BOOK TWO: POST-GRANT PROCEEDINGS

Chapter Eight: Joint Ownership

Alexander stared at the blank filing form.

Isaac had left an hour ago. The notification crystal still glowed red—Athelia's fraud allegation sitting there like an accusation. Like a severance.

Patent Owner: Athelia Marie Winters

Not joint owners. Just her. Claiming sole control. Cutting him out of the legal framework entirely so she could cancel the bond without his interference.

Logic. Pure Guardian Queen logic using the staff's sacrificed emotions. If the bond endangers the kingdom, eliminate the bond. If Alexander complicates the equation, eliminate Alexander's legal standing.

Simple. Efficient. Utterly rational.

And completely unacceptable.

Alexander pulled up the federal filing system. Counter-response to supplemental examination. He had the right to file as an interested party. The question was—what could he argue that Guardian Queen logic wouldn't dismiss?

Emotion? She'd cut out her emotions. Love? The staff held those captive. Duty? She was already saving everyone alone.

The only language she'd respect now was law.

He pulled up 35 U.S.C. § 262. Joint owners. Independent use rights.

An idea formed. Desperate. Probably wrong. But it was all he had.

Two hours later, Alexander stared at what he'd drafted.

It was weak. He knew it was weak. Any competent patent attorney would tell him not to file it.

But he wasn't trying to win on legal merit.

He was trying to prove something logic couldn't dismiss: I choose this. Even when I shouldn't.

He hit submit.

The filing materialized in federal records within seconds. Official. Timestamped. Irrevocable.

Alexander read the margin note that appeared automatically in the federal filing system—the USPTO's AI-generated assessment of legal merit.

Weak. Unlikely to succeed. Strategic desperation.

He knew all of that before he filed.

But the bond pulsed—distant but there. And somewhere back in her human life with Casey, Athelia would receive the filing notification. She'd read his argument. See that he claimed joint ownership. See that he was asserting the right to use the bond without her consent.

Not because the law actually supported him.

Because he was willing to be wrong if it meant fighting for her.

The notification crystal on his desk flared. Incoming response. Already.

Alexander's breath caught. She'd read it. She knew what he was trying to do.

He touched the crystal.

Her voice materialized. Not written response. Actual voice recording. Cold. Precise. The staff's logic filtering every word.

"Your § 262 argument fails on three grounds. First, you did not contribute to conception of the claimed invention. Second, defending claims in prosecution does not create retroactive joint inventorship. Third, you have no valid basis for asserting joint ownership."

A pause. Then, quieter:

"You filed knowing this would fail. You filed knowing the law doesn't support you. You filed anyway."

Another pause. Longer this time.

"Why?"

The recording ended.

Alexander stared at the crystal. At the question hanging in the air. The first crack in Guardian Queen logic.

Because logic couldn't explain why someone would make a legally weak argument. Why someone would choose to be wrong. Why someone would fight even when they knew they'd lose.

Somewhere far beyond the fourteen realms, in a fortress that existed between dimensions, King Redkin received a notification.

Federal seal. USPTO header. Confidential referral under 35 U.S.C. § 257(e).

Material fraud on the Office. Subject: Isaac Wavelander.

Redkin read the filing. Once. Twice. Then he smirked.

He turned to the woman standing beside him—Relana, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, wearing armor that matched his black-and-gold.

"We can intervene now," he said quietly. "Can't we?"

Relana's laugh was knife-sharp. "Absolutely."

Alexander's palace. Late evening. The Council chamber was full.

Alexander sat at the head of the table. His seat. His kingdom. But the Council barely acknowledged him.

Isaac sat to his right—close enough to whisper, far enough to maintain the performance of advisor rather than controller.

Council members filled the other chairs, voices raised in argument. Mocking. Dismissive.

"It's legally meaningless," one Council member said, holding up a copy of Alexander's filing. "A Notice of Claim with no procedural standing. He admitted it himself—'confers no procedural rights.'"

Another laughed. "He filed knowing it would fail. Weak § 262 argument with no inventorship basis. The Wolf King is desperate."

Alexander said nothing. Just watched. Waiting.

