90: Emma

I stood alone at the edge of the ballroom, taking a moment to breathe and nursing a flute of champagne that I had yet to taste. The crystalline chandeliers cast their fractured light across faces both familiar and strange - some werewolf, some Lycan, all united in their careful assessment of me. Across the room, Theo's head was bent toward Christian's, their conversation clearly intense despite the casual smiles they maintained. I felt the weight of my new position settle across my shoulders like an invisible cloak, heavy with responsibility but also strangely empowering. This moment of solitude wouldn't last; already, I could see Minister Volkov cutting through the crowd toward me, his expression a masterpiece of contrived respect layered over barely concealed disdain.

The minister approached with measured steps, his silver-streaked hair combed with painful precision. Every inch of him was immaculately presented, from his pressed formal attire to his carefully controlled smile. His eyes, though - cold blue and calculating - betrayed him completely.

"Your Majesty," he said, inclining his head in a bow that was technically correct yet somehow felt insulting in its theatrical precision. "How gracious of you to grace us with your presence this evening."

The scent of his insincerity clung to him like cheap cologne. I'd met Minister Volkov briefly during previous court functions, but this was our first real interaction since my marking. He was a senior member of the Health and Wellbeing Council - a Lycan who, according to Theo's previous comments, had consistently funneled resources to Lycan territories while leaving werewolf communities to fend for themselves.

"Minister Volkov," I acknowledged, meeting his gaze directly. The ballroom hummed around us with conversation and the delicate notes of string instruments, but I was acutely aware of nearby eyes sliding in our direction. My first real test as Queen was beginning, and we both knew it.

"I've been hoping for a moment of your time," he said, his smile not reaching the frozen lakes of his eyes.

I took a deliberate sip of my champagne, allowing the pause to stretch just long enough to establish that I would not be rushed. The bubbles stung my tongue, sharp and bright against the undercurrent of tension.

"Do you actually have something of consequence to discuss, Minister?" I asked, my voice level but direct. "Or is this merely a courtesy call?"

A ripple passed across his face – surprise quickly masked by practiced diplomacy. He hadn't expected directness from me.

"Indeed, Your Majesty, I wished to discuss the allocation of the health budget going forward." His tone suggested he was bestowing a great honour by bringing such matters to my attention. "There are several hospitals in Lycan territory requiring renovation that the previous budget did not adequately address."

I nodded, my face deliberately neutral. "Which facilities, specifically?"

His posture straightened slightly, perhaps seeing an opening. "The Central Medical Centre in the Royal City requires significant updates to its surgical suites. The Northern District Hospital needs new X-ray equipment, and the Eastern Commons Medical Center's maternity ward is woefully outdated."

Around us, the ballroom continued its dance of politics and power. I noticed several werewolves had drifted closer, their expressions carefully blank but their ears unmistakably tuned to our conversation. A few Lycans too, their predatory stillness betraying their interest.

"And when were these facilities last renovated, Minister Volkov?" I asked, keeping my voice pleasant despite the suspicion blooming in my chest.

He blinked twice, a tell I filed away for future reference. "A few years ago, my Queen."

I raised a single eyebrow, letting silence do the work for me. The chandelier light caught in the crystal of my glass, sending tiny rainbows dancing across the lapel of his immaculate suit.

"Three years for the Eastern Commons," he finally elaborated. "Five for the Central, and perhaps four for the Northern District."

"I see." I set my barely-touched champagne on a passing server's tray. "And are you aware that there are still werewolf territories without any proper medical facilities at all? That pack members in the Western Territories must travel over six hours to reach emergency care? That cubs are still being born in homes without running water because there isn't a single maternity clinic within fifty miles?"

His smile thinned but remained in place, a mask stretched too tight. "The budget has always prioritized the most densely populated areas first, Your Majesty. It's simply efficient resource allocation."

"Is it?" I fixed him with a steady gaze. "Or is it that Lycan territory has always received preferential treatment regardless of actual need?"

A subtle shift occurred in the air around us as my words carried to nearby ears. The string quartet transitioned to a new piece, something with minor chords that seemed to underscore the tension of our exchange.

"With respect, Minister, you are absolutely not prioritizing renovating perfectly functional hospitals just because they are in Lycan territory when there are still werewolf territories without suitable medical aid." I kept my voice low but firm, conscious of my position but unwilling to back down on a matter of such importance.

Minister Volkov's nostrils flared slightly – the only outward sign of his displeasure. "The renovations should take priority. These are established medical centers serving thousands—"

"No, Minister, they shouldn't," I cut in, my words precise as a scalpel. "Aid should be prioritized appropriately depending on circumstances. Lycan territory cannot be prioritized simply because it exists."