~Storme~
The moment I escaped from the clutches of this stranger, who I now knew as King Marcellus’s son, I hurriedly found my way to the king’s room. Waiting was a virtue that I’d come to know that the king didn’t possess, and I wasn’t in the state of mind to let him use my body as a way to release pent-up frustration.
Immediately I opened the door, I saw him seated on his bed, his face scrunched up and his countenance broody. He was already vexed, no doubt.
“Where were you?” he questioned without sparing me a glance.
My heart jumped into my stomach at the dread that coated his words. There was no way he could have noticed that I’d been in his son’s room, right?
I tried to use my wolf’s discernment to read his body language and facial expressions, but I came up with nothing. Who was
