Chrystal wanted to be the dagger in Castian’s hand, and a blade at his throat.
She closed her eyes, pushing the cloak off her shoulders, but keeping herself covered. Her dress was dry now, but her fingers refused to release the cloth the shifter had given her.
Chrystal’s pulse pounded in her ears.
“What do you mean by offering?”
“That ceremony, as you call it, was nothing more than a manipulation for the masses. A trick played by the number one trickster in all Malbarone, and his cronies,” Castian rumbled, “they want to keep the power in the circle it has fallen into. For that, they need you.”
“How else can they legitimize their greed but to bond the current King’s daughter to the current King’s little Alpha puppet?” he stated firmly, his storm grey eyes boring into her blue-green one
