Flavia entered the Queen’s private lounge and bowed low.
Queen Calista sat gracefully in a velvet armchair, idly petting the Pomeranian on her lap.
She was in her forties but possessed the flawless skin and toned figure of a twenty-year-old she-wolf—her sandy blonde hair shined, and her aura radiated a power that commanded the room. Only the sharp wisdom in her sky-blue eyes betrayed her true age.
“Flavia, my dear child, are you unwell? You look so pale,” the Queen said sweetly. “Please, have some pastries.”
At a sharp look from the Queen, an Omega servant immediately began filling Flavia’s plate.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Flavia said with a heavy sigh, looking as if she were on the verge of tears. “I am well, but I’ve started to have such doubts about myself.”
“Pour us some wine
