Our conversation continued, each exchange building a delicate bridge across the chasm of difference between us—Lycan and werewolf, king and gamma, man and woman with vastly different experiences. She told me about her brother's terrible cooking attempts, I shared stories of ceremonial disasters. She described a midnight run through summer forests; I recalled the view from the kingdom's highest peak at dawn.
With each passing minute, she relaxed incrementally. Her gestures became more natural, her smiles more frequent. My hope grew alongside her comfort, a tentative seedling breaking through hard soil.
Then I noticed Minister Bennett approaching, his angular face set in what he likely believed was dignified purpose but what I recognized as officious self-importance. His timing couldn't ha
