47. Cillian
S ince birth, I have prepared diligently for my role as Namara’s sovereign king. My coronation day was meant to be the most important of my life. But while I’ve always taken great pride in my responsibilities, wearing the crown is no longer the greatest achievement in my story.
Nothing could ever top the accomplishment of winning Ivy’s heart—of bonding with her, and finally tying us together as a pack.
Her heat that followed, and the way she gave herself over to us in all manners, physical and spiritual—changed me. With Ivy in my heart, my packmates at my side, and the bond that unites us, I’ll be a more capable alpha and king.
Sharing this day with them is an honor beyond what I deserve.
“How does it feel to be king now?” Callan asks, no doubt in an attempt to irritate me.
Even on my coronation day, my youngest brother offers me no peace.
“I’ve been the king since Father died, you overgrown infant. Today is just a celebration of that.”
Cal laughs, slapping me hard on the back. Ciaran says nothing, however, and I can’t help but notice the anguish in his eyes.
My brother’s betrothed, Prince Lanier, arrived last night, bringing with him the end of Ciaran’s love affair with Prince Aspen.
I want to offer my advice, my comfort, but I don’t want to place hope in his heart in case Aspen doesn’t feel similarly. But, if he were to ever try for a pack of his own, I would support him wholeheartedly
“You’ve done well, Ciaran. Thank you for all your work in planning such a beautiful day,” I say in an attempt to lift his spirits.
My brother offers me a soft, sad smile. “Anything for you.”
Fuck’s sake. I can’t cry today, not when there’s so much to be glad for. But beyond my pack, my brothers are the most important people in my life. As much as we like to get under each other’s skin, I would do anything for them, and I know they would do the same for me.
“Come here, you.” I pull Ciaran into a tight hug, and whisper, “All will be well. Do what you must, and we’ll deal with whatever comes of it.”
Ciaran sniffles, tucking his face against my shoulder as he cries softly. It reminds me so much of when our mother passed. I held Ciaran for hours as he wept over the loss of her.
He’s the most sensitive among us—has the most loving heart—while Callan does well to show little emotion. He prefers to make light of his life, rather than address what’s brewing inside.
I hug Ciaran tighter, patting him on the back until Cal decides to join in and wrap his arms around the both of us.
What a picture we must make—Namara’s royal sons. The sovereign family brought together in the face of great change. I hope wherever my mother is, she’s proud of all we’ve accomplished, and all that’s still ahead.
Ivy’s love and adoration is warm as she pushes it down the bond, distracting me before her sweet scent hits my nose. “What a portrait of beauty the three of you make. I’m convinced you must be demigods meant to tempt the masses into debauchery.”
Cal cackles, breaking our embrace, and Ciaran’s cheeks turn pink.
“You know, your Majesty,” Callan says, preparing to be stupid, I’m sure. “I’m younger and better than my brother in all ways. Should you ever tire of?—”
Ciaran cracks him on the back of the head. “Even princes can be treasonous, you eejit.”
Ivy chuckles, stepping forward and lacing her delicate hand in mine. She is so beautiful today—as she always is—but with her three bond marks visible for all to see, she looks the very picture of divinity.
“My queen,” I say, leaning down to steal a long, slow kiss.
Ivy hums, her pleasure vibrating against my mouth and through the bond. I thought maybe after I claimed her, I would be less eager, less inclined to take her anywhere she would have me. But if anything, my hunger is renewed every time I lay eyes upon her.
Were it not for the responsibilities of our birth, I think I could live out all my years in Ivy’s nest—between her legs—surfacing only for sunlight and sustenance.
“Well, unless you’re ready to give Cal a show, I suggest we don’t further delay the celebration,” Ciaran says, flustered over the open display of intimacy.
When I pull back, I place a delicate kiss upon my mate’s nose and revel in her rosy blush. Every day I will think of her like this. My mate, my queen—love of my life. She’s the most precious thing in the world to me, and now all of Namara will get to fall in love with her as well.
“Ready, darling?”
She nods. “With you, I’m ready for anything.”
Thank fucking Fate for the gift of my omega.
* * *
The grand hall is filled with courtiers from Namara and dignitaries from across the western kingdoms. Most of my wife’s family are in attendance, ready to celebrate their sister and stand beside us as we do something new and shocking.
Upon the dais sit four thrones—not two—and already the murmurings of our foreign attendees have started.
Today is historic for more than one reason. For the first time in Namarian history, a king and queen will reign with equal power. Any children Ivy bears in the future—regardless of who sires them—will be heir to our throne.
She is sovereign now, a queen in all regards.
And even more unusual, our packmates will be crowned as her prince consorts. Sloan and Oran don’t care about this title—neither having ambitions to rule—but the symbolism is important.
I know it means a great deal to them to be tied to Ivy—to be at her side. Just as it’s important for Ivy that all her alphas should be treated with the honor and respect they deserve.
We’re creating a new Namara. And those who don’t like it, well, I’ve yet to hear of any complaints. Dissent may arise—but with allies like Fiona and Tiernan and the Bancroft royal family—there’s little that can be done to stop what we’ve set in motion.
As I walk down the aisle with my queen on my arm, and our packmates at our backs, I greet our court proudly and without reservation.
And when my crown is set upon my head, the burden does not feel so heavy—not when I have those I love to help me bear it.