The Royal Heirs #47: Emma

The Royal Heirs #47: Emma
The afternoon light slanted through my office windows, painting golden rectangles across the scattered papers Theo and I had been reviewing for hours. My back ached from sitting too long, the twins shifting restlessly within me as if sharing my impatience. We'd fallen into an uneasy rhythm since our reconciliation this morning—careful with each other, the wounds still fresh but bandaged with tentative forgiveness. I caught Theo watching me when he thought I wasn't looking, his amber eyes shadowed with lingering guilt, and I wondered how long it would take for trust to fully bloom between us again, like a frost-bitten plant slowly recovering in spring warmth.
The phone's sharp ring cut through our shared silence. I reached for it, my fingers brushing against Theo's as he moved to do the same. That small touch sent a current through me—familiar yet somehow different, as if we were relearning each other after the breach between us.
"Queen Emeline," I answered, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
Chief Simpson's voice came through clear and urgent. "Your Majesty, are you with the king?"
"Yes," I replied, my pulse quickening at his tone. "We're just going through paperwork in my office."
"I'll be there in ten minutes. We have an update." The line went dead before I could ask for details.
I set the phone down slowly, meeting Theo's questioning gaze. "Simpson's coming. He says there's an update."
"About Elijah and Elena?" Theo asked, immediately abandoning the budget proposal he'd been reviewing.
"He didn't say." My hand drifted to my belly, where one of the twins was stretching, a foot or elbow pressing against my palm through layers of skin and muscle. "But what else could it be?"
The minutes crawled by, each second ticking with excruciating slowness. I couldn't focus on the papers before me, my mind conjuring images of my brother and sister-in-law in Benjamin's clutches. Artemis paced restlessly within me, her golden presence agitated by the thought of pack in danger.
Pack in danger, she insisted. Brother needs us.
"I know," I whispered, earning a concerned glance from Theo.
"Emma?" He reached across the desk, his hand hovering over mine, asking permission to touch. I turned my palm upward, accepting the connection, needing his warmth despite the lingering hurt between us.
"I'm scared of what Simpson might tell us," I admitted. "What if they're—"
A sharp knock interrupted me, the door opening to reveal Chief Simpson, his uniform immaculate but his chest heaving slightly. He'd run here.
"Your Majesties," he said, giving a perfunctory bow before dropping into the chair opposite us. "We have eyes on Alpha Maxwell and his mate."
The world tilted beneath me, relief and terror colliding in my chest. "They're alive? You've seen them?"
Simpson nodded, his weathered face grave but determined. "Alive, though their condition is unclear from our surveillance position. We're moving people into position to raid the Blackwood Forest property right now. We expect to be ready to move in approximately two hours."
"And the other Coalition properties?" Theo asked, his fingers tightening around mine.
"We haven't moved on them yet," Simpson replied. "We don't want to tip our hand. All raids will be executed simultaneously—Blackwood at the same time as the other Pure Blood Coalition holdings we've identified."
I closed my eyes briefly, imagining Elijah and Elena waiting for rescue, unaware help was coming. Had they been there since those strange text messages began? Weeks of captivity while I'd been blissfully ignorant, preoccupied with my own dramas?
The twins kicked in unison, as if reminding me of what mattered now—not guilt over the past but action in the present.
"So if we leave now," I said, opening my eyes and looking directly at Simpson, "we could be there immediately for the raid, or at least it’s aftermath?" My hand pressed against my abdomen, where tiny feet pushed against my palm in a rhythm that felt like encouragement.
Simpson's eyes flicked to my belly, then back to my face. "Yes, my Queen. We could arrange that."
I turned to Theo, raising my eyebrows in silent question. This wasn't just my decision anymore—not after our morning's reconciliation, not after promising to face challenges together. His face revealed conflicting emotions—protective concern warring with respect for my agency.
"We'll go," he said finally, his amber eyes holding mine. "But..." He hesitated, and I braced myself for another battle.
"We'll stay in an armoured car," I offered before he could continue. "With a full escort."
His features softened with surprise and something like gratitude. "Done, my Queen."
The title carried more weight than usual—not just formal acknowledgment of my position but recognition of my authority, my right to make decisions about my own safety. It felt like the first step on a long road back to the partnership we'd once had.
"I'll have the convoy ready in twenty minutes," Simpson said, rising from his chair. "We should arrive just as the raid concludes, assuming no complications."
"We'll meet you downstairs," Theo replied, already on his feet.
I stood more slowly, my changed center of gravity making quick movements challenging. The twins seemed to roll inside me, pressing against my ribs before settling lower, the sensation both strange and comforting. They were with me, these daughters who had survived assassination attempts and their parents' mistakes alike. They were resilient, like their mother.
"I need to change," I said, glancing down at my silk blouse and stretchy pants—comfortable for office work but impractical for whatever might await us. "Something warmer. It will be evening by the time we arrive."
Theo nodded, following me through the connecting door to our chambers—my first time back in our shared space since our fight. The familiar scents enveloped me—Theo's sandalwood cologne, the subtle floral of my favorite lotion, the earthy undertones we both carried as wolves. It smelled like home, like safety, despite everything.
I dressed quickly in sturdy leggings, a loose sweater, and flat boots—practical clothes that would accommodate my pregnant form while allowing movement if needed. Theo changed as well, his movements efficiently precise as he donned darker, more tactical attire.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked as I braided my hair back from my face. "We could wait here, let Simpson handle the extraction."
"They're my family," I said simply. "I need to be there."
He didn't argue further, just offered his hand to help me down the grand staircase. The gesture was practical—my balance wasn't what it used to be with the twins changing my body daily—but it felt symbolic too. Support without control, assistance without dominance.
Simpson awaited us at the palace entrance, the convoy assembled in a neat line before the steps—six identical black SUVs with reinforced frames and bulletproof glass. Guards stood at attention, their posture alert but not alarmed, professionals preparing for a routine operation rather than soldiers heading to battle.
I recognised Victor Castellanos and Nathaniel "Nate" Stonewood among the security team—both assigned to my protection detail since my attack, both Lycans from old families. They moved with the practiced efficiency of veterans, checking weapons and communications with methodical precision.
"Your Majesties," Victor greeted us with a formal bow. "Your vehicle is ready. We've placed you in the middle of the convoy for maximum protection."
"Thank you, Captain," I replied, allowing him to guide me toward the armoured SUV. Its weight was evident in how it sat lower on its suspension, the windows darker and thicker than standard glass.
Nathaniel opened the rear door, standing at rigid attention as I climbed in, followed by Theo. The interior was luxurious despite its tactical purpose—plush leather seats, climate controls, even a small refrigerator stocked with water and protein bars. The bulletproof divider between us and the front seats was currently open, allowing communication with our drivers.
Victor slid behind the wheel, Nathaniel taking the passenger seat. The doors locked with a heavy thud that spoke of reinforced materials and multiple security systems.
"Ready, Your Majesties?" Victor asked, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.
"Yes," I said, my hand finding Theo's between us on the seat. "Let's bring my family home."
The convoy rolled forward, the palace gates opening to admit us to the world beyond—a world where my brother waited, where danger lurked, where our fragile new understanding would face its first real test.