Twenty-four hours after the plaza confrontation, I stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the royal suite.

I smoothed my hands down the skirts of my midnight-blue gown. The silk rustled against the marble floor, stiff and unyielding.

"Are you going to make the bad Alpha cry today, Mom?" Leo asked.

He pushed a carved wooden wolf across the thick Persian rug, unbothered by the sheer opulence of our surroundings.

"I do not have to make him cry, Leo," I said, turning away from the glass. "He did that to himself."

"He broke my toy motorcycle," Leo said, his dark eyes narrowing as he crashed the wooden wolf into a table leg. "He owes us a real one."

"He owes us a lot more than a tire," I replied.

I walked over to the mahogany desk near the window. A small, gilded frame sat near the edge. Inside the polished glass rested a single, crumpled one-dollar bill.

Five years ago, freezing rain had soaked through my thin clothes as Brandon threw that very bill into the mud and severed our mate bond. I had knelt in the downpour, clutching the sodden paper, until a black umbrella appeared overhead. Alexander crouched beside me and lifted my chin, his golden eyes steady through the storm. "Keep it," he had said. "We'll make him buy it back with his territory."

"You still look at that trash?"

Alexander's rich baritone filled the room.

I turned. He stood in the doorway, wearing his formal obsidian King's uniform. Gold braided cords draped across his broad chest, and a ceremonial sword rested at his hip.

"It reminds me of the price of weakness," I said.

Alexander crossed the room in three long strides. "You were never weak, Aria. You were just surrounded by cowards."

"Brandon thinks he can talk his way out of this," I told him, tracing the edge of the gilded frame. "He spent all night sending frantic messages to the regional council members."

Alexander laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Let him message the dead. The council answers to me."

"They might push back," I pointed out. "Shadowmere is a wealthy territory. The elders rely on Brandon's tax contributions."

"They rely on my mercy," Alexander countered. "I seized his accounts yesterday. His wealth is already sitting in the Royal treasury. The elders know better than to bite the hand that actually feeds them."

"You moved fast," I observed.

"I do not play games with your safety," he said, his expression hardening. "He ordered his men to put their hands on you. He raised his claws against your property. Every elder in that room will watch him pay for that insult."

"He thinks the trial is about a ruined motorcycle," I said.

"He is a fool," Alexander replied. "The trial is about treason."

"He will try to use Victoria for sympathy," I warned. "He will parade her pregnancy in front of the elders. A pregnant mate is a powerful shield in Lycan law. The elders prioritize pups above all else."

"The law protects innocent pups," Alexander said, his voice turning lethal. "It does not protect an Alpha who abuses his power to terrorize my territory. If Victoria speaks out of turn today, I will have Gideon escort her to the dungeons until the trial concludes."

"She would not last an hour in the damp," I said.

"Then she should learn to keep her mouth shut," he stated flatly.

He reached into the open velvet box resting on the vanity. His hands lifted the silver crown.

It was heavy, forged from solid Lycan silver. Seven large sapphires gleamed along its sharp peaks, catching the morning sunlight pouring through the window.

"Turn around," he ordered softly.

I faced the mirror again. Alexander stepped right behind me. He lowered the crown onto my head.

The cold metal settled against my scalp. It was a heavy, undeniable weight, pressing down on me with the full force of the Lycan monarchy.

I stared at my reflection. The midnight-blue gown hugged my curves, erasing the image of the exhausted courier Brandon had mocked yesterday. The silver crown elevated me to something untouchable.

"The pinnacle of our power," he murmured, his gaze locking with mine in the reflection.

"They will stare," I said, adjusting the angle of my chin.

"Let them stare," Alexander replied, his hands sliding down to grip my shoulders. "They will bow to their King. But they will bleed for their Queen."

"Brandon will not bow easily," I noted.

"Then I will break his knees," Alexander said.

He stepped back, offering me his arm. "Are you ready to end his bloodline's reign over Shadowmere?"

"I have been ready for five years," I said.

I turned to face him, leaving the framed dollar on the desk.

"Leo, stay with the guards," Alexander instructed, glancing down at my son. "Your mother and I have a territory to dismantle."

"Bring me back his steering wheel!" Leo cheered, abandoning his wooden wolf on the rug.

"I will see what I can do," Alexander promised, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips.

I took Alexander's offered arm. We walked out of the suite together.

We moved down the long, stone corridor toward the judgment hall. The Royal guards snapped to attention as we passed, their boots hitting the stone floor in perfect unison.

My pulse pounded against my ribs. Not from fear. From raw, surging anticipation.

The torches lining the stone walls flickered as we passed. The air grew colder the closer we got to the judgment hall.

"Will you let him speak?" I asked, my leather shoes tapping against the stone.

"I will let him dig his own grave," Alexander answered. "He will try to justify his actions. He will call you a stray again. And every word he speaks will only add to his sentence."

"I want to see his face when he realizes who I really am to you," I admitted.

"You will," Alexander promised. "I reserved the front seat for you."

"The elders are already seated," Alexander added, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Brandon is waiting at the center podium."

"Does he know I am wearing this?" I asked, gesturing slightly to the sapphire crown.

"He knows nothing," Alexander replied. "He still thinks you are a rogue playing dress-up."

"He always lacked vision," I said.

"He lacks a future," Alexander corrected.

We reached the end of the hall. Two massive guards stood at attention before the entrance to the Royal Lycan Court.

"Open them," Alexander commanded.

The oak doors swung open, revealing a set of pure-gold scales gleaming in the firelight at the center of the hall.

I slipped behind the heavy crimson velvet curtains draping the rear of the King's throne. The fabric muffled the echo of the great hall, shielding me from view. Through a narrow gap in the drapes, I watched the massive oak doors swing shut.

Alexander sat on the carved obsidian throne, his posture rigid and commanding.

Footsteps echoed across the stone floor.

Brandon and Victoria approached the center of the hall. The arrogant Alpha who had destroyed my motorcycle yesterday was gone. Today, his shoulders slumped, and his hands shook as he carried a wicker basket wrapped in cheap, wrinkled cellophane.

"Your Majesty," Brandon stammered, dropping to his knees. The stone smacked loudly against his kneecaps.

Victoria hurried to kneel beside him, awkwardly maneuvering her swollen belly. She kept her eyes glued to the floor, terrified of looking directly at the King.

"We bring a token of goodwill," Brandon said, shoving the meager basket forward. "From the Shadowmere council. We humbly request aid from the Crown."

Alexander leaned back against the throne. He did not spare a single glance at the basket of bruised apples and stale bread.

"You stand before the Royal Court," Alexander said, his voice a dangerous rumble. "After I seized your territory's accounts yesterday, you crawl in here asking the Crown to rescue the pack you ruined."

Brandon swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I speak for my council, Sire. We are begging for military aid. The northern borders are vulnerable, and Shadowmere is prepared to submit fully to the Crown."

"Align," Alexander repeated.

He raised a hand. Gideon, standing by the stone pillars, stepped forward and handed the King a rolled parchment.

"You submitted this alliance scroll at dawn," Alexander said.

He unrolled the parchment. The entire document was covered in thick, aggressive red ink slashes. Entire paragraphs were crossed out, the margins filled with sharp, unforgiving corrections.

"Let us review the immense value you bring to my kingdom," Alexander said.

"We offer loyalty, Sire," Brandon pushed, his voice high and desperate. "Absolute loyalty."

"Loyalty does not fund my armies," Alexander countered. He flattened the scroll against his thigh. "Article four. Shadowmere promises a twenty percent yield from their eastern iron mines in exchange for a garrison of my soldiers."

Brandon nodded eagerly. "Yes, Your Majesty. Top-grade iron."

"Your eastern mines flooded three months ago," Alexander stated. "The tunnels are submerged. You have not extracted a single ounce of iron since the spring melt. Deficit one."

Brandon's face drained of color. "Sire, we have crews pumping the water—"

"Article seven," Alexander cut him off, his tone slicing through the excuse. "A pledge of fifty thousand gold coins for the Royal Treasury, payable upon the arrival of my troops."

"A generous tribute," Brandon urged, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple.

"A fictional tribute," Alexander corrected. "Shadowmere defaulted on their regional loans twice this year. Their vault is empty. You are offering me ghost money. Deficit two."

Victoria whimpered, clutching Brandon's sleeve. "Please, Your Majesty. We just need a small detachment. Just fifty men to keep the rogue factions away from the settlement."

Alexander shifted his golden gaze to her. The absolute coldness in his eyes made her shrink back.

"I did not give you permission to speak," Alexander said.

Victoria clamped her mouth shut, tears pooling in her eyes. She pressed her face against Brandon's shoulder, hiding her expression.

Alexander returned his attention to the ruined scroll. "And the final insult. Article twelve. You claim Shadowmere will supplement my forces with one thousand trained warriors."

"They are fierce fighters," Brandon insisted, desperation making him reckless. "They know the northern terrain better than anyone."

"My scouts report their barracks are abandoned," Alexander said. "The warriors deserted because Shadowmere cannot afford to feed them. You are offering me a starved, nonexistent army in exchange for my elite guards. Deficit three."

Brandon stared at the floor, his chest heaving. The cheap cellophane on the gift basket crinkled as his shaking knee brushed against it.

"You brought me a basket of rotting fruit and a scroll full of lies," Alexander summarized.

"Please!" Brandon yelled, abandoning all pretense of dignity. He bowed so low his forehead rested against the cold stone. "The Shadowmere accounts are frozen! The Crown is our only hope! If you deny this treaty, the rogues will slaughter us. They will take everything!"

"You have nothing left to take," Alexander pointed out.

"Give me a chance to prove my worth!" Brandon begged, his voice cracking. "I will manage the mines myself! I will find the gold! Just sign the treaty, I implore you!"

From my hiding spot behind the velvet, a fierce satisfaction burned through my chest.

Five years ago, I had knelt in the mud, begging this exact man for a fraction of his mercy. I had asked for a week to recover from my illness before he banished me. He had laughed, tossed a dollar at my feet, and told me weak things deserved to die in the cold.

Now, he was the one groveling.

"You ask for my armies," Alexander said, his voice echoing through the silent hall.

"Yes, Sire," Brandon cried out, keeping his face pressed to the stone.

"You ask for my gold and my protection."

"I will do anything," Brandon promised, a pathetic sob tearing from his throat. "Anything you ask."

Alexander stared down at the ruined Alpha for a long, silent moment. The tension in the great hall pulled tight, thick enough to choke on.

Then, Alexander rolled the heavily marked parchment.

He tossed it casually over the edge of the dais. The scroll hit the stone floor with a sharp smack, unrolling slightly to reveal the glaring red ink, coming to a rest right next to the pathetic gift basket.

"That depends on my Queen," Alexander said coldly. "You must beg her."