POV EMMA BELLE
The victory celebration in the Great Hall was a blur of mead, flickering torches, and the relieved howls of the mountain's inhabitants. The Black Crag was alive again, its obsidian walls humming with a purified, silver light that resonated with my own heartbeat. But as I sat on the throne of bone and stone, the weight of the crown felt lighter than the gaze of the four men standing around me.
Damon stood to my right, his golden eyes burning with a primal, territorial heat. Nathaniel was on my left, his silver gaze calculating, already planning the reconstruction of the North. Vincent was a shadow at the foot of the dais, his dark eyes watching the threads of fate.
And then there was Félix.
He wasn't standing in a formal position. He was leaning against the arm of my throne, his shoulder brushing mine, his green eyes never leaving my face. He looked exhausted, his blonde hair a mess of tangles and dried blood, but to me, he was the most beautiful thing in the world.
"You're drifting, Little Bird," Félix whispered, his voice a low vibration that only I could hear over the roar of the hall.
"It's too much, Lixie," I confessed, my hand finding his on the cold stone. "The throne, the war... I feel like I'm disappearing into the legend."
Félix squeezed my hand, his thumb rubbing small, reassuring circles over my knuckles. "You're not a legend to me, Emma. You're just the girl who's about to fall asleep in the middle of her own party."
I laughed, the sound bubbling up from a place of pure, unadulterated affection. Across the hall, I saw Damon's jaw tighten. He stepped forward, his massive frame blocking out the light of the nearest torch.
"The Queen needs rest," Damon announced, his voice a deep rumble that silenced the room. "The battle for the soul of the mountain was taxing. We will continue the celebrations without her."
"I'll escort her to the sanctum," Nathaniel offered, his voice smooth and clinical, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something far more human.
"No," I said, standing up. The violet light of my aura flared slightly, a soft but firm assertion of my will. "I want Félix to take me."
The silence that followed was heavy with the scent of Alpha jealousy. Damon's pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely gold. Nathaniel's expression turned into a mask of ice. Even Vincent looked up, his dark brows furrowed. They were the Kings of the North, the most powerful wolves in existence, and they had just been dismissed in favor of the "rebel."
Félix didn't say a word. He just stood up and offered me his arm, a triumphant, wicked glint in his emerald eyes. "You heard the Queen, boys. Try not to break anything while we're gone."
As we walked away, I could feel their gazes boring into my back—Damon's fire, Nathaniel's frost, Vincent's shadows. They knew. They all knew that while I belonged to the mountain, my heart had already made its choice.
The corridors of the private wing were quiet, lit only by the faint, pulsing glow of the obsidian stones. When we finally reached my chambers, Félix shut the heavy door and leaned his back against it, letting out a long, shaky breath.
"That was bold, Emma," he murmured, his voice echoing in the large, fireplace-lit room. "Damon looks like he's about to tear the Great Hall apart."
"Let him," I said, walking toward him. The exhaustion was there, but the "hunger" my wolf had felt in the ravine was back, stronger than ever now that the threat was gone. "I'm tired of being the 'White Queen' for them, Lixie. I just want to be Emma for you."
I reached out, my fingers trembling as I touched the collar of his torn tunic. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin—the spicy, wild scent of pine and rain that had become my only anchor.
Félix's breath hitched. He grabbed my wrists, holding them against his chest. I could feel his heart hammering—a frantic, rhythmic beat that matched mine perfectly. "Emma... if I stay here tonight... it changes everything. The others... they'll know."
"They already know," I whispered, stepping into his space until our chests were touching. "They know you're the only one I want to laugh with. They know you're the only one who sees me."
I looked up at him, my eyes glowing with a violet light that was no longer a weapon, but a plea. "Mark me, Lixie. Seal the bond before the world tries to take me away again."
Félix let out a low, guttural growl, the sound vibrating through my entire body. He let go of my wrists and cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs stroking my cheeks with a reverence that made my soul ache.
"I've wanted this since the moment I saw you in the mud," he rasped, his eyes turning a deep, glowing emerald. "I've wanted to claim you so deeply that even the Moon would be jealous. But I didn't want to be another man taking something from you."
"You aren't taking anything," I said, my fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. "I'm giving it to you. All of it."
He didn't need to be told again. He leaned down and captured my lips in a kiss that was both a homecoming and a revolution. It was desperate, hungry, and filled with the raw, unfiltered love that only we shared. I tasted the salt of sweat, the metallic tang of old blood, and the sweetness of the berries we'd shared in the forest.
My inner wolf was howling in triumph, her spirit merging with mine as I pulled him toward the bed. We fell onto the furs, a tangle of limbs and frantic breaths. The silk of my nightgown was a thin barrier that he dispatched with a single, reverent tug.
When his skin finally met mine, the world outside the Black Crag ceased to exist.
He moved over me, his weight a heavy, comforting presence. He traced the lines of my body with his hands, his fingers lingering on every scar, every freckle, as if he were memorizing a sacred map.
"You're so beautiful, Emma," he whispered against my skin. "So beautiful it hurts."
He trailed his lips down my collarbone, stopping at the base of my neck where the silver sigil of the White Queen was pulsing with light. I arched my back, my hands clawing at the muscles of his shoulders, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Do it," I urged, my voice breaking. "Lixie, please."
He leaned down, his nose brushing against the mark. He took a deep, shaky breath of my scent, and I felt his teeth graze my skin.
The bite was not a moment of pain. It was a moment of absolute, blinding clarity.
As his fangs pierced my skin, a surge of golden light erupted from the point of contact. It wasn't the violet fire of the Queen; it was the pure, unyielding gold of a fated mate. I felt the final barrier between our souls shatter. I saw his memories—the lonely nights in the forest, the rebellion against the Council, the moment he first smelled my scent on the wind.
And he saw mine. He saw the rejection, the fear, and the slow, blooming hope that he had planted in my heart.
We were no longer two separate entities. We were a single, pulsing circuit of light and shadow. The "Mark of the Soul" was complete.
Félix pulled back, his mouth stained with a single drop of my silver blood. He looked at me, his face transformed by a peace I had never seen on him. He wasn't the "rebel" anymore. He was the Mate.
"Mine," he whispered, his voice a low, possessive rumble.
"Yours," I replied, pulling him back down to me.
We stayed like that for hours, wrapped in each other's arms as the fire in the hearth burned low. The hunger hadn't vanished—it had evolved into a deep, soul-satisfying warmth. I felt the other three kings in the distance—the low hum of their power—but the connection to Félix was a roar that drowned them out.
They would be my guardians. They would be my partners in the war to come. They would even be my lovers, for the North required a Queen who was whole. But only Félix would ever have the Mark. Only Félix would ever know the rhythm of my soul.
As the first light of dawn began to touch the peaks of the Black Crag, Félix shifted, pulling me closer into his side. He kissed my forehead, his fingers tracing the fresh, glowing mark on my neck.
"Go back to sleep, Little Bird," he murmured, his voice thick with contentment. "The world can wait for its Queen for a few more hours."
I closed my eyes, a small, genuine smile on my face. The war was far from over. The Council was regrouping, and the Northern Tribes were still a threat. But as I drifted off to sleep, cradled in the arms of the boy who had found me in the mud, I knew that I could face anything.
I was Emma Belle. I was the White Queen of the North.
And I was finally, truly, and completely loved.