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"Good morning, my Queen."

I would never grow tired of hearing that. Hadrian’s voice made it sound utterly seductive. His piercing gaze devoured me, his eyes alight with a hunger that sent heat rushing to my cheeks. We were both bare beneath the sheets, though I couldn’t recall when I had lost my silk nightgown. His arms encased me, holding me possessively, our legs entwined as if neither of us could bear even an inch of distance. The air between us was thick with the remnants of our passion, so charged that a single spark might ignite us once more.

As my gaze trailed down from his eyes to the smirk curving his lips, a rush of warmth spread through me. Before I could react, his hands gripped my hips, lifting me just enough to feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against me. A gasp slipped from my lips.

"I see you’re all healed," I murmured, my voice unsteady.

"Almost…" he drawled, that sinful smirk deepening. "Now, I need a different kind of therapy."

Before I could offer a response, his lips claimed mine, silencing any protest with a kiss so deep, so possessive, that my thoughts unraveled. He pinned my wrists beside my head, his tongue sweeping over mine in slow, teasing strokes that made my pulse stutter. As I surrendered to the heat of his touch, his hands traced down my sides, skimming over my waist before settling on my hips. My breath hitched when his mouth left mine, only to descend lower, trailing kisses down my throat before finding my breasts.

He played me like an instrument, attuned to every quiver, every sigh that escaped me. My moans only seemed to fuel him, his own groans vibrating against my skin. When his fingers slipped between my thighs, teasing, tormenting, my back arched in response, an audible gasp breaking free. He knew every sensitive spot, every place that would leave me trembling beneath him.

And when he finally thrust into me, claiming me with a fierce, unrelenting passion, I cried out his name, my nails sinking into the hard muscles of his back. He growled at the sensation, his movements growing faster, deeper, until I shattered around him with a scream. The pleasure wracked through me in waves, and as he felt me tighten around him, he drove deeper, drawing out another release—until we were both lost, consumed by the fire between us.

We remained tangled together, breathless and sated, unwilling to move just yet. We knew we should inform the court that the King had awoken, but selfishly, we held onto the stolen moments of peace for as long as we could.

That peace, however, was short-lived.

A sharp knock sounded at the door.

"Thalassa? Are you there?" Caspian’s hushed voice carried through the heavy wood. "Is the King awake?"

I sighed, reluctantly searching the room for my discarded nightgown. Hadrian followed my gaze, quickly understanding what I was looking for. His low chuckle drew my attention, and when I turned to him, he pointed toward the shredded remains of black silk strewn across the floor.

I narrowed my eyes at him. He grinned, raising his hands in mock surrender, feigning innocence.

"How exactly am I supposed to open the door now?" I hissed in frustration.

"Stay where you are, my Queen," he murmured, smirking.

Before I could protest, he was already out of bed, his body gloriously bare as he strode to the door. I considered stopping him—but then decided against it. The view was far too tempting.

He jerked the door open, standing tall, broad, and completely unapologetic as he blocked Caspian’s view of me.

"I’m awake. Healed completely," he stated, his voice a commanding rumble. "My Queen is resting."

Caspian swallowed hard, his face turning an amusing shade of red. "I suppose my medical examination is unnecessary, then?" he asked, laughing nervously.

Hadrian arched a brow. "My Queen healed me."

"I see that," Caspian muttered. "I only came to remind you both—you’re expected in the throne hall in an hour."

With that, he practically fled, as if Hadrian’s temper might have been restored right along with his strength. Hadrian shut the door and turned back toward me, his gaze dark with intent.

I raised a brow as he peeled back the sheets, exposing me once more.

"An hour is plenty of time, my Queen," he murmured, capturing my lips in another searing kiss.

—

If not for my supernatural regeneration, I was certain someone would have had to carry me to the throne hall. Even with my abilities, my legs felt unsteady. My King, however, strode beside me with an unmistakable smirk, looking far too pleased with himself. I began to suspect I had given him too much of my blood—his stamina seemed even greater than before.

He had chosen my attire for the day—a regal, deep-purple gown that hugged my figure, its plunging neckline and fitted waist emphasizing every curve before flaring into a flowing trumpet skirt. His own ensemble complemented mine perfectly—a matching dark shirt beneath a flawlessly tailored black suit.

As we stepped into the hall, the nobles leaped to their feet. A murmur of shock rippled through the room, chaos breaking out in hushed whispers. Rumors of Hadrian’s death had been circulating for days, and his sudden reappearance—alive, powerful, and very much in control—had clearly caught them off guard.

I took in their expressions, noting the mix of surprise, irritation, and barely concealed frustration. Most of those present had opposed my rule as Queen Regent, constantly challenging my decisions despite the undeniable success of my governance during Hadrian’s absence. I had no doubt they had been preparing to question me further today, eager to undermine my authority.

Hadrian remained composed, his expression unreadable save for the faintest hint of a smirk curving his lips. Those who did not know him well might mistake it for amusement. I knew better. His mood was exceptionally good this morning—and when my King was in a good mood, he was at his most dangerous.

"You must enjoy spending time in this hall," he mused, his voice deceptively light. "My Queen tells me you've made a habit of it lately."

The veiled threat sent a shiver through the room.

Eryx Ashcroft, the most insufferable of them all, stood and bowed, his thin smile barely concealing his disdain. "We have merely expressed our concern, my King," he said smoothly.

I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes. He had done nothing but challenge me at every turn, questioning my every decision—not out of genuine concern, but because it was I who had made them. If diplomacy had not been my priority, I would have knocked him flat the moment he opened his mouth.

Hadrian’s grip on my hand tightened.

And just like that, the game began.

