Reject me twice (Kira and Theron) novel Chapter 29

I stand beside Damon at the base of the throne—not one throne, but two. Identical seats of carved obsidian and silver, side by side. Equal. Partners.

The High Priestess faces us, holding two crowns. Dark iron twisted with moonstone—Damon’s. Silver worked with black diamonds—mine.

Behind us, the entire court watches. Every noble house. Every pack representative. Warriors and wolves who came to witness something that’s never happened before.

Twin monarchs. Shared power. A prophecy defied.

“Kneel,” the Priestess commands.

We do, side by side, and through the twin bond I feel Damon’s nervous energy mixing with mine. This is it.

“Prince Damon Bloodmoon. Do you swear to rule with wisdom, strength, and justice? To share power equally with your twin, neither above nor below, but united?”

“I swear.” His voice is steady.

She places the dark crown on his head.

“Princess Lyralei Bloodmoon—” I still flinch at the name, “—who claims the name Kira. Do you swear to rule with wisdom, strength, and justice? To share power equally with your twin, neither above nor below, but united?”

“I swear.” My voice doesn’t shake.

The silver crown settled on my head, cool and heavy and absolutely right.

And then something inside me surged.

Hot, bright, uninvited—the magic leapt in response to the crown’s weight like a flame meeting oil. Every candle in the great hall flared to twice its height, blazing white before I could clamp down, yanking the power back with a desperate internal fist. The flames subsided. The Priestess didn’t react, and I was grateful for her composure.

But across the hall, I caught Lord Ashworth’s eyes. He watched the candles settle with an expression I couldn’t read—or perhaps one I could read all too well.

“Rise,” the Priestess says. “Dark King and Silver Queen. Twin rulers of the Lycan realm.”

We stand together, turning to face the court. Silence. Uncertainty.

Then Damon steps forward.

“I stand before you as Dark King. But I do not stand alone. Nor do I stand above.” He turns to me. “When I say I rule beside her, I don’t mean it as a concession. I mean it as an honor. She is my equal. My partner. My sister. Anyone who questions her right to rule questions mine as well.”

He kneels then. Before me. Before the court.

The gesture steals my breath.

“Rise,” I say quietly. “We kneel to no one. Not even each other.”

The court erupts in applause. Not everyone—in the back, a cluster of older nobles didn’t clap at all. They stood with arms folded and faces carved from stone, exchanging glances that carried the weight of a conversation I wasn’t invited to hear. Lord Ashworth stood among them, unhurried and unsmiling, and the nod he gave the man beside him was so slight I might have imagined it.

But enough applauded. Enough to make it real.

The King rose to acknowledge us—and I saw it again. The tremor. His hand shook as he raised it, a visible trembling from wrist to fingertip. He gripped his chair to steady himself, and the effort of standing was written in every line of his face. The healers said recovery would be slow. I wanted to believe that was all it was.

The wanting felt more desperate than it should have.

“There is one more matter,” I say. “As Silver Queen, I name my King’s Guard Commander. Commander Malik Frost, step forward.”

He moves through the nobles with predatory grace. Kneels—one knee, head bowed.

“You have protected me when I had nothing. Trained me when I was weak. Stood with me when others ran. Will you continue to serve as my shield, my sword, my guardian?”

“Always.” His voice is rough. “My Queen.”

The title sends heat through me. Not Queen in the distant, formal way. My Queen. Personal. Possessive. Promising.

“Then rise, Commander.”

When his eyes meet mine, the look is devastating. Love and loyalty and desire tangled together. Later, he promises silently.

Through the bond, Damon’s amusement filters through. I can feel that. The attraction. Very distracting.

Then stop paying attention.

Hard to do when you’re broadcasting so loudly. A pause. I’m happy for you.

You’ll find someone too.

Maybe. Loneliness echoes through, but underneath—acceptance. Hope. For now, I have my sister. That’s enough.

I squeeze his hand. He squeezes back.

The feast continues. I watch nobles who once sneered at the servant girl now bowing to the Silver Queen. Warriors who mocked the wolf-less girl now pledging loyalty to a monarch whose power makes them nervous.

For the first time in my entire life, I feel whole. Powerful not because magic was stolen, but because I reclaimed it. Strong not because I had to be, but because I chose to be. Loved not because fate demanded it, but because people chose me freely.

I lift my goblet, and the hall quiets.

“To new beginnings. To justice. To family—blood and chosen. And to surviving what tried to destroy us.”

“To the twin rulers!”

“Long live the Dark King and Silver Queen!”

The hall erupts in cheers, and I let myself smile. Really smile.

But at the edges of the celebration, the lords who hadn’t applauded were already leaving. Quietly. Slipping through side doors in ones and twos, as though they’d seen everything they needed and had somewhere more important to be.

I told myself it didn’t matter. That dissent was natural. That the cheering voices outnumbered the silent ones.

I told myself a lot of things that night.