Chapter 165

The conference room smelled like ink, recycled air, and stress. There were no cameras, no press, just Richard seated across the table from a legal adviser and a document technician, with a statement template pulled up on a shared screen. I watched from one corner, silent but alert. This wasn’t for the public, at least not yet. It was a legal contingency, a sealed affidavit, timestamped, verified, and locked unless a formal inquiry or court case required its release.

The lawyer adjusted his glasses and nodded. "Whenever you're ready, Your Majesty. We'll begin with your name, title, and a full declarative record."

Richard cleared his throat. “Richard, current Alpha King. This is my voluntary statement regarding the timeline and rationale for my silence about Amelia’s maternal lineage. I am fully aware this document may be entered into formal record should proceedings demand it, and I do not contest its preservation.”

The technician typed as he spoke, every word mirrored on the screen in real time.

“I first suspected a familial link between Amelia and Serena following the Temple Tower investigation. A symbol recovered from the Mooncut blade matched archival drawings of the Nightmoor lineage seal. Liora began independent verification, and I waited until confirmation was conclusive before addressing it with Amelia.”

He paused, and the lawyer gestured for him to continue.

“I recognize now that this delay constituted a withholding of material information from an adult citizen who deserved to know her own parentage. I believed, at the time, that I was protecting her from destabilizing knowledge during a volatile political window. That was not my decision to make alone.”

He spoke cleanly, without stammering. The only sign of discomfort was the way his thumb rubbed along the edge of his ring.

“I had no intention of using this knowledge to my advantage politically or personally. I disclosed the information to Nathaniel Kohr, my second-in-command, on the same day I confronted Amelia with the truth. No one else was informed before that.”

He paused again.

“I formally state that Amelia is a direct descendant of Serena and is entitled to all rights, protections, and status that bloodline affords under council law. I do not claim her lineage as justification for my bond with her, nor as a political asset to my reign.”

The lawyer tapped his stylus against the side of his tablet. “Do you understand that this document may be used as testimony against you in the event of a conflict-of-interest charge or Pack Constitution violation?”

“Yes.”

“And you submit it freely?”

“I do.”

They finalized the verification. The technician uploaded it to two secure drives and a vault archive, locking the files under executive seal with a timed release protocol set to auto-disclose in the event of incapacitation.

When it was done, Richard stood and walked toward me. I met his eyes.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “for not hiding from it.”

He exhaled and nodded. “I still think this would’ve landed better if we waited.”

“And I still think hiding the truth for strategy is what got us in this mess,” I replied.

He gave a rueful smile. “Fair.”

I watched him turn away, and for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel like I was fighting him. That didn’t mean I wasn’t still afraid of being hurt again.

He hesitated at the door. “Can I take you to dinner? Just you and me. No teams or politics.”

I nodded once. “Yeah. You can.”

We left the legal suite and, for the first time in what felt like forever, stepped outside with no handlers, no earpieces, and no team. He took my hand and didn’t ask.

He took me to dinner. A real one, with cloth napkins and a view of the river. No one asked for photos, and no one interrupted. We sat close enough our knees touched under the table, and the food barely registered compared to the way he looked at me.

He was nervous. I could tell by how carefully he watched me, like he wasn’t sure how much ground he was allowed to reclaim. I leaned into it just enough to let him know I hadn’t forgotten how to want him.

After dinner, we walked. The night was still warm, and we passed a half-abandoned park with a rusted swing set near the tree line. I pulled him toward it.

“You’re not really going to sit in that thing, are you?” he asked.

I grinned. “What, scared it won’t hold me?”

I sat, kicked my feet lightly, and looked up at him. “Come here.”

He moved between my knees, and I tugged him down for a kiss. The metal creaked beneath me as I shifted closer. His hands slid up my thighs, slow and reverent.

“You know this is deeply irresponsible,” he murmured.

“Then let me take responsibility.”

I pushed him to his knees, and he obeyed.

The gravel pressed into his knees, but he didn’t complain. He eased my underwear aside and pressed his lips to the inside of my thigh, kissing slowly, teasing the skin just above where I wanted him. I leaned back into the swing, fingers curling around the chain.

His tongue was warm and focused, slow at first and then more purposeful. He licked upward and flattened his mouth over my clit, sucking softly, then harder when he heard the change in my breath. I moaned and shifted against him, grinding forward as he groaned into me.

I rolled my hips with the swing’s motion. My thighs began to tremble, and my hands gripped the chains tighter as my climax crept closer.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered. “Stay right there.”

He moaned in agreement. My orgasm snapped through me, my back arching as I cried out. He kept licking through the aftershocks, slowing only when I whimpered.

When I looked down, his mouth was slick, and his eyes were completely focused on me.

“Up,” I said. “Now.”

He rose to his feet, and I reached for his belt, unfastening it with fingers that were still shaking. I pulled his cock free, already flushed and hard, and ran my hand along the length of him.

“You want to fuck me on this swing?” I asked.

He nodded. “So badly. Please.”

I lined him up and dragged the head slowly against me, coating him. I watched his jaw flex, his hands bracing the chains as he waited.

“You’re being so good,” I said, guiding him in inch by inch.

His head fell forward. “I want you. However you’ll let me have you.”

I sank down on him fully, the swing groaning beneath the sudden weight and momentum. The chains creaked as I began to rock, the motion amplifying the rhythm of our bodies. Each forward push dragged him deeper, the seat swaying under me in a slow, delicious arc that made every movement feel amplified.

He thrust up into me cautiously, trying to match the motion without stealing control. I braced myself by gripping the chains tighter, using the built-in rhythm to grind down on him with more intent. As the swing moved, so did I, rising and falling with the pendulum motion that made each thrust hit new angles. I leaned forward, panting against his mouth, and kissed him roughly, biting his lower lip and feeling the tension in his body coil tighter beneath mine.

“You feel so good,” I whispered. “So deep.”

He groaned. “I’m not going to last long.”

“You’ll wait,” I said.

He groaned again, louder this time, and I rode him harder. I came again, my entire body tensing around him. He spilled into me with a strangled moan, arms wrapping around my waist.

We stayed like that, still joined. He pressed a kiss to my collarbone, then rested his forehead there.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured.

I ran my hand along the back of his neck and held him there.

In a midnight briefing, Nathan confirmed the last of the tunnels were sealed. Simon sent word that the final antidote caches were staged around the rally perimeter. Our team reported in with contingency logs and redundancy maps.

We finalized the speech exhibits and signed off on the emergency protocols. And when I looked across the table at Richard, I didn’t feel uncertainty or distrust. For the first time in weeks, I felt like we were in this together.