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“You look so handsome,” Azzurra cooed, eyes bright as she fawned over the toddler in his little suit a miniature gentleman, all neat lapels and earnest grin.

“Thwank you, Zuzu. You lwook beauwtuful too,” Cesario replied in his sing-song, delighted by her hair and the light touch of makeup. Azzurra rarely dressed up like this, but whenever she did, Cesario melted into compliments, and she loved him for it.

“Well, thank you, handsome,” she winked. Cesario tried to copy the gesture, but ended up blinking both eyes at once, and she laughed at the adorable attempt.

They waited in a guest room near the main hall; Marcello and Azzurra were to make their entrance together. Rumor had it they would address the kingdom after the last attack, the castle had offered little more than silence and the vague assurance that the king and queen were alive.

“He’s late,” Benedetto murmured nearby. Azzurra only shrugged, feigning ignorance while keeping her pulse steady. She felt the echo of their make-out earlier: Marcello had confessed he was painfully hard and insisted he needed to calm himself; there was no time for more then, not with duty calling.

A moment later Marcello arrived, impeccable in a black tux that matched Cesario’s nearly exactly. A red neckerchief at his throat mirrored the red sash on Cesario’s small collar a coordinated trio. Marcello kissed Azzurra’s cheek without missing a beat and scooped Cesario into his arms, a public display of affection that made the staff stare. He rested a hand at the small of her back and led her toward the great doors.

“Relax,” he breathed at her ear, pressing a quick kiss just as the massive doors swung open.

The hall fell silent as the sea of faces parted. They walked to the throne together; she felt countless eyes on her, watched not only for the king and queen but for the child between them. When Marcello set Cesario down, Azzurra noticed a little throne beside hers a seat for the boy and the gasping surprise that fluttered through the room.

They turned to face their people. Azzurra tried to step back with Rio so Marcello could speak, but he pulled her to his side, his palm warm and protective on her shoulder as all eyes fixed on them.

“Good evening,” Marcello began, his voice carrying easily to every corner. He spoke of the recent attack then set down a new, heavier decree.

“Whoever tries to harm my wife will end up like them.” The threat was measured, but the weight under it made the air in the hall chill.

Azzurra’s gaze swept over the crowd: Alarico, Benedetto, Leone; Silvano and Mattia; and then King Zephriel of the Red Stone kingdom the man Benedetto had told her about, the ally who’d helped Marcello defeat King Isidoro. Werewolves and humans stood mingled in the hall. The humans watched in stunned awe; some were openly moved to tears. The werewolves’ expressions were more complex a few neutral, others tinged with hostile intent barely masked.

Marcello’s next words dropped like thunder. “From now on, humans and werewolves will have equal rights.”

Gasps erupted. The declaration rolled through the crowd, disbelief morphing into hope for some and outrage for others. “No human will be slaughtered simply for reaching the age of thirty. New homes will be provided for the homeless, employment will be granted. Rights and justice will be equal for all.” His tone brooked no argument; his aura filled the hall with authority. Few dared to oppose him.

Humans wept and embraced one another. Voices rose in a chorus: “Long live King Marcello!” he raised a hand to still them, then spoke with quieter, fiercer pride.

“I found my mate on the red moon.” His declaration stopped every breath. Silence pressed down; humans wilted as if the news cut them, while some werewolves’ faces lit with a triumph that made the air taste dangerous perhaps they had expected a mate of their kind, and now old resentments surfaced.

“Her name is Azzurra. She is my wife. Your queen.” His voice rang out and somehow made the words law. He tilted her chin with careful fingers and kissed her lips before continuing.

“She is not a chosen mate. Azzurra is my fated mate the Moon Goddess chose her for me.” He spoke with proud certainty.

Seeing malignant looks flash in the crowd, his expression hardened. “I have marked my beautiful wife.” He spoke calm, but his meaning left no doubt.

“Even if she were not fate, I would have marked her because I love her.” The declaration came like a challenge, and the few eyes that had harbored hatred only grew darker. The humans, in contrast, shone with relief and joy, some wiping away tears.

“Whoever dares hurt her will die. That is my promise.” The menace in his words sent a collective chill through the hall.

Then Marcello extended a hand. Cesario, shy but brave, placed his tiny hand on the king’s large one.

“This is Cesario. From today, he is my adopted son.” The announcement landed like another blow of wonder. Azzurra stared, stunned by the cascade of pronouncements: equality, mate, mark, adoption each revelation deeper than the last. Her heart beat so fast she felt dizzy; the shock felt a little like a heart attack waiting to happen.