The dance floor had become a battlefield of a different sort. For hours, Theo and I had navigated the treacherous waters of diplomacy disguised as celebration—trading partners, exchanging pleasantries that doubled as political maneuvers, our bodies moving to music while our minds remained alert to every nuance, every implied request. My feet ached in Elena's borrowed shoes, though I'd never admit it. The weight of the crown, though lighter than it appeared, had begun to press into my scalp, a constant reminder of the role I now played. Queen, wife, werewolf among Lycans—titles that clung to me like the delicate lace of my gown.
I caught Theo's eye across the room where he stood cornered by three ministers, their hands punctuating the air with urgent gestures. The slight tightening at the
