Ezren’s POV
Ezren glared at Philip as he waltzed down the sidewalk, a travel bag slung over his shoulder. He was wearing a black suit, his jacket open, with a shirt and pants tight in all the ways the ladies loved.
This was their first meeting since the arena. Anderson had arranged everything prior to this. His uncle leaned against the black BMW with a grin as wide as the Pacific Ocean. Anderson slid away from Ezren. Giving him room. His money was on Philip throwing the first punch.
Ezren straightened, unbuttoned his jacket, set it on top of the car, and started to roll up his sleeves. At this point in his healing, Philip had twenty-five or maybe thirty pounds on him. And it was well honed.
Ezren had never doubted that if Philip hadn’t still been king during Freya’s fight in the aren
