Phoebe’s POV
"You look absolutely stunning, my lady," Marcela whispers, her eyes brimming with tears.
After Mason’s death, I refused to let another oga serve as my personal maid. Getting close to them felt impossible. Mason’s loss cut deeper than I care to acknowledge.
That’s why Marcela has stayed by my side, stepping into that role. Along with Lynn and Rosa, who frequently visit the healer for guidance, I don’t feel the need for another friend.
Timothy drops by to chat with occasionally too. They’re all I need.
"The king will be absolutely captivated by you." Marcela can’t contain her grin. "The ceremony starts in two hours. Ready?"
I don’t think I’ll ever feel ready, but I nod regardless.
The red dress hugs my fra perfectly. This sacred color belongs to our kingdom alone, reserved exclusively for the king and queen on this day.
The shade enhances my complexion and brown hair beautifully. My hair is woven into intricate braids, prepared for the crown’s placent.
"It’s ti, my lady," an oga announces to Marcela and .
From this point forward, I must walk alone toward the sacred temple, where I’ll be crowned and proclaid queen of this kingdom.
Hundreds of people await my arrival.
Steady. Steady. Steady.
I repeat these words like a mantra in my mind.
If possible, I’d bring Marcela for moral support, but that’s forbidden.
This path belongs to alone. This journey leads to my mate.
Perry waits for at the end of this route, and I must continue forward. I cling to this thought to prevent stumbling.
The dress trails behind in an endless cascade, requiring two ogas to carry the train until I enter the sacred temple.
One hundred steps stretch before , leading to the ceremony chamber.
I’ve practiced climbing these stairs repeatedly, but never in this heavy gown, so I move with deliberate slowness.
Inhale. Exhale.
I coach myself silently, willing my legs to keep moving.
When I finally reach the top step, the massive temple spreads before , packed with countless faces.
Forty-three packs exist in this kingdom. Seven committed treason, but the remaining thirty-six still support the crown. Representatives from each loyal pack have gathered to celebrate their new queen.
Upon seeing my entrance, everyone begins chanting in unison. This ancient custom creates hauntingly beautiful harmonies that follow into the temple, where Perry stands waiting at the far end.
He looks devastatingly handso in his red ceremonial attire.
The color suits him perfectly, creating a striking contrast against his deep blue eyes, which remain fixed on .
I pause briefly to drink in the sight of him, and he smiles at my obvious distraction, nodding to remind I must keep walking.
Snapping back to reality, I continue toward Perry, a smile curving my lips as I fight back tears.
Neither of us has anyone else. We only have each other.
My father still draws breath, but he might as well be dead since he’ll never leave that dungeon again. As for Perry... everyone knows the royal family’s dark history.
The Mad King.
That title defines him because he murdered his own family. His father, the previous king, died by his hand.
But what they don’t understand is what Perry endured under his father’s rule.
The source of his supposed madness.
They tornted him and did nothing, but when he fought back, they branded him insane. The sa could be said about , though we suffered differently.
Yet it led us to an undeniable truth.
We need power to protect ourselves. We must wield ultimate authority so no one can harm us again.
And now, here we stand...
Perry extends his hand to grasp mine. He’s offering power, ensuring no one can hurt again.
He’s my mate for this lifeti and beyond.
Tricia positions himself before us, ready to lead the ceremony, while Timothy serves as the fire bearer. The gamma’s role proves crucial, as he’ll brand the king.
My stomach still churns watching the glowing rod in his hands. I’ve begged Perry to skip this brutal part of the ceremony, to eliminate it entirely.
But it’s impossible. This tradition spans thousands of years. More importantly, he wants it. He wants to be branded so everyone knows he belongs to .
While female shifters receive their mate’s mark, male shifters endure branding—though only royalty maintains this custom.
"...and here, we crown our queen! Queen Phoebe!"
Tricia’s voice reverberates throughout the sacred temple.
Soone approaches with an exquisite crown resting on a velvet cushion.
The guests have fallen silent since Tricia began speaking.
This marks the final mont I’ll kneel before anyone other than my king, because once this crown touches my head, I bow to no one.
Perry holds my hand as I lower myself to receive the crown.
"Long live the queen!"
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