"Exactly." The first Council member tossed the document onto the table. "This proves he's grasping at straws. We proceed with the original plan. When supplemental examination completes, the bond patent is canceled, and—"

The doors didn't burst open.

They simply opened. As if they'd been waiting for permission.

And Redkin walked through like he owned the place.

No announcement. No soldiers. No ceremony. Just a man in black-and-gold armor moving with absolute certainty through a castle that supposedly belonged to someone else.

Relana followed half a step behind. Two warriors in matching armor entered after—silent, precise, waiting.

The Council fell silent.

Isaac looked up.

And fell to his knees.

The chair clattered backward. Documents scattered. Isaac dropped straight to the floor, head bowed, eyes fixed on nothing.

"My King," Isaac said quietly.

The Council stared. Frozen. They didn't know who Redkin was—just a man in black-and-gold who walked like he had every right to be there. But Isaac's reaction told them everything they needed to know.

This was someone Isaac served.

Alexander didn't move. Didn't stand. Just watched Isaac kneel with absolute certainty in his eyes.

He'd known this was coming.

Athelia's § 257(e) filing. The mandatory AG referral. Federal authority that superseded cosmic hierarchy. He'd understood the moment he read her fraud allegation what would happen next.

And he'd been waiting.

Not surprise. Not fear. Respect.

Redkin's expression was wicked. Amused. Like watching a plan unfold exactly as expected.

"Isaac." His voice carried the weight of ages. Not anger. Not judgment. Recognition. "You know your list of aggrievances far better than I do."

A pause. Heavy with meaning.

"And right now, you understand why I am here."

Isaac's silver eyes didn't lift from the floor. His voice was steady. Simple. Final.

"Yes, my King."

Redkin gestured. The two warriors stepped forward. Black-and-gold restraints materialized—not magical bindings, not federal custody devices. Something else. Something older.

They bound Isaac's wrists with practiced efficiency.

Isaac didn't resist. Didn't protest. His silver eyes showed no fear.

They showed satisfaction.

He looked up. Not at Redkin. At Alexander. Still sitting at the head of the table. Still watching with those calm, knowing eyes.

"Alex," Isaac said quietly. "Phase one complete. Now comes the part you weren't ready for."

Redkin rolled his eyes. "You are no less melodramatic now than you were..." He paused. Smirked. "Well. Ever."

He gestured to the warriors. "Take him to Nexus."

They moved as one. Isaac between them. Still kneeling. Still smiling that satisfied, knowing smile.

A portal opened—not the shimmer of Fae Wild magic, not the tear of dimensional travel. Something cleaner. Federal.

Isaac stepped through without looking back.

The portal closed.

Redkin stood in the council chamber. Relana beside him. The Council members frozen in their seats, still processing what they'd just witnessed.

Alexander remained at the head of the table. Silent. Watching.

"He planned this," Relana said quietly, voice pitched low enough that only Redkin could hear. "Every move. Every filing. He wanted to trigger § 257(e)."

"Of course he did." Redkin's expression was unreadable. "Isaac never does anything by accident. The question is—what does he gain from being taken to Nexus?"

Relana frowned. "I don't know. Access to something? But federal custody should limit him, not enable him." Her eyes narrowed. "Unless that's the point."

Redkin watched the portal close. Isaac gone. Taken to Nexus under federal authority.

"Phase one complete," he said quietly. "Just like he said."

Then he turned back to the Council. To Alexander sitting at the head of the table. To the room full of people who'd just watched their advisor kneel before a stranger and call him "My King."

Redkin didn't leave.

He walked to the center of the room. Black-and-gold armor catching the light. Relana beside him. Absolute authority in every movement.

"I should introduce myself properly," he said. Voice carrying easily through the chamber. "I am Talervan. King of Nexus."

Silence.

Then one of the Council members—the same one who'd been mocking Alexander's filing—spoke up. Voice uncertain. "What the fuck is Nexus?"

Redkin laughed. Sharp. Genuine. Delighted.

"Nexus," he said, still smiling, "is the only authority that could ever stop Isaac. We are the Keepers of the Dimension. The framework beneath your fourteen realms. The structure that holds everything together."

He paused. Let that sink in.

"And I'm afraid Isaac isn't done. Whatever he's planning—federal custody won't stop him. It might even enable him. We don't know yet."

