86: Emma

The weight of the golden fabric felt strange against my skin, heavy with more than just the intricate beadwork and fine thread. I stood still as the dressmakers fussed around me, pins held between pursed lips, measuring tape dangling from slender necks like bizarre jewellery. Today I would become a queen in more than just name – the crown, the ball, the formal introduction to society as Theodore's equal. My fingers trembled slightly as I smoothed down the skirt, watching how the silver stars caught the morning light streaming through our suite's windows. It felt like wearing the night sky, like somehow Theo had managed to capture constellations just for me.

"Please lift your arms, Your Majesty," the older dressmaker murmured, her voice still carrying a note of reverence that made my skin prickle with discomfort.

Your Majesty. The title floated in the air between us, foreign and ill-fitting, like borrowed shoes. I'd been "Emma" my entire life, then “Luna”, then "Gamma" to my pack. Now, overnight, I'd become something else entirely. The marking ceremony with Theo had changed everything – biologically, politically, socially – yet I still felt like myself. Just Emma, standing awkwardly in a too-beautiful dress.

"Is the length comfortable, Your Majesty?" the younger seamstress asked, kneeling to adjust the hem.

"It's perfect," I said, watching how the dress fell just above the floor, revealing glimpses of the white heels with their unexpected gold soles. "Though I might break my neck in these shoes."

The women exchanged glances but didn't laugh. I missed Theo's easy smile, the way he made everything feel less formal, less terrifying. He'd left after breakfast, promising to return once I was ready, giving me space to prepare for tonight's ball. The summit's concluding event – our first official appearance as King and Queen.

I held my breath as the older woman made one final adjustment to the bodice, the golden fabric hugging my curves in a way that felt both modest and undeniably regal. The silver stars grew denser toward the bottom of the skirt, creating an ombré effect that made me appear to be emerging from stardust with each step.

"Magnificent," the older woman whispered, stepping back.

When they finally departed, a hotel staff member arrived – a petite woman with clever fingers who introduced herself as the hotel's resident makeup artist. She had me sit before the vanity, her touch efficient yet gentle as she transformed my face with subtle sweeps of colour.

"Nothing too bold," I instructed, watching her work in the mirror. "I don't want to look like I'm wearing a mask."

"Of course, Your Majesty. Just enough to enhance your natural beauty for the photographers."

Photographers. My stomach clenched. I hadn't thought about that aspect of tonight – the documentation, the scrutiny, the images that would circulate through the kingdom. Evidence of my transformation from just another werewolf to Queen.

The woman worked silently, applying foundation that felt like air against my skin, defining my cheekbones with subtle contour, sweeping a champagne shimmer across my eyelids that caught the light when I blinked. Her fingers danced through my hair next, twisting and pinning it into an elaborate updo that somehow looked effortless. She left a few tendrils free, framing my face with soft curls that softened the formality of the style.

"There," she said finally, her voice warm with satisfaction. "A queen."

I stared at the stranger in the mirror. She had my features, but something had shifted – a confidence in her posture, a clarity in her green eyes. I touched one of the loose curls tentatively.

"Thank you," I whispered.

After she left, I sat alone in the suite's sitting room, the empty silence pressing against me. I felt suspended between worlds – no longer just Emma Maxwell, not yet fully Queen Emeline Lykoudis. The dress whispered against the upholstery as I shifted, the sound like secrets being traded.

The door opened, and my breath caught.

Theo stood in the doorway, transformed by his formal attire. The dark grey suit molded to his shoulders like a second skin, the crisp white shirt beneath it making his Mediterranean complexion glow with warmth. The silver waistcoat caught the light as he breathed, and the gold tie at his throat matched my dress perfectly. Atop his dark hair sat a crown of platinum and gold, intricate and undeniably masculine, yet not ostentatious. It looked like it had grown there naturally, like he'd been born to wear it.

Which, of course, he had.

"Emma," he breathed, his amber eyes widening as he took me in. "You're breathtaking."

I stood, the dress settling around me like liquid gold. "You don't look so bad yourself, Your Majesty."

His smile was slow, intimate, making my marked shoulder tingle with remembered pleasure. He crossed the room in three long strides, stopping just short of touching me.

"I have something for you," he said, his voice lower now. From behind his back, he produced a black velvet box, long and narrow. "This was the first crown my mother ever wore. I thought... I hoped you might wear it tonight."

My heart stuttered against my ribs. "Theo—"

"She would have loved you," he interrupted gently. "Strong, compassionate, unafraid to challenge tradition while respecting its foundations. You remind me of her in so many ways."

His fingers trembled slightly as he opened the box, revealing what lay nestled inside. The crown was a delicate masterpiece, smaller and more intricate than his – a woven pattern of gold and silver, studded with diamonds that caught the light and fractured it into a thousand tiny rainbows. It looked both ancient and timeless, powerful in its subtlety.

"It's beautiful," I whispered, afraid to touch it.

"May I?" Theo asked, lifting it carefully from its velvet bed.

I nodded, unable to speak. He stepped behind me, and I felt the slight pressure as he placed the crown among the curls of my updo. It settled perfectly, as though the hairstyle had been designed specifically to cradle it. The weight was noticeable but not uncomfortable – a gentle reminder of what I was becoming.

Theo's hands came to rest on my shoulders, warming the skin left bare by the dress's neckline. "Look," he said softly, turning me toward the full-length mirror.

The woman who stared back at me wore starlight and shadows. The gold of the dress caught the evening light streaming through the windows, making it appear to glow from within. The crown nestled in my dark hair looked like it belonged there, the metals complementing both the dress and my complexion. Theo stood behind me, his reflection watching mine with undisguised love, his hands a reassuring weight on my waist.

"This feels strange," I said, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "But right, somehow. Like wearing clothes that shouldn't fit but do."

Theo chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and into my back. "It suits you. Royalty suits you."

I turned in his arms, the dress flaring slightly around my ankles like liquid gold seeking escape. My arms found their way around his neck, the familiar scent of him – cedar and something uniquely Theo – centering me in this unfamiliar moment.

"I love you, my King," I said, the words feeling sacred in their simplicity.

His eyes softened, the amber darkening to honey. "And I love you, my Queen."

When he kissed me, I tasted possibility on his lips – the future we were building together, brick by controversial brick. A kingdom where Lycans and werewolves stood as equals, where ancient prejudices dissolved under the weight of progress. Our shared vision, made possible by our unlikely union.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine. "We should go. The entire summit is waiting to officially meet their new queen."

"Let's just do this thing, shall we?" I said, aiming for bravado but hearing the tremor in my voice.

Theo kissed my forehead, his lips warm against my skin.

I took his proffered arm, feeling the solid muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his suit. My anchor in this storm of change. He led me to the door, opening it to reveal six members of the Royal Guard standing at attention in the hallway. Their uniforms were pristine, expressions impassive, but I caught the flicker of curiosity in their eyes as they took in my appearance.

Two positioned themselves in front of us, four behind, creating a protective formation that made me feel simultaneously important and trapped. We moved through the hotel's corridors like a solemn procession, other guests flattening themselves against walls as we passed, their eyes wide with recognition.