POV EMMA BELLE
The morning didn't arrive with a gentle sun. It broke over the Black Crag like a cracked mirror, sharp and unforgiving. I woke up with the weight of Félix's arm draped across my waist, his steady breathing the only thing keeping the encroaching reality at bay.
I felt... different. My wolf was no longer pacing; she was curled up in a sun-drenched corner of my soul, purring with a satisfaction that vibrated through my bones. The bond with Félix was no longer a thread; it was a bridge, wide and unbreakable, pulsing with a golden light that felt like permanent summer.
I reached up, my fingers tracing the skin of my neck. The mark was no longer a raw wound. It was a raised, pearlescent sigil that hummed when I touched it. It was beautiful. And it was a declaration of war.
"They're waiting, aren't they?" Félix's voice was a low, sleep-roughened rasp against my ear.
He didn't open his eyes, but his grip on my waist tightened, pulling me back against the hard heat of his chest. Even now, after a night of absolute surrender, I wanted him again. The biological pull of a mated pair was a hunger that never truly went away.
"They're at the Great Hall," I whispered, closing my eyes. "I can feel them, Lixie. Damon's fury is like a wildfire. Nathaniel is a frozen lake. And Vincent... Vincent is just watching."
Félix sat up, the furs falling to his waist, revealing the scratches I'd left on his back—marks of my own claim. He looked at me, his green eyes filled with a fierce, protective light. He leaned in, pressing a firm kiss to the mark on my neck, his teeth grazing it just enough to make me gasp.
"Let them watch," he growled. "You're the Queen. You don't ask for permission to love."
We entered the Great Hall an hour later. I had dressed in my royal leathers, but I hadn't worn a scarf or a high collar. I wanted them to see. I needed them to understand the new order of the North.
The hall was silent as we walked toward the dais. The servants froze, their eyes widening as they saw the glowing silver mark on my neck. The scent of "Mate" was coming off me in waves—a mixture of my moon-scent and Félix's wild pine.
Damon was standing by the throne, his back to us. When he turned, his face was a mask of cold, controlled rage. His golden eyes locked onto my neck, and for a second, I thought he was going to shift right there and then. The air in the room became heavy, the pressure of his Alpha aura enough to make the stone floor groan.
"You did it," Damon said, his voice a guttural rumble that sounded like grinding rocks.
Nathaniel was sitting at the council table, his silver eyes fixed on the mark with the clinical detachment of a man watching his world fall apart. "A soul-lock. Without a formal ceremony. Without the blessing of the High Seers."
"I don't need a blessing to choose my mate, Nathaniel," I said, my voice steady, amplified by the power of the mountain. I walked up the steps of the dais and sat on the throne. Félix didn't follow me this time; he stood at the base of the steps, his hand on the hilt of his dagger, looking at the other Alphas with a challenge in his eyes.
"This changes the hierarchy," Nathaniel continued, standing up and walking toward me. He stopped three feet away, his gaze never leaving the mark. "The Four Kings were meant to be equals in your eyes, Emma. By allowing him to mark you, you have created a primary bond. You have made the rest of us... secondary."
The word secondary hung in the air like a poisonous cloud.
"I am the White Queen," I said, my violet light flaring, mingling with the silver of the mark. "The bond of power remains unchanged. I still need your fire, Damon. I still need your mind, Nathaniel. I still need Vincent's shadows. Our destiny to rule the North is a matter of blood and magic."
I leaned forward, my gaze locking with Damon's. "But my soul? My soul belongs to me. And I have chosen where it rests."
Damon let out a harsh, bitter laugh. He stepped into my personal space, his size looming over the throne. He reached out, his hand hovering inches from the mark before he curled his fingers into a fist. "You think I care about the 'destiny' of the North right now? I can feel him on you, Emma. I can smell him in your skin. Every time I look at you, I'll know that he was the one who got there first."
"He was the one who saw me first," I reminded him, my voice softening but remaining firm. "He was the one who didn't look at me and see a weapon or a throne."
Damon's jaw tightened. "I see a woman I would burn the world for. And it seems I'll have to do it while watching her belong to someone else."
Vincent emerged from the shadows near the balcony. He looked at the three of us—the tension, the heartbreak, the defiance—and he smiled that sad, knowing smile.
"The threads are twisted, but they aren't broken," Vincent murmured. He walked to the center of the hall, his dark eyes reflecting the morning light. "The Mark is a biological truth, yes. But the Harem is a magical necessity. The North will not accept a Queen who is only half-bound. If you want to survive the Council's next move, you must still complete the rites with the others."
Félix stepped forward, his eyes flashing green. "He's right, Little Bird. The Mark is mine. But to keep the mountain's core stable, you'll have to share your light with them. It's... it's the price of being the Queen."
I looked at Félix. I saw the pain in his eyes—the thought of me with the others, even if it was just for the sake of the bond—but I also saw his resolve. He was willing to share my body to save my life, as long as he knew he held my heart.
"What are you saying, Vincent?" I asked.
"I'm saying that the Council has already declared you an 'Abomination'," Vincent explained. "They are gathering the southern packs. A crusade is forming. To stop them, you need the 'Union of the Four'. You must bed each of them, Emma. Not to mark them, but to anchor their power to yours."
The room went still. The sexual tension, already high, became an electric charge that made the hair on my arms stand up. Damon's gaze turned predatory. Nathaniel's ice began to melt into a simmering heat.
"It won't be like it was with him," Damon growled, his golden eyes fixed on my lips. "It will be a duty. A transfer of power. But I promise you, Emma... you won't forget it."
I looked at Félix. My heart was screaming for him, for the comfort of the man I loved. But the White Queen inside me, the one who had seen the children's faces and the blood on the snow, knew that Vincent was right.
"If this is what the North requires," I said, my voice ringing through the hall, "then I will do it. But let it be known—to the kings, to the servants, and to the gods themselves. I am marked by the rebel. I am loved by Félix. And while I give you my power, I give him my soul."
Félix walked up the steps and took my hand, kissing it in front of the others. It was a gesture of absolute victory and absolute surrender.
"Then let the Union begin," Nathaniel said, his silver eyes finally showing a spark of hunger. "But we move fast. The scouts report that Caleb has found a new ally. Someone from the Old World. Someone who knows the White Queen's true weakness."
The peace of the morning was gone. The war was returning, but it was a different kind of war now. A war of hearts, of bodies, and of a throne that required everything from me.
I looked at the four men who surrounded me. Damon, the fire. Nathaniel, the mind. Vincent, the shadow. And Félix... my Lixie. My home.
"Let them come," I said, my violet light exploding from the throne, filling the Great Hall with a brilliance that made the Alphas bow their heads. "They wanted a Queen. I'll give them a goddess."