My fist clenches beneath the table. How did he know that was my first thought? To ruin this pretense for him.
The King steps in, regal in his tailored royal suit. Two older werewolves follow. Judging by their badges and colors, they are palace elders. Their aged faces are stiff, their eyes displeased as they take us in.
I try to stand to greet them, but Drogo’s hand tightens around my waist, keeping me seated.
“Welcome to my territory, Your Highness,” he says smoothly. “Breakfast?”
Is he trying to provoke them?
The King takes a seat two chairs away. The elders follow, with seven heavily built guards standing behind them, their gazes heavy on us, especially on me.
“You came on short notice. Lucky I was nearly at the territory when I received your message,” Drogo says calmly, his hand
