TAVRIC
The King of Frostmire. King Sabian.
Why am I not surprised? Of course, he would be the one to see through my father's transparent attempt to trap the Dragon Alpha's power within our specific bloodline.
Sabian is a man of ice and sharp edges, and he has never been one to let the Walthorq line consolidate more power than necessary.
Even though I'm far from pleased that my mate is being presented with an array of "fine males" like a prize at an auction, a dark, petty part of me is satisfied to see my father's plan crumble before it can even kickstart.
I watch the room, my eyes tracking the subtle movements of the prominent nobles. They are nodding. They are murmuring their agreement with Sabian's suggestion. The logic is sound, even if the intent is just as predatory as my father's.
Deep in my mind, Ryker is absolutely thrashing, bristling, and his snarls are a constant, vibrating roar against the back of my skull.
