DRAKENFELL — INFIRMARY
One dying girl. Three Alpha kings. One Alpha Prince. And a Gamma who was dreaming about something shiny.
There are entrances, and then there are entrances where a king walks into a room full of people who know exactly why he's there and everyone collectively agrees to pretend they don't.
Riven Nightspire walked into the infirmary with Maelor Vantheos at his shoulder and the expression of a man visiting a foreign castle for diplomatic reasons that were entirely diplomatic and carried zero personal investment.
The expression was flawless.
Elara saw him first. She crossed the room before anyone could process the entrance and hugged the stone-souled, silk-suited son of a bitch like he was family, because he was, and her hugging didn't give a damn about diplomatic protocol.
"It's good to see you, Uncle Riven."
