Entering the castle, I don't slow. I don't stop.
I go straight for the kitchens.
I don't want to talk to anyone. I don't want questions, explanations, or looks filled with awe and expectation. I just want to make Kieran his tea. I want to put my hands to something familiar—measured, gentle, useful. Herbs. Heat. Care. Things I understand.
As I move through the halls, I feel it before I fully register it.
Staff members pause mid-step. Smiles falter into reverence. One by one, they bow.
Deeply.
In submission.
My stomach twists.
Goddess… is this how it's going to be now?
Guards step forward before I even reach the doors, pulling them open for me with crisp precision. I freeze for half a heartbeat. They've never done that for me before. I've only ever seen them move like that for Kieran—or the Royal Betas.
I force myself to keep walking.
I'll either have to get used to it… or tell them all to calm the hell down.
Probably both.
I sigh quietly and push into the kitchen—and nearly collide with someone on the other side of the door.
"Watch where you're going! You almost hit the Queen!"
The guard's sharp reprimand makes me flinch.
I look past him and recognize her instantly.
Rosy.
The former headmistress of the castle staff. Or… she was, before Kieran dismissed her.
She drops to her knees immediately, hands trembling as they brace against the stone floor.
"My Queen, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to—I promise. I only came to collect my things. Please."
The guard grips her arm roughly, hauling her halfway up.
"Don't you dare speak to her. Collect your belongings and be gone."
Something sharp snaps inside me.
"Enough."
My voice isn't loud. It doesn't need to be.
The guard freezes.
"We do not treat pack members like that," I say evenly. "And we do not lay hands on anyone without permission or proper cause."
Shock flashes across his face. He bows immediately, head lowered.
"My apologies, Your Highness. I did not mean to overstep."
I turn back to Rosy, who still hasn't lifted her gaze.
"That's okay," I say gently. "Rosy, isn't it? I'm sorry for bumping into you. I should have checked before opening the door instead of barging through."
Her head snaps up.
Her eyes go wide.
"No—my Queen—there's no need for you to apologize."
I nod once. "You may continue with whatever you were doing. I didn't mean to interrupt."
She bows quickly and all but scurries away.
I exhale slowly.
I suppose I could have said more, but honestly—
'We don't like the b*tch who was sniffing around our man,' Emma cuts in bluntly.
Something like that, I reply, tired but amused.
"You know," a familiar voice drawls, "the Queen never apologizes. Even when it's her fault."
I whip around.
Kieran stands there.
Alive. Upright. Watching me with that maddening mix of warmth and quiet certainty.
"What are you doing up?" I rush toward him instantly, hands already reaching for his shoulders. "You should be resting. You shouldn't even be walking this far—"
He catches me by the waist and pulls me in effortlessly.
I gasp.
"Kieran—you're injured."
I glance around instinctively. The guard from earlier has vanished like smoke.
"I'm fine," Kieran murmurs, his mouth close to my ear. "Healed. Apparently I'm alive because of my Queen's gifts."
My breath stutters.
My Queen.
Not Luna.
Queen.
Does he know? Is he angry? Furious? Gods—does he resent me?
"Kieran, I—"
"Shh." He cuts me off gently. "I know. And it's exactly as it should be."
His forehead rests against mine.
"My family took a throne that was never theirs. What's happening now is balance returning."
I stare at him. "You're… not angry?"
A slow smirk curves his mouth.
"No."
Then, softer—reverent.
"Now my full duty is to serve my Queen."
He leans down, teeth grazing the crook of my neck.
A moan slips free before I can stop it.
Goddess, I want this male.
Every part of me aches for him—bond, body, soul—screaming to claim, to mark, to belong together fully.
"Kieran, we can't," I whisper breathlessly. "You're still hurt and—ah—"
He lifts me easily and sets me on the counter, lips already finding mine.
My arms instantly wrap around his neck, dragging him closer, deepening the kiss without thinking. He groans when I nip his bottom lip, the sound vibrating straight through me. I want—no, need—to feel every part of him, to reassure myself he's real, alive, still mine.
Heat blooms low in my stomach, sharp and insistent, spreading like wildfire. The bond hums between us, tight and bright, pulling, urging, reminding me that whatever the world has decided, whatever titles have shifted, this is still ours.
His laughter curls through my mind, warm and wicked, threaded with affection and something dangerously tender.
Easy, my Queen, he murmurs through the bond, amusement softening the words. You feel like you're trying to crawl inside my skin.
I pull back just enough to breathe, foreheads touching, my hands still fisted in his shirt as if letting go might send him disappearing again. His eyes are brighter than I've ever seen them, silver threaded with something deeper—reverence, maybe, or acceptance. Not fear. Never fear.
"I thought I lost you," I whisper, the confession slipping out before I can stop it. My voice trembles despite myself. "For a moment, I really thought—"
"You didn't," he says immediately, hands firm on my hips, grounding. "And you won't. Not like that." His thumb brushes a slow, steady line along my side, calming me more than any words could.
The bond tightens in response, steadying, no longer screaming but settling into something solid and sure.
I exhale, leaning into him, letting my forehead rest against his shoulder for just a second longer. The crown, the pack, the weight of it all fades into the background.
Right now, I just need this.
Him.
He grabs my hair and pulls slightly, razing my gaze to his.
A pause.
'Now let me serve my Queen.'