Hope
The moment Camille’s grandmother, Lady Elira, told me to call her while we made our way to the dining hall.
She clasps her hand around my wrist, I know something is wrong.
Her grip is deceptively gentle, but the way her claws subtly dig into the soft skin beneath my sleeve is a quiet warning.
A message that says: You play nice now, or you bleed later.
I paste on a pleasant expression, forcing my lips into a smile as she leads me through the grand double doors into the dining hall.
I expect the room to be empty, maybe just Camille waiting for me—but the low hum of voices stills my steps.
There are at least a dozen people already seated around the long obsidian table, their elegant clothing and upright postures immediately telling me one thing.
Alpha pairs.
And not just any Al
