I watched Emma's fingers trace the rim of her wine glass, each movement deliberate yet graceful. The simple gesture captivated me with an intensity that would have been alarming had I not recognized its source—the mate bond, still new and raw between us, amplifying every small detail of her existence in my awareness. Two centuries of waiting, and now she stood before me, this werewolf woman with careful eyes and guarded smiles, simultaneously the answer to my oldest prayers and my most complex diplomatic challenge.
The weight of my crown—both literal and figurative—pressed against my temples as I considered the implications. A werewolf mate for the Lycan King. The traditionalists would be outraged, the progressives cautiously optimistic, and the general populace divided along the ancient