Alexander leaned forward. "Why are you telling us this?"

Redkin met his eyes. "Because you have a real problem, Wolf King. Your dome is about to turn off."

The Council erupted. Voices overlapping. Denial. Confusion.

"That's impossible!" one shouted. "The dome is at one hundred ten percent production! We checked this morning!"

Redkin's smile widened. "Perhaps. But the battery has been removed."

Silence crashed down like a physical weight.

"What battery?" Alexander's voice was steady. Cold.

Redkin turned to Alexander. Met his eyes directly. "That's easy."

He paused. Let the silence stretch.

"Do you know anyone by the name of Severen?"

The room went absolutely silent.

Alexander's expression shifted. His ears shot upright, then flattened completely against his skull. Recognition. Horror. "Severen. Sapphire eyes. Dragon's son. He's—"

"Actually," Redkin interrupted, "Nodran does have a son, but you're confusing the issue here."

He stepped closer. Voice carrying through the chamber.

"Severen is Nodran. The dragon. The reserve power source that's been maintaining your dome for centuries."

Silence crashed down.

"The dome," Redkin continued, "was created by me, Tethys, Renaldo, and Relana. Not by Nodran alone. We built it together."

He chuckled dryly. Walked around the table toward Alexander.

"And the intent wasn't protection. It was containment."

He paused. Let that sink in.

"The dome was meant to contain the humans. As part of an experiment."

Silence. Absolute. Devastating.

Alexander's voice was steady. Cold. "What experiment?"

Redkin laughed. "To test what happened if we flipped the script and required magic bearers to be dependent on humans—without the humans knowing. How reintegration happens after separation. We've kept you two different long enough."

He turned to the Council. All of them staring in horror. Understanding dawning.

They weren't the rulers. They were the subjects.

Redkin laughed again. "Nexus. The Army of Ages. We'll be present to help with the transition."

He smirked.

"Resistance is... futile."

Silence.

Then one Council member stood. "You've been using us. Experimenting on us. For centuries—"

"Testing reintegration protocols," Redkin corrected. "Observing how magic bearers adapt when isolated from baseline humanity. How dependencies form. How hierarchies establish. And now—" He gestured toward where the dome would be failing. "How you handle the barriers coming down."

Alexander's hands clenched. "The wolves. You said we're descendants of Fallen Guardian Eillia. You put us in charge—"

"Because you have Guardian bloodline," Redkin confirmed. "It's the only reason the nano bots aren't killing you. Direct descendants retain enough genetic markers to be recognized as non-threats."

He turned back to Alexander.

"But that doesn't make you special, Wolf King. It makes you compatible. Suitable test subjects for observing Guardian bloodline integration with isolated human populations."

"And while you were all focused on patent litigation and mate bonds, Severen left. Walked away from the dome to be close to Athelia. Pre-filing counselor. Helpful. Trusted. Right there beside her."

He let that sink in.

"Your dome is currently running at 110% production with no reserve because the reserve left. The moment anything destabilizes it—a power surge, a magical fluctuation, or say, a fully activated mate bond explosion—" He let that hang. "I fear your whole world is about to be royally fucked, as it were."

One of the Council members stood. Shaking. "Severen abandoned the dome? For what? Why would he—"

"We promised him he could," Redkin said simply. "It was all planned from the beginning."

Silence.

"Severen. Isaac. The patent framework. The bond claims. The fraud allegations. The § 262 filing. All of it." Redkin's expression was unreadable. "We designed the experiment to end this way. Severen leaves his position with our permission. Gets close to Athelia as pre-filing counselor. Helps establish the legal framework with Isaac. And when the bond fully activates—"

He gestured toward where the dome would be failing.

"The containment field comes down. The experiment ends. Reintegration begins."

Alexander felt cold spreading through his chest. "You planned this. All of it."

"Every move," Redkin confirmed. "Isaac getting arrested. Taken to Nexus under federal authority. Severen staying close to Athelia. The bond explosion that would bring down a dome no longer stabilized by its reserve battery." He smiled. "Phase one: Establish legal framework. Phase two: Trigger the bond. Phase three: Manage reintegration."

He turned back to the Council.

