I barely had a moment to catch my breath before the fifth dignitary approached—a werewolf this time, Alpha Raymond of the Sierra Pack, known for his strategic political alliances with Lycan nobility.
"Your Majesty," he said, his bow deep but controlled. Unlike the Lycans, his eyes held something I recognized—the wariness of our kind, the learned caution of generations who'd survived by reading the room correctly.
"Alpha Raymond," I acknowledged, allowing him to lead me into the dance.
"I won't waste your time with false flattery," he said quietly as we moved across the floor. "We both know the game being played tonight."
I raised an eyebrow. "And what game is that?"
"The scramble to curry favour with the new queen before she decides who stays and who goes." His mouth curved into a wry
