Chapter 102 Anxiety - Amelia’s POV
The morning light streamed through the tall windows of Aleksandr’s office, painting golden stripes across the ancient oak desk where we sat surrounded by scrolls and leather-bound books. My fingers brushed over a yellowed parchment, tracing the elaborate calligraphy that detailed coronation traditions dating back centuries. Two days had passed since our mating, since Kaela and I had finally become whole, and I still caught myself reaching for her in my mind, marveling at the ease with which we now flowed together. But even our newfound wholeness couldn’t quite quell the flutter of anxiety in my stomach as Elder Nora spread yet another ancient text before us.
“This is the traditional order of ceremony,” she explained, her weathered finger pointing to a diagram that looked more like battle plans than a celebration. “The council enters first, followed by pack representatives, foreign dignitaries, then the Alpha King. The Queen-to-be enters last.”
Aleksandr sat beside me, his massive frame making even the substantial leather chair seem delicate. His warmth radiated through our bond, steady and reassuring amid the overwhelming details.
“And here,” Nora continued, flipping to another page, “are the sacred words that have been spoken at every coronation since the founding of the kingdom.”
I leaned forward, squinting at text so old the ink had faded to a rusty brown. “Is that... blood?” I asked, wrinkling my nose.
“Yes,” Nora confirmed without looking up. “Traditionally written in the blood of the previous Queen.”
I shot Aleksandr an alarmed look. “Please tell me we’re skipping that part.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up in that half-smile I was growing to cherish. “Considering there hasn’t been a proper Queen in over a century, finding that particular ink might be difficult.”
Nora nodded in agreement. “Some traditions are worth preserving. Others...” She waved a dismissive hand. “Blood ink is definitely one we can set aside.”
‘Could be worse,’ Kaela commented dryly in my mind. ‘At least they’re not asking us to write with our own blood.’
‘Don’t give them ideas,’ I replied silently, grateful for her presence, her unwavering confidence flowing through me like warm honey.
“What about this one?” I asked, pointing to an illustration showing a Queen in an elaborate gown with what appeared to be chains connecting her wrists. “Please tell me those are just fancy bracelets.”
Nora’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Silver shackles. A symbol of the Queen’s devotion and submission to her King and kingdom. They would be worn from sunrise to sunset on coronation day.”
“Absolutely not,” I said flatly.
“I agree,” Aleksandr rumbled, his hand finding mine beneath the table. “That tradition ended with my great-grandfather.”
I squeezed his fingers in silent gratitude. “What else can we comfortably throw out? Preferably anything involving blood, chains, or public humiliation.”
Nora’s ancient eyes crinkled with amusement. “There’s the traditional fasting – three days before the ceremony where the Queen-to-be consumes only water and raw meat.”
“Why on earth would—“ I began, then shook my head. “Never mind. Also no.”
“There’s the ritual hunt,” she continued, seeming almost to enjoy my increasingly horrified expressions. “Where the Queen must bring down prey barehanded in human form to prove her strength.”
“That sounds messy and impractical,” I muttered. “Especially in whatever elaborate gown I’m sure I’ll be stuffed into.”
Aleksandr chuckled, the sound vibrating pleasantly through his chest. “The dress wouldn’t survive,” he agreed.
Nora made notes in the margins of her parchment, crossing out traditions with neat precision. “The coronation oath remains essential, as does the presentation to the assembled dignitaries and pack representatives. The crown itself, of course.”
I nodded, relieved that at least some parts seemed reasonable. “And after the crown is placed?”
Something flickered across Nora’s face – discomfort, perhaps, or reluctance. Her eyes darted briefly to Aleksandr, who suddenly became very interested in a loose thread on his sleeve.
“There’s... another tradition,” Nora said carefully, setting down her quill. “One you’re going to want to eliminate, but you won’t be able to, not until after your own coronation, unfortunately.”
My stomach tightened at her tone. “Why do I feel like I’m really not going to like this one?”
“Because you won’t,” she confirmed, straightening her shoulders as if preparing for battle. “It’s called the Fertility Rite.”
I raised an eyebrow, already disliking the sound of it. Beside me, Aleksandr flinched almost imperceptibly – a movement so slight I would have missed it if not for our bond thrumming between us, suddenly clouded with his discomfort and... embarrassment?
“I’m waiting,” I prompted when Nora didn’t immediately continue.
The ancient werewolf sighed. “Traditionally, after the Queen is crowned, the King would... mate with her. In front of the assembly.”
For a moment, I thought I’d misheard her. The words seemed to hover in the air between us, refusing to make sense. “I’m sorry,” I said slowly. “You want me and Aleksandr to have sex. In front of an audience.”
“It’s said to bless the union of King and Queen with a child,” Nora explained, her voice taking on the careful neutrality she used when delivering particularly unwelcome news.
“Absolutely fucking not,” I said, the curse slipping out before I could catch it. Heat flooded my cheeks, not from embarrassment at my language but from sheer indignation.
‘I’ll bite anyone who tries to make us,’ Kaela growled, her presence bristling with protective fury.
“Unfortunately,” Nora continued, unperturbed by my outburst, “without it, your bond with the King can be challenged, as can your right to the crown.”
My eyes widened as the full implications hit me. “So I’ve got to have sex with my mate in front of an audience to prove something? Are you serious?”
“Yes, my Queen,” Nora replied, clearly recognising the anger building in my voice, but meeting my gaze steadily nonetheless.
I turned to Aleksandr, who had remained suspiciously silent. “Did you know about this?”
“It’s a tradition I’d hoped had been forgotten,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “The last proper coronation of a Queen was before my time.”