"You thought you were players. You were always pieces. And the game just ended."

"Phase one complete," he repeated. "Now comes phase two. And none of you are ready for it."

He turned toward the exit. Relana following. The Council too shocked to speak. Too horrified to protest.

At the threshold, Redkin paused. Looked back at Alexander.

"Good luck, Wolf King. You're going to need it."

He walked out of the castle.

Alexander stood at the head of the table. Council members staring at him in horror. At their king who'd sat silent while their world collapsed around them.

His notification crystal chimed. Federal seal. Attorney General's office.

Subject Isaac Wavelander taken into federal custody. Investigation ongoing. Additional testimony may be required from interested parties. Patent officially amended. Claims now subject to § 103 obviousness rejection.

Alexander stared at the words. His ears drooped. Claims now subject to § 103 obviousness rejection. The bond patent had been officially changed—and now faced invalidation on obviousness grounds. Everything he'd fought for through § 262 filings and weak legal arguments—potentially erased.

But after what Redkin just revealed, did it even matter?

The dome battery was gone. Isaac was in federal custody. Athelia was filing to cancel their bond. And somewhere out there, phase two was already beginning.

"Meeting adjourned," he said quietly.

No one moved. Too shocked. Too broken.

Alexander walked out. Left them sitting there in the wreckage of their certainty.

Isaac's words echoing with every step:

Now comes the part you weren't ready for.

Ponderosa University. Patent Law 401. Same moment.

Athelia sat in her usual seat—third row, left side—with Casey beside her. Laptop open. Notes from last week's lecture on § 112 written requirements still visible on the screen.

Human. Normal. Mundane.

Professor Mendez was setting up the projector. "Today we're covering post-grant proceedings. Inter Partes Review, Post-Grant Review, and Supplemental Examination under § 257..."

Athelia's chest tightened. § 257. The fraud allegation she'd filed. The mandatory AG referral. Isaac taken into federal custody.

She pushed it down. Focused on being human. Being Athelia Winters, law student, not Guardian Queen with a staff full of sacrificed emotions.

The seat beside her shifted. Someone sitting down.

Athelia looked up.

Sapphire eyes. Black hair. Human form worn as easily as breathing.

"Severen," she said quietly.

"Athelia." He smiled. Warm. Familiar. The pre-filing counselor who'd helped her navigate examination procedures before everything went sideways. "I heard you filed under § 257. Fraud allegation against your patent agent."

Casey leaned around Athelia. "Who's this?"

"Patent agent," Athelia said. "He helped me with my application before..." She trailed off.

Before Isaac manipulated it. Before the bond claims. Before everything became complicated.

Severen shifted closer. Casual. His arm draping over the back of Athelia's chair. Not touching her, but close enough that his warmth radiated through the space between them.

"I wanted to check on you," he said quietly. "Make sure you're handling everything okay. Fraud allegations are serious. Federal investigation, potential criminal charges—"

The building shook.

Not earthquake. Not explosion. A growl that vibrated through walls and foundation and reality itself. Deep. Territorial. Absolutely furious.

Students looked around. Confused. Professor Mendez paused mid-sentence.

But Severen's sapphire eyes went wide. He felt it. Recognized what it was.

Casey stared at Athelia. "Was that—"

Severen pulled his arm back. Slowly. Carefully. Moving away from Athelia like she'd suddenly become radioactive.

Another student—a girl sitting behind them—leaned forward. Voice low. Urgent. "Severen. I suggest you back up."

The classroom door opened.

Not the soft click of a late student arriving. A firm, deliberate push. Authority walking through like it belonged there.

Alexander Hartwood stood in the doorway.

Black jacket. Dark eyes. Wolf King wearing human form but not bothering to hide what he was. Every supernatural being in the room felt it—the weight of his presence, the territorial claim radiating off him like heat.

His eyes locked on Severen.

"Move," Alexander said. Not loud. Not threatening. Just absolute certainty that he would be obeyed.

Severen looked at Athelia. Then at Alexander. Then very wisely stood up and moved three rows back.

Alexander took the seat beside Athelia. Close enough that their shoulders touched. His presence filling the space like he'd always been there.

Athelia stared at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Using my § 262 rights," Alexander said calmly. "Independent use of the patented invention. No consent required."

