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“No.” He’s not joking. “I’ve believed in you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”
Then why are you with someone else? my pride cries out. I silence it. Nathan is politically savvy; he could have had Amber as his queen if he wanted to, but he didn’t. He chose me. And maybe it’s just because of some weird link that’s out of our control but the end result is the same. I’m Nathan’s queen.
For just a second, I consider asking if he wants to see Amber. But I know Nathan. He’s probably already asked his damn secretary for her.
Nathan’s eyelids grow heavy and for a moment I’m afraid it might mean something dire, until he lets out a soft snore and startles himself awake.
I giggle. I can’t help it. “I never realize you snored, before?”
“Usually, I’m not stitched together like Frankenstein.” He casts a sly look my way. “And you’re usually exhausted by the time I’m asleep.”
I dip my head, face flaming. “Wow. Still horny, even with dental floss holding your intestines in.”
“I’m a fast healer. Stay limber.”
“Okay, you can barely stay awake to harass me, so I’m going to go.” I move to stand, and he summons the strength to reach for my hand.
“Just stay a moment longer,” he whispers sleepily.
I sit back down. “Sure. What should I…”
“Just be here.” He drifts off, and the snoring starts again.
CHAPTER 40
Though werewolves heal fast, Nathan’s wounds are so severe that even aided by thrall magic, he’s still confined to his bed two weeks later. I get updates on his condition multiple times a day, from an entire team of thrall doctors and physical therapists.
With every positive health milestone he achieves, the more I allow myself to be angry with him. He had to know that by announcing us king and queen of both Toronto and Greater London he would create an uproar. I had to scramble to organize an emergency council meeting, to force them all to swear fealty again.
At least, those council members who aren’t currently in our dungeons.
Not that I could trust any of them, even when they trembled on their knees in front of me. People are scared of me, so my video address at least did something. But there’s no way people just happened to come to the coronation armed, no way they just happened to have those weapons concealed well enough that security didn’t detect them.
The riot was planned, and my every waking thought that isn’t about how I can’t wait for Nathan to be fully recovered so I can kill him with my bare hands for his little stunt is spent consumed with uncovering the traitors.
At first, information is slow to trickle in. No one wants to turn in another member of the pack to aid a queen and king they already hate. But security tapes and anonymous tips have gotten us far. After the full moon ceremony, which Nathan can’t attend and which my guards advise I shouldn’t go to out of concern for my safety, tongues are looser.
“The moon often brings moments of clarity,” Clare explains to me one morning in my office. “A lot of people probably just realized how deep the shit they’re in really can be.”
I’m listening, but I’m also staring out the window. The ballistic shutters have been opened once more. It’s so nice to see sunlight streaming in again. Hannah picked out a large, rectangular room that was apparently once a more intimate ballroom in the residence. The high ceilings and tall windows make the space airy and cheerful, as does the pale shade of cherry blossom pink on the walls. I have a desk just as big as Nathan’s, with just as many people running around and doing things for me as he ever did.
But I long for the outdoors like I never have before. The trees are still bare, but with the increased sunshine there’s a promise of spring.
I hope Nathan will be able to transform in April. It would be nice to run when everything is starting to feel new and—
No. Fuck Nathan. I might never speak to him again. I’m exhausted all the time, bouncing between the crisis in Toronto and the running of the pack in London. The time difference makes me cranky and irritable and I wouldn’t even remember to eat half the time, if not for Tara reminding me.
“You might consider amnesty for those who can offer helpful information,” Hannah suggests, again, pulling my attention from the window.
“Why would I do that?” I’m tired of her constantly pushing amnesty. “I thought I made it clear that I’m not interested in bargaining with these traitors. I want them gone.”
“I know,” she says patiently. “I just assumed—”
“I’m starting to wonder why you’re so hot on the idea that you keep bringing it up when I’ve already said I’m not interested in being merciful to these people,” I snap. “Is there some reason you’d need immunity from judgement?”
