32. Lynn #2
“A year ago,” I start, and my voice only shakes a little, “I was a scholarship student with a hamster and a dream of finishing my thesis. I had no idea that lycans existed. I had no idea that fate was real. I definitely had no idea that some random professor was going to walk into my life and ruin all my carefully laid plans.”
A ripple of laughter from the crowd.
“You were supposed to be annoying,” I continue. “Arrogant. Another entitled alpha who thought he could boss me around. And you were, a little. That first day, when you cornered me in the library and demanded answers I didn’t have - I wanted to hit you with my textbook.”
“She did hit me with her textbook,” Milo tells the crowd. “Twice.”
“You deserved it.”
“I absolutely did.”
I squeeze his hands tighter.
“But then you kept showing up. Kept being there. Kept looking at me like I was something precious instead of something inconvenient. And somewhere along the way, between the death threats and the political intrigue and the truly absurd number of times I almost died-”
“We need to work on that,” he interjects.
“ - I fell in love with you.” My voice breaks on the word. “Completely. Desperately. The kind of love I thought only existed in books.”
The moonlight seems to pulse.
“So here’s my vow, Miles Draven, king of Ashevale: I promise to stand beside you, even when you’re being impossibly overprotective.
I promise to make you watch terrible reality TV and explain every single meme.
I promise to love you loudly and obviously and without any of the dignity a queen is supposed to have.
” I blink back tears. “And I promise to spend the rest of my life - however long that ends up being - reminding you that you deserve to be happy. That you’re allowed to be soft.
That the beast and the man are the same, and I love them both. ”
Milo’s eyes are definitely wet now.
“Allergies,” he insists.
“Sure.”
Moira turns to him. “Miles, do you speak your vows?”
He takes a breath.
“I became king too young,” he says. “Young enough that I’d stopped letting myself hope for a fated mate. I’d convinced myself that duty was enough - that leading the pack, honoring my father’s memory, protecting our people was all the purpose I needed.”
His grip on my hands tightens.
“Then a tiny, terrifying woman walked into my lecture hall and told me I was wrong about transformation mythology.”
“You were wrong.”
“I was slightly imprecise.” A ripple of laughter runs through the guests.
“You were wrong and you know it.”
He laughs, a real laugh, bright and surprised, and the crowd laughs with him.
“You challenged me,” he continues. “Every assumption, every certainty, every careful wall I’d built. You didn’t care that I was a king. You didn’t care that I was dangerous. You just… saw me. The real me. And you stayed anyway.”
His voice drops, rough with emotion.
“I vow to protect you, Lynn Crowe. Not because you need protecting - you’re perfectly capable of fighting your own battles, as the rogue pack learned the hard way - but because keeping you safe is the only thing that matters to me now.
I vow to learn every pop culture reference, watch every terrible show, and never again ask who Britney Spears is. ”
The crowd laughs. Somewhere in the back, I hear Isla yell “HE KNOWS NOW!”
“I vow to love you without condition. To stand beside you when the world is hard and celebrate with you when it’s bright.
To remind you every single day that you’re not an accident, not a burden, not something the universe got wrong.
” His eyes are gold now, wolf shining through.
“You are my mate. My queen. My home. And I’ll spend eternity proving that you were right to choose me. ”
I’m crying.
I told myself I wouldn’t, and I’m absolutely crying.
Moira smiles, warm and ancient.
“Then by the blessing of the moon, the witness of the pack, and the authority granted to me by six hundred years of dealing with dramatic wolves, I pronounce you bonded. Mates. Married.” She pauses. “You may kiss your queen.”
Milo’s hands frame my face.
“Finally,” he breathes.
And then he kisses me.
It isn’t polite or restrained. It’s a kiss that makes the pack howl their approval and the flower girls giggle and the vampire at table four raise his glass again in silent appreciation.
When we finally break apart, the moonlight flares one last time, the goddess’s version of applause, and then fades back to normal.
“Show off,” I say again, to the sky.
The stars seem to wink.
The reception is chaos in the best possible way.
The great hall has been transformed, tables laden with food, a dance floor in the center, a band playing music that somehow manages to please wolves, dragons, bears, and one undead aristocrat simultaneously.
The dragon shifters have already shed their outer layers, their formal wear apparently designed for beings who don’t run several degrees hotter than everyone else.
The bear delegation brought their own honey wine, which is now being passed around and making people significantly louder.
And in the corner, three kings have gathered.
Milo, Orion, and Finn stand in a loose triangle, drinks in hand, having what appears to be the world’s most serious conversation about…
something. I can’t hear them from here, but their expressions suggest topics like territorial treaties, economic alliances, or possibly the merits of different protein supplements.
“They’re talking about baby-proofing,” Barbie says, appearing at my elbow. “Finn keeps insisting that the only safe household is one where nothing is at child-grabbing height, which in our house is approximately six feet.”
“How tall are your daughters going to get?”
“Unknown. It’s terrifying.” She grins. “But also kind of exciting.”
Fable materializes on my other side, a plate of cake in one hand and a book tucked under her arm.
“I found the first edition,” she announces. “Isla said I could borrow it. Is that allowed? I feel like borrowing books from a wedding might be some kind of faux pas.”
“You’re married to a king,” I point out. “You can do whatever you want.”
“That’s… actually very liberating to remember.”
We stand together, watching our mates in their corner, and warmth settles in my chest.
These women have become my friends in the space of an evening.
Fable is already planning a book exchange, Barbie has invited me to Ravenmere to meet the infamous obstacle courses, and we’ve traded numbers for a group chat that will almost certainly become the most chaotic thread in supernatural history.
“Is this what it’s like?” I ask. “Being part of this world?”
Barbie considers. “Sometimes it’s politics and danger and very stressful supernatural incidents. But mostly?” She smiles. “Mostly it’s this. Finding your people. Building something that matters. Loving someone so much it changes the shape of your entire life.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“I know. I’m very wise.”
The music shifts.
The opening notes of a song I know by heart fill the room, synthesized beats and a melody that dominated pop radio twenty years ago.
I turn to find Milo walking toward me, his hand extended.
“Dance with me?”
“To Britney?”
“To Britney.”
The crowd parts as he leads me to the center of the floor. I can feel three hundred pairs of eyes on us, can hear whispers about protocol and tradition and what is the king doing-
And then Milo starts singing.
Quietly, imperfectly, but singing under his breath, every word to “Crazy,”
“You drive me crazy,” he murmurs against my ear, “I just can’t sleep.”
“You learned the words.”
“I learned all her words. Every album. I have opinions about the Blackout era now.”
“I love you so much.”
“I know.” He spins me, and I laugh, and the pack starts howling again because apparently joy is contagious. “I love you too. Obviously. Desperately. In a way that made me learn the complete discography of a pop star I’d never heard of.”
“That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“More romantic than the vows?”
“The vows were standard. This is effort.”
He laughs, pulling me closer, and we dance.
It’s nothing like the formal waltz Genevieve probably expected, nothing like the dignified first dance of a royal couple. Just us. Moving together. Being ridiculous in front of everyone who matters.
Orion pulls Fable onto the floor, she’s still holding the book, and they sway together in their own little world. Finn sweeps Barbie into something that might be a waltz and might be a controlled fall, while their daughters perform what appears to be a choreographed routine nearby.
The dragon shifters have formed a conga line.
The bear delegation has started a drinking song.
And the vampire at table four is watching all of it with an expression that might be amusement and might be ancient, weary fondness for the ridiculous creatures who share his world.
I catch movement near the head table.