Corin
Dinner time arrived. Mason did not allow us to remain in the room. He wanted the pack to see us. They needed to witness that the incident in the courtyard had not weakened my position but strengthened it.
When we stepped out, Mason naturally reached for my hand. His fingers intertwined firmly with mine. As we walked through the corridors toward the great dining hall, I felt the steady confidence flowing from his palm. He was not merely taking me to dinner. He was presenting to the world who stood beside him.
The moment we entered the vast arched hall, the low murmur of hundreds of voices dropped into a thick whisper. I felt eyes on my face, on the fading marks from the fight, and most of all on our joined hands. The whispering rolled through the benches like wind through tall gras
