as mates, the bond between us still fresh and delicate as a newly unfurled leaf. I'd spent 175 years waiting for this, for her, without even knowing it. The fierce protectiveness that surged through me whenever I thought of Emma startled me with its intensity.
I nodded to the security team members stationed in the hallway as I passed. Their eyes followed me with professional deference, but I caught the curiosity in their gazes. News traveled fast in the hotel, and by now, everyone knew the Lycan King had found his mate—a werewolf, no less. It would be the talk of both our worlds for months, if not years, to come.
When I reached Emma's door, I placed my palm against the cool wood for a moment, feeling the phantom echo of her presence on the other side. Though she wasn't there, the mere thought of her made the mating bond hum pleasantly in my chest. I used the keycard I'd been given and slipped inside.
Her scent hit me immediately—wild honeysuckle and summer rain, with that underlying note that was purely Emma. I inhaled deeply, allowing myself this small indulgence before moving toward the closet. The suite was neat, but held small traces of her presence—a book left open on the nightstand, a half-empty glass of water, her silver hairbrush with a few dark strands caught in the bristles.
I opened her closet and surveyed the contents with careful consideration. Emma would need options for the day, and I wanted her to be comfortable but also appropriately dressed for whatever she might face. My fingers brushed against the silken fabric of a formal gown—deep emerald green that would match her eyes perfectly. I lifted it from the hanger, draping it carefully over my arm.
Next, I selected a pair of dark jeans and a cream-coloured blouse—casual but elegant enough for most meetings. The denim felt sturdy beneath my fingers, reminding me of Emma's practical nature. Finally, I chose what looked like comfortable formal wear—tailored black pants and a structured blazer in soft charcoal gray. Three distinct choices that would give her freedom to decide how she wanted to present herself today.
My hands lingered on the clothes, imagining how they would look on her. The wolf in me growled with satisfaction at providing for my mate, while the king in me recognized the political statement each outfit might make. The emerald gown would announce her as my equal, my queen. The casual outfit might help her blend in, reducing the target on her back. The formal wear struck a balance between the two.
I moved to her desk, where her laptop sat closed beside a tangle of chargers. Technology had never been of particular interest to me—when you live for centuries, you become somewhat wary of passing innovations—but Emma's work was important to her. I gathered the laptop, its charger, and her phone charger, tucking them carefully into her leather messenger bag.
My eyes caught on a small framed photo by her bedside—Emma with her brother Elijah and his mate Elena, all three smiling in what looked like a rare moment of relaxation. I added it to the bag, thinking it might bring her comfort to have a piece of her family nearby during this tumultuous time.
With one last glance around the room to ensure I hadn't missed anything essential, I shouldered the bag and gathered the clothing in my arms. The fabric carried her scent, and I found myself holding it closer than necessary as I stepped back into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind me.
The corridor seemed quieter now, the security detail more alert. A subtle tension hung in the air that hadn't been there minutes before. I quickened my pace slightly, an inexplicable unease crawling up my spine. Something felt off, though I couldn't place what.
When I reached the main staircase leading back to my floor, my heart plummeted to my stomach. A crowd had gathered at the base of the stairs—Lycans and werewolves alike, their usual segregated groupings forgotten as they huddled together, faces turned upward in collective shock. Whispers rippled through the throng, too many voices overlapping for me to make out what they were saying.
"Move," I commanded, the single word carrying the weight of royal authority.
The crowd parted instantly, creating a path to the stairs. What I saw there made my blood run cold. Two of my personal guards lay sprawled across the marble steps, their powerful Lycan bodies unnaturally still. Alexander and Dmitri—both veterans of my security team, both capable of taking down multiple attackers. Now they were crumpled like discarded paper, their breathing shallow but steady.
Medical staff were already attending to them, checking pulses and pupils with efficient movements. From the security team members descending the stairs, their faces grim and professional masks barely concealing their alarm, I knew these weren't the only casualties.
"Your Majesty," one of my senior security officers approached, his posture stiff with tension. "We have a situation—"