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D r. Maya Sorin

The mirrors in the royal dressing chambers reflect a woman I barely recognize.

My auburn hair has been intricately braided with silver threads and tiny moonstone beads that catch the light with each turn of my head.

The dress—a creation of flowing silk in midnight blue—hugs my body before cascading to the floor in graceful waves.

Around my neck rests a delicate, silver pendant bearing the royal crest—Griffin’s gift delivered this morning with a note that made me blush.

“Are you ready?” Leanna asks, adjusting the final fold of my dress with practiced hands. Her own gown of deep burgundy complements her dark hair and olive skin.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from the silk. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”

Leanna smiles, squeezing my hand. “Believe it. In an hour, you’ll be the official queen of the Human Wolf Kingdom.”

Queen. The title still feels foreign, ill-fitting. Three months ago, I was human—a scientist mourning her mother, drowning her sorrows in alcohol and isolation. Now I’m a shifter, a wolf, preparing to bond myself officially to the king before his entire kingdom.

Life takes the strangest turns.

A soft knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. “It’s time,” a voice calls.

Leanna gives me one last appraising look. “Perfect. Griffin won’t know what hit him.”

I take a deep breath, steadying my nerves before following her into the corridor.

Palace staff bow as we pass, their eyes following me with curiosity and—somewhat surprisingly—respect.

The antipathy I expected after Aria’s trial never materialized.

If anything, my transformation has made me more acceptable to the shifter community, though I know some of the elders still grumble about my common origins.

The great hall has been decorated for the ceremony, its high ceilings draped with silver and blue banners bearing the royal crest. Moonlight streams through the stained-glass windows, supplementing the warm glow of thousands of candles.

The room is packed with nobles from all three kingdoms, their jewels and finery glittering in the candlelight.

As I reach the entrance, I spot a familiar figure waiting in the shadows. “Jerry,” I say, stepping toward him.

The healer looks tired, worn thin by grief despite his attempts to hide it. “You look beautiful, Maya,” he says, his smile genuine despite the sadness in his eyes.

I take his hands in mine. “I’ve been wanting to tell you, I’m sorry about Cassian. Despite everything he did, he was still your family. I know that must hurt.”

Surprise flickers across Jerry’s face, followed by gratitude. “Thank you. Few people understand that it’s possible to condemn what he did while still mourning who he could have been.”

“You were a good role model to him,” I say gently. “The choices he made weren’t your fault.”

Jerry squeezes my hands. “That means more than you know.” He straightens up, composing himself. “Now, go. Your mate is waiting, and he’s not a patient man when it comes to you.”

Music swells from within the hall—a haunting melody played on instruments I can’t identify. My cue. Leanna takes her place ahead of me and, after a reassuring smile over her shoulder at me, begins her processional walk.

Then it’s my turn.

The sea of faces turns as I enter, hundreds of eyes following my progress down the long aisle.

I focus on the figure waiting at the far end: Griffin, resplendent in formal, midnight blue attire that matches my gown, his silver hair gleaming in the candlelight.

The sight of him steadies me, grounds me in a way nothing else can.

Our bond hums with shared anticipation as I approach. His eyes never leave mine, their amber depths filled with an emotion too profound for words. When I reach him, he takes my hand, his thumb brushing across my knuckles in a gesture both intimate and reassuring.

“You’re breathtaking,” he murmurs, his voice just for me.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I whisper back, and I am rewarded with the hint of a smile.

Elder Blackwood steps forward, her ancient face solemn as she begins the ceremony.

The words wash over me, formal and ritualistic, speaking of bonds that transcend time, of souls connected by forces beyond understanding.

Griffin and I exchange the traditional vows, our voices clear in the hushed hall.

When it comes time for the final bonding—the reinforcement of our mating marks before witnesses—Griffin’s hand is steady as it brushes my hair aside, exposing the mark he placed on me that terrible day in the cabin.

His lips press against it, and a shiver runs through me as the bond between us flares blindingly bright.

I return the gesture, my teeth—sharper now, since my transformation—grazing the matching mark I have already put on him.

Energy pulses between us, stronger than before, deeper. The hall erupts in cheers and howls of approval as Elder Blackwood pronounces us officially mated, king and queen bound by ancient magic and modern love.

Griffin’s kiss is restrained, given our audience, but the promise in his eyes makes my heart race. Later, I know. Later, we will celebrate privately.

The formalities conclude, giving way to feasting and dancing. Tables groan under the weight of elaborate dishes, wine flows freely, and music fills the hall as nobles and servants alike join in the celebration.

Griffin leads me in the first dance, his movements graceful despite his imposing size. “Happy?” he asks as we circle the floor.

“Deliriously,” I admit. “Though I still feel like I’m going to wake up and find this was all a dream.”

His hand tightens around my waist. “It’s not a dream. I am very real, as are you.”

“A wolf shifter scientist queen,” I muse. “Not exactly what I planned for my life.”

“Plans change,” he says, his eyes twinkling. “Sometimes for the better.”

“Definitely for the better,” I agree, leaning closer. “Though I’m not sure everyone agrees. Elder Monroe looks like he swallowed something sour.”

Griffin chuckles, the sound rumbling pleasantly in his chest. “He’ll adapt. They all will.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then, they’ll answer to me,” he says simply.

The dance ends, and others crowd around to offer congratulations. Cedric and Leanna are among the first, their son Finn bounding up to hug me with childish enthusiasm.

“Does this mean you’re staying forever?” he asks, his young face earnest.

I ruffle his hair. “It does, little wolf. You’re stuck with me now.”

“Good,” he declares with a child’s certainty. “You make the best cookies.”

Leanna laughs, pulling her son back to her. “And that’s clearly the most important quality in a queen,” she teases.

The evening continues in a whirl of dancing, toasting, and tradition. Through it all, I’m aware of Griffin’s eyes following me, our bond a constant presence linking us across the crowded hall.

When I finally return to his side, breathless from a particularly energetic dance with Leanna, he hands me a glass of chilled wine. “Having fun?” he asks, his voice warm with amusement.

“More than I expected,” I admit, sipping gratefully. “Though I think I’ve heard enough about ‘proper queenly behavior’ from various noble ladies to last a lifetime.”

“Ignore them,” Griffin advises. “You’ve already proven yourself more worthy than any of them.”

“By nearly dying and turning into a wolf?” I tease.

“By saving our kind when you had every reason to let us suffer,” he says seriously. “By being brave enough to forgive me when I gave you no reason to.”

I touch his face gently. “You gave me plenty of reasons. I was just too hurt to see them at first.”

His eyes darken with remembered pain. “I still wake up sometimes thinking that you’re gone. That I lost you in that cabin.”

“I’m right here,” I assure him. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” he asks, and in that moment he isn’t a powerful king but simply a man who has lost too much, who fears losing more.

“Promise,” I whisper, sealing it with a kiss that draws appreciative whistles from nearby guests.

Griffin grins against my lips. “We’re causing a scandal.”

“Good,” I reply. “They should get used to it.”

The celebration continues late into the night, but eventually, Griffin guides me away from the revelry, through quiet corridors to our private chambers.

The rooms have been prepared for us—fresh flowers in crystal vases, candles casting a warm glow across polished surfaces, and the bed turned down invitingly.

The door clicks shut behind us, the sound loud in the quiet after the celebration.

My heart is racing. The pulse in my throat pounds like a drum, and my skin feels hot beneath the layers of silk and lace I’m still wearing.

Griffin is behind me, silent but close—so close, I can feel his heat at my back.

I turn slowly, and when I meet his eyes, everything in me tightens. There’s no trace of the calm, composed king in his expression now. His gaze is dark, stormy with want, his jaw tense, lips parted slightly like he’s holding back a growl. The same growl that makes my knees weak.

“You’re mine now,” he says, his voice low, rough, possessive. “And I’m done waiting.”

He steps forward, and I suck in a shaky breath, lifting my chin.

“So, take me.”

His mouth crashes into mine.

There’s nothing gentle about it. His hand fists in the back of my hair, angling my head as his tongue slides deep, claiming, devouring. I moan against him, and he swallows it, groaning into my mouth like he’s been starving for this, like I’m the only thing that will ever satisfy him.

We stumble back until my spine meets a wall. He presses against me, his hard body fitting into mine like it belongs there. His hands are everywhere—my waist, my thighs, cupping my ass and pulling me closer until I can feel just how hard he is.