Timothy's POV
The air smelled of sweet vanilla and fresh rain.
It was a perfect day for a wedding.
I stood under the archway of the royal gardens, my hands clasped tightly behind my back. My dress uniform was stiff, the collar digging into my neck, but I didn't dare adjust it. I was the Gamma of the Pack. I was a warrior. I had faced armies, tortured enemies, and stood between the King and death a dozen times.
But watching Jude walk down the aisle of white petals, I felt my knees shake.
She was a vision.
Phoebe had designed the dress herself. It wasn't the traditional, suffocating lace of the court. It was fluid silk, simple and elegant, moving like water around Jude's strong, athletic frame. It highlighted her scars rather than hiding them. It showed the world that she was a survivor, a fighter, and now, a bride.
The court was silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
But the silence was broken by a blur of pink and gold.
"Daddy! Look at me!"
