And keep them the fuck away from her.
Because if I left them with Kiko—even for a year—she would poison their minds. Teach them softness disguised as greed. Teach them arrogance without strength. Teach them to smile pretty and lie slowly.
I couldn’t have that.
Not with my sons.
Not with the future of this throne.
Be careful what you wish for, Kiko.
She continued forward and right behind her—like a circus act too proud to know it was the punchline—came her entourage. Her cousins. Her assistants. All of them dressed like royalty and acting like hyenas.
The moment they entered, the war room tensed again. Weapons were not drawn, but they might as well have been. My men shifted. Eyes narrowed. Claws. Fangs. Scales. No one spoke.
But I could feel them watching me.
Watching her.
And watching Nyomi.
My brother muttered to the Claws. “