The convoy slid through the city like a blade wrapped in velvet.
Black armored SUVs moved in perfect formation, windows dark, engines whisper-quiet. At the head, Lucian drove himself—hands steady on the wheel, posture carved from control. Talia sat beside him, his presence grounding and overwhelming all at once.
People stopped on the sidewalks. Heads turned. Recognition spread in a ripple.
The King.
Some bowed. Some raised hands in salute. When they saw Talia—Lucian’s mate, the woman who had bound him to life and future again—their faces softened. Smiles followed. Waves.
Talia shifted, heat blooming in her cheeks.
Lucian noticed without looking at her. He always did. “They see you,” he said. “And they should.”
Her fingers drifted to the gentle curve beneath her ribs. Three heartbeat
