They dressed in silence.
Not because there was tension.
Because there was too much heat left behind.
Every time Kael looked at her, his jaw clenched like he was one second away from dragging her back to the floor and doing it all over again. His shirt hung open. The bite mark on his shoulder still glowed faintly, raw and red. Claimed.
Vireya's skin still tingled from the bond still slick with his scent, her legs unsteady, her throat marked.
She wasn't just dressed in power now.
She was power.
Iska was waiting when they opened the door.
Her eyes swept over them once—Kael with the glow of a man barely holding back his wolf, Vireya with flushed cheeks, sharp posture, and that faint fucking smirk of a woman who just broke the world open with her thighs.
Iska didn't blink.
"Did the kingdom feel that, or am I just imagining the magical orgasm explosion you two just unleashed?"
Kael growled. Vireya laughed.
"You're not imagining it," she said, adjusting her collar.
Iska's grin sharpened. "Good. Because the High Council's already sending messengers. Half the kingdom is calling it a holy omen. The other half is terrified you're going to breed a bloodline that topples the entire chain of rule."
"Are they wrong?" Vireya asked.
Kael looked at her. "No."
Iska's face shifted. Serious now. "Then you'd better come see this."
The throne room wasn't empty.
Not anymore.
Word had spread like wildfire.
Wolves lined the walls, high-ranking warriors, nobles, emissaries from neighboring packs. All of them had come for a glimpse.
And they weren't just staring at the King.
They were staring at her.
Vireya stood at Kael's side, her chin high, her presence undeniable.
Every pair of eyes that landed on her flicked to the mark on his neck.
And then to the one on hers.
And then to the faint hum of magic that still danced between them like lightning crackling in silence.
The silence broke when one elder finally stepped forward.
"I saw her in my dreams," he rasped. "Years ago. A red wolf with emerald eyes. Fire at her heels."
Another elder fell to one knee.
"Flameborn," he whispered.
One by one, wolves knelt.
Not to Kael.
To her.
Kael didn't speak.
He didn't have to.
Because the kingdom was seeing what he'd always known:
Vireya wasn't just a mate.
She was the storm behind the throne.
The wolf beneath the flame.
The queen this kingdom didn't deserve, but was about to get anyway.
_________________________________________________________
The throne room was still vibrating with power.
Not from Kael.
From her.
Vireya stood tall beside the black stone throne, her chin high, her gaze unflinching. The mark on her neck still pulsed faintly. Her hair glowed under the torchlight, the color of war-drenched fire. Her presence had become a force of nature.
The wolves at court had no choice but to see her now.
And yet...
Not everyone bowed.
A man near the back of the room—older, lean, draped in neutral robes—kept his eyes locked on Vireya, his mouth unmoving. His posture wasn't defiant. It was calculating.
Measuring.
Kael saw it too.
He didn't say a word. But Drekken stirred behind his eyes.
Noted.
That night, the whispers started.
Servants moved faster in the halls. Guards stood tighter in formation. But no one spoke above a hush.
"The flameborn walks."
"The curse is broken."
"Or reborn."
And in the deepest chambers of the old wing, beneath the castle, beneath the records even Kael and Iska didn't touch a shadow slipped through the cracks in the seal of an iron door.
A figure waited inside.
Cloaked. Covered in ash and bone.
Eyes glowing faint blue.
He watched the candle gutter in the room's center.
And smiled.
"She's awake."
Kael's study was lit only by firelight and tension.
Vireya sat in one of the oversized chairs, legs curled under her, the black diamond necklace still hanging above her heart. She hadn't said much since the audience that morning.
Neither had Kael.
But they were both listening.
To the castle. To the silence.
To the unease shifting beneath it all.
"I felt something today," Vireya said finally.
Kael looked up.
She didn't meet his gaze. "When they knelt. When they looked at me like that. It wasn't just respect."
He stood slowly, crossing to her.
"It was fear," she whispered.
"You think they should fear you?" he asked.
She finally looked at him.
"No," she said softly. "But I think they will. And I don't know if that's a warning... or a promise."
Downstairs, in the hall near the kitchens, a servant slipped a folded message beneath a hidden door. The seal was waxed in black.
The message was short.
The Flameborn lives. She walks beside him. The old power stirs. We are not safe.
The message disappeared.
Burned instantly.
And somewhere in the forest beyond the castle gates, a dozen red-cloaked figures began to move.