Ragnor
"I called you three here to discuss your coronation coming up in a few days," Father's voice filled the dimly lit, wood-paneled study, each word deliberate and weighted.
"And to discuss another urgent matter of importance."
I shifted in my seat, wondering what Father was about to spring on us.
Urgent matter? What could it be this time? Terror inquired, pushing to the surface.
I suppressed him, holding him back while turning Father's words over in my mind.
Reign arched a brow as he watched Father lift the glass of cognac from his large oak desk — that broad slab of wood that stood like a wall between him and us.
His shoulders were less tense than they had been when he first walked in. He leaned back against the sofa he had dropped onto, one ankle crossed over his knee.
Next to him, Ryker's feet shuffled against the red rug. He tugged at the collar of his shirt awkwardly while the clock on the wall counted the seconds. Tick. Tick. Tick.