Casey leaned around Athelia. Grinning. "Oh, I like him."

Professor Mendez stood at the front of the classroom. Watching this entire exchange with the kind of patient amusement that suggested he'd seen supernatural drama interrupt his lectures before.

He blinked. Visibly resetting. "Right. Let's begin. The Commerce Clause. Can anyone explain why this is relevant to patent law?"

He smirked. Looking directly at Alexander. At the Wolf King who'd just walked into a human university and claimed his mate in front of fifty witnesses.

Alexander leaned close. Voice low enough that only Athelia could hear. "You tried to cut me out. File fraud allegations. Cancel the bond legally."

Athelia didn't look at him. Couldn't. "Yes."

"And I filed claiming joint ownership. Independent use rights under § 262." His shoulder pressed against hers. Warm. Real. Undeniable. "Legally weak argument. No procedural effect. You know that."

"Yes."

"But I'm here anyway." Not a question. A statement of fact. "Because federal law gave me the framework to say what logic won't let you hear: I choose you. Even when you don't choose me back."

Athelia's hands clenched in her lap. The staff's logic screaming that this was inefficient. Irrational. That the bond endangered his kingdom, that she should sever it cleanly, that emotion complicated everything.

But he was here. Solid and warm and refusing to let go.

"My kingdom is dying," Alexander said quietly. "The dome battery's gone. Nodran pulled support. I have maybe days before everything collapses. My Council thinks I'm desperate. Isaac's in federal custody playing whatever game he planned from the start."

He turned to face her fully. Met her eyes.

"And none of it matters. Because I'd rather have you and lose everything than keep everything and lose you."

Athelia's breath caught. The staff's logic faltering. Because that made no sense. No logical sense at all.

"Why?" she whispered. The same question. The crack widening.

Alexander smiled. Sad. Certain. Absolutely resolved.

"Because I'd rather feel you reject me than feel nothing at all."

Then he kissed her.

Full on. In the middle of patent law class. In front of fifty students and Professor Mendez and Casey and Severen and everyone.

His hand cupped her face. Lips against hers. Choosing her. Claiming her. Refusing to let logic or law or cosmic politics or dying kingdoms change what he wanted.

And the bond exploded.

Not metaphor. Not magic. Recognition.

Light burst from where they touched—gold and silver intertwined, Guardian Queen and Wolf King, two halves that had been fighting and now suddenly, violently aligned.

The staff's logic shattered. Sapphrine's sacrificed emotions flooding back through the connection Alexander refused to sever. Love. Fear. Hope. Desperation. All of it crashing into Athelia at once because he'd chosen pain over emptiness and the bond recognized truth.

Casey gasped. "Holy shit."

Severen stood frozen three rows back. Watching the bond complete itself. Watching Guardian Queen logic fail against Wolf King stubbornness.

Mendez stopped lecturing. Stared. Then quietly: "Well. That's certainly one interpretation of § 262 use rights."

But Alexander and Athelia didn't hear any of it.

Because across dimensions—back in Alexander's kingdom—the dome shuddered.

The bond's explosion rippling through reality. Guardian Queen power mixing with Wolf King territory. The staff's logic breaking meant Sapphrine's seal breaking meant—

The dome came down.

Not collapse. Not failure. Release.

Centuries of Nodran's magic holding the kingdom separate, holding it safe, holding it trapped—all of it dissolving as the bond recognized what Alexander had proven:

She was worth everything. Even the kingdom. Even the dome. Even the carefully maintained separation between Guardian Queen duty and Wolf King desire.

The bond didn't care about logic. It cared about choice.

And Alexander had chosen.

Athelia pulled back. Stared at him. Eyes wide. Emotions flooding back—not the staff's cold logic, but hers. Real. Messy. Overwhelming.

"What did you do?" she breathed.

Alexander smiled. "I used my § 262 rights. Independent use. No consent required."

Then he kissed her again.

And somewhere in the Northern Territories, the Council stared up at empty sky where the dome had been.

At the stars visible for the first time in centuries.

At their king who'd chosen his mate over their safety.

And realized—too late—that Isaac had been right all along.

Phase one complete.

The real fun was only beginning.