A quiet menace flickered in Hadrian’s otherwise composed gaze as he regarded Ashcroft. "I’ve heard troubling whispers, Lord Protector. It seems you took it upon yourself to challenge the authority of the regent I personally appointed to rule in my absence."

Eryx swallowed hard, but the flicker of anger in his eyes betrayed his defiance. "I merely sought to offer guidance to your inexperienced… fiancée." The deliberate way he emphasized the last word left no doubt—his contempt for me was evident.

Hadrian chuckled—a low, cold sound that sent a shiver through the hall. But the laughter was brief, abruptly replaced by an unsettling stillness.

"Tell me, Ashcroft… how is your arm?"

The Lord Protector stiffened. His hand twitched involuntarily before settling over the sleeve of his finely tailored jacket, where his prosthetic limb was hidden beneath layers of fabric. A second later, he adjusted the glove that concealed his artificial fingers, his jaw clenching.

Hadrian tilted his head slightly, his smirk razor-sharp. "I wonder… what would you prefer to lose this time? Your other arm? Your tongue?" He let the pause stretch, the weight of his words suffocating the air. "Or perhaps… your head?"

A ripple of unease coursed through the nobles. Even those who had once shared Ashcroft’s disdain now sat rigid, unwilling to be associated with his growing folly.

Gareth, ever perceptive, gestured subtly to the guards stationed around the room. They straightened at once, ready to move at a moment’s notice. Ashcroft’s gaze darted around, searching for support among his peers, but none were foolish enough to intervene. He was alone in the storm he had summoned.

Grinding his teeth, he exhaled sharply. "I meant no disrespect," he bit out. "But we are unaccustomed to taking orders from a commoner with no title."

Hadrian’s expression darkened. "Then I suggest you kneel… and beg for forgiveness. Now." His voice, steady and ominous, sent a shiver through the chamber.

I turned to Hadrian, my thoughts racing. I had no doubt he loved me—he would tear the world apart to defend my honor—but could he truly refute Ashcroft’s words? He wasn’t wrong. By birth, I held no noble blood, no claim to status.

Hadrian met my gaze and gave me a small, reassuring smile before glancing at Gareth. Understanding passed between them. Without hesitation, the General strode forward, unsheathing his claws as he approached Ashcroft. He pressed the gleaming tips against the Lord Protector’s throat, a silent promise of what would happen if he defied the King’s command.

"Kneel," Gareth growled.

Ashcroft’s nostrils flared. "Why should I kneel before her?" His finger jabbed in my direction, the insult blatant.

Gareth didn’t flinch. Instead, his claws pressed harder, drawing a thin line of blood. "You’re an old vampire, Ashcroft. Surely, you haven’t forgotten our laws?" His lips curled into a smirk.

Ashcroft scoffed, but his shoulders tensed. "Of course not."

"Then you should remember this—our Queen-to-be, Thalassa Drayton, was challenged by a noble princess. And she won." Gareth’s voice rose, filling the hall. "She is the first commoner to ever defeat a noble in combat. By law, she inherits the title of her fallen opponent." His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he delivered the final blow. "Which means Princess Thalassa outranks you, Lord Protector."

A murmur of shock rippled through the chamber.

My breath caught. "I’m… a princess," I whispered.

I had known of this law, of course, but I had never truly considered what it meant. Killing Selene had been an act of survival, a means to rid myself of a formidable threat. I hadn’t thought about the consequences beyond that. Yet here I was, standing above the very nobles who had once scorned me.

The realization struck not only me. The entire hall erupted into chaos—whispers, gasps, a growing tide of shock and reluctant admiration. These nobles had spent weeks undermining me, questioning my strength and authority. But now, the evidence was undeniable. Selene’s death was not just a victory; it was proof of my power.

Amidst the commotion, Hadrian turned to me. His hand reached out, his fingertips tracing a soft path down my cheek. His touch was gentle, affectionate—a stark contrast to the ruthless display of dominance moments before.

I wanted to weep with relief, with joy, but I held my composure. I straightened in my seat, no longer just a woman fighting to prove her worth—I was royalty.

Gareth’s claws remained poised at Ashcroft’s throat, awaiting his surrender.

Eryx’s jaw clenched as his gaze flickered between me and Hadrian. His pride warred with his survival instincts, but he was no fool. With a slow, measured movement, he reached up, pushing Gareth’s hand away from his neck. Then, with a visible exhale of resignation, he dropped to one knee.

His voice was tight, forced. "I offer my apologies, Princess Thalassa." A pause. A bitter swallow. "I trust that my future Queen will grant me her mercy."

I rose to my feet, meeting his gaze head-on. "I accept your apology, Lord Protector Ashcroft." My voice rang through the hall, steady and unwavering. "But I advise you not to test my patience again." I let the warning settle, my lips curving into a smirk. "Next time, you’ll learn just how powerful I truly am."

The silence stretched for a beat, then another.

And then…

Cheers erupted. The nobles—those who had once doubted me—chanted my name, their voices a thunderous declaration of their reluctant yet undeniable acceptance.

Hadrian turned to the crowd, his grip still firm on my hand. "All those in favor of Thalassa Drayton ascending as Queen—raise your hands."

I held my breath.

One by one, hands lifted into the air. Dozens. Then hundreds. Even Ashcroft, with a visible scowl, raised his non-prosthetic hand.

Hadrian’s gaze swept the room. "All those opposed?"

Silence.

No one dared to speak.

The reality of it struck me all at once. It was real. This was real.

A warm palm cupped my face, tilting it upward just in time for Hadrian’s lips to brush over mine in a tender, lingering kiss.

"We won, my Queen," he whispered against my lips. "It’s time to put your crown where it belongs."