Zara’s POV
Running was still an option.
A strong option.
An elegant option.
Unfortunately, thousands of kneeling people made dramatic exits difficult.
The courtyard stretched below us in waves of bowed heads—Blood Moon wolves in dark leathers, Crescent guards in silver-lined armor, servants clutching baskets and blankets, healers with blood on their sleeves, even injured men bracing on canes as they knelt.
For me.
My throat closed.
“No,” I whispered.
Greyson stood beside me, hands clasped behind his back like this happened every Tuesday.
“Yes,” he murmured.
“I reject this.”
“You reject many things.”
“This one specifically.”
“You’re doing well.”
“I am visibly panicking.”
“Only to me.”
That somehow made it worse.
Davon stepped onto the balcony behind us carrying a cup of te
