The applause of the court still rang in my ears as Castiel led me down the length of the hall. Every step I took trailed whispers. They poured from the balconies like threads of silk, winding around my veil and gown, binding me tighter than the oath ever could.
"The mortal looks pale…"
"She'll be dead before the next moonrise…"
"He chose her name. Did you hear? He asked for her name."
Their voices wove hunger and envy, curiosity and disdain, until the air itself felt heavy with it. I kept my chin high, refusing to flinch. If they wanted to see weakness, they would choke on their own anticipation. Castiel did not so much as glance at them. His presence was enough. Even when he moved without speaking, the court bent itself around him, parting like the sea.
At the dais of the throne, the priest raised his hands for silence. The noise ebbed, but not completely. Hunger buzzed in the chamber, hundreds of vampires, their restraint thin as glass. My blood still burned on the Oathstone, and every one of them could smell it. The scent clung to the air: iron, heat, promise. I wondered if they tasted it on their tongues.
"Let the vows be sealed," the priest declared.
Castiel turned to me then, and the full force of his gaze fell upon me. His eyes were not only dusk — they were fathomless, the kind of dark you could step into and never find your way out.
"Temperance Hale," he said, his voice low enough to carry to the very edges of the hall. "You are mine."
A ripple shivered through the balconies. Excitement. Disbelief. A few startled gasps.
The contract had called me consort. A palatable word. Something temporary, breakable, dismissible. But Castiel had stripped it away with a single phrase, laying claim to me before them all.
My pulse pounded against the veil. I wanted to claw it off, to meet him without the gauze between us. Instead, I narrowed my eyes.
"I belong to no one," I said clearly. The words hung in the air like a challenge, like a blade thrown at his feet.
Gasps broke out across the court, sharp and scandalised.
Varus stiffened where he stood behind us, but Castiel only smiled. A small, dangerous curve of his mouth, as though my defiance was a wine he had been waiting years to taste.
"Then stand at my side," he said softly. "Not because you are mine, but because I have chosen you."
I almost faltered. Almost.
The priest cleared his throat, brittle and nervous. "The vows, Your Majesty."
The chamber hushed. The Oathstone glowed faintly red, remembering. Castiel extended his hand, palm now healed where the cut had been. His fingers were long, elegant, deceptively human. When I hesitated, he tilted his head — not impatient, but expectant, like a predator watching prey decide whether to run.
I laid my hand in his. The heat of his skin startled me. Vampires were meant to be cold, yet his touch burned faintly, as if the oathfire lingered beneath his veins. Together, we spoke the words.
"I take and am taken. Where your shadow falls, I will stand. Where my voice carries, you will hear it. In night and in dawn, not in fear but in honour."
The Oathstone pulsed once beneath our feet, and the hall erupted in applause. Above us, on the balconies, nobles struck their rings against the rails, a metallic thunder that echoed like storm. Some faces shone with glee, others with resentment. I saw one woman in crimson silk smile too wide, baring fangs tipped with silver.
The scent of blood still clung in the air, a haze of temptation. It pressed against my skin, making the hairs rise at the nape of my neck. Castiel released my hand but did not step away. He leaned closer, so close that the veil brushed against his lips when he spoke.
"Do not mistake survival for victory, Temperance," he murmured. "You have survived tonight. But victory… that remains mine."
His voice slid over me like smoke and steel. I turned my head just enough that my words reached his ear. "We'll see, my lord. Even shadows can be burned away."
His smile widened — sharp, wolfish, and far too pleased. The court gasped again, the scandal delicious to them. Castiel straightened, lifting his hand toward his subjects. His voice rolled like thunder when he spoke.
"Behold your future queen."
Silence struck the chamber. Not a whisper, not a breath. The contract had never called me that. It was not meant to.
Queen.
The word dropped into the hall like blood into water, and the entire court hungered for the taste of what would follow.