Chapter 107

Amelia

The council retreat was not a retreat.

Not in the way anyone imagined a lodge in the mountains should be. There were no fireplaces to curl beside, no mugs of cocoa, no lazy mornings. The air smelled like cedar and politics. The halls echoed with the click of heels and the murmurs of strategists. And for me, it was yet another test.

The lodge itself was nestled deep in pine-covered hills, elegant and vast, but cold despite its polished wood interiors. Every room felt like it had been designed for photographs, not comfort. I could feel eyes on me the moment we arrived, assessing, cataloguing, waiting for me to falter.

I wore the blue dress Lady Maris had chosen for its "modest, diplomatic strength," and hosted a tea for the council spouses on the second afternoon. Emma had helped me arrange the seating, a puzzle of egos, power plays, and subtle rivalries. The china was too delicate, the chairs too stiff, the view of the lake almost offensively beautiful.

"Chancellor Aldren’s wife dislikes strong florals," Emma murmured as I passed behind the buffet table. "And remember, Lady Kirian thinks she belongs to the upper tier even though she doesn’t. Let her speak first."

I nodded, heart pounding. My palms were damp, but I kept my expression serene as I poured tea, guided small talk, and nudged conversations toward unity. When the topic of border schooling came up, Lady Maris herself steered the conversation to me.

"What are your thoughts, Amelia?"

I took a breath.

"I think Lady Anwen’s recent proposal to expand resource-sharing between the territories is worth building on," I said, meeting Anwen’s eyes. "It shows initiative, and frankly, I think we need more of that from everyone."

A pause. Then a nod from Anwen. Then another from Maris.

That was how respect came. Not with applause, but with silence that ended in agreement.

After the tea, several of the spouses lingered longer than expected. One woman from the Northern border asked about my upbringing. Another wanted to know if I planned to host more civic events.

"If given the chance," I said, smiling softly, "I think there’s a lot we could do differently."

"Differently," she repeated, not unkindly. "You might just pull it off."

Later, while helping clean up a spilled container of milk, I heard the whirring before I saw it, a faint, unnatural buzz breaking the quiet.

Then a child shrieked.

A drone, sleek and black, with a blinking red light, had zipped over the terrace. The toddlers had been playing near the railing. One girl had stumbled toward the edge, startled.

I moved without thinking.

I reached her before she could take the final step, scooping her into my arms just as a gust of wind rippled the curtains. The drone buzzed away, but the fear in my chest didn’t.

Her tiny arms clutched my neck. She looked up at me like I was something mythic.

I didn’t feel mythic. I felt like I’d just come apart.

Simon found me in a quiet hallway an hour later.

"You heard it before anyone else," he said, folding his arms. "You moved before anyone else. That wasn’t adrenaline. That was instinct."

"Lucky timing," I muttered.

"No. Don’t write it off. It’s starting. You need to practice. You’re going to be faster, sharper, maybe stronger too. Your senses are already shifting."

"So what, I’m growing a wolf I don’t have?"

"Maybe it's a wolf, maybe it's not," Simon said, quieter now. "But it's something. And it’s waking up."

Richard

At twilight, the air turned soft and gold. Amelia met me by the lake in a gray sweater and bare feet, holding her shoes in one hand.

We walked in silence for a while, the pine trees tall and silent around us. She looked tired, but radiant, like the mountain air was clearing something from her chest.

"I’ve been thinking about education access," she said. "Especially for wolfless kids. Some of them don’t even know how to apply for sponsorships. Or they’re too ashamed to ask."

"Do you want to build a fund?"

She nodded. "And a mentorship network. One where they aren’t just told they have value, they're shown it."

I looked at her. The way her hair moved in the breeze. The way her hands never stopped working when she spoke about things that mattered.

"Let’s fix it," I said.

She smiled.

We stopped at the water’s edge. Her fingers brushed mine. I pulled her close.

She tipped her head up.

The kiss was soft, then deeper. Her hands in my shirt. My breath catching. Her body fitting against mine like it had always belonged there.

I could have kissed her forever.

Amelia

That night, we found an unoccupied guest room at the far end of the lodge. We didn’t sneak so much as drift there, laughing in whispers as we ducked under garlands and dodged council aides. He kissed me in the hallway, and I forgot for a moment that we were supposed to be, at least somewhat, discreet.

Inside, the room was warm and dim. We didn’t turn on the lamp.

He pressed me against the wall, hard, his hands in my hair, his mouth hungry. I gasped into him as he pulled my sweater off and kissed down my throat, biting just enough to make me shudder. His hands found my thighs, dragged my skirt up, fingers bold as they gripped and lifted me until my back hit the wall again, legs wrapped around his waist.

“Couldn’t wait, could you?” he murmured, voice rough against my ear.

“I didn’t want to,” I whispered back, breathless.

He carried me to the bed and laid me down like he’d been imagining it all day. His mouth was everywhere, throat, chest, down my stomach, until I was squirming under him, desperate and soaked.

He growled when he finally got between my legs, fingers spreading me open as he watched me come apart.

“Look at you,” he said, voice low, like worship and sin all in one. “So wet for me already.”

And when he finally pushed inside me, I nearly cried.

He didn’t go slow. He thrust deep, again and again, gripping my hips like he needed to keep me right where I was. I clawed at his shoulders, dragged my nails down his back, moaning shamelessly.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, forehead pressed to mine.

The bed creaked. The headboard thudded. I didn’t care. I wanted more. I begged for it.

He flipped me over, pulled my hips back to meet him, I had to bite the pillow to muffle the sounds I was making. He didn’t stop. Not until my legs were shaking and his name was falling out of my mouth like a prayer.

He came with a curse and a broken moan, collapsing over me, still kissing whatever part of me he could reach.

Later, tangled in the sheets, he kissed my shoulder and whispered something I didn’t quite catch but still understood.

I fell asleep smiling.

Richard

She was still asleep when my phone buzzed.

I slipped out of bed carefully, pulled on my shirt, and opened the message.

Jenny posted a photo.

Grainy, shadowed, but unmistakable. Amelia’s silhouette on the balcony from earlier, her hand resting lightly on my chest, our faces close together.

The caption: pretend queen.

My stomach dropped.

By breakfast, it was everywhere. It had spread like blood in water.

Amelia walked into the dining room holding a tray of coffee and fruit like nothing had happened, but I saw the stiffness in her shoulders.

She didn’t say a word about the post. Neither did I.

But I watched her take her seat beside the other spouses and speak clearly, calmly, like nothing could touch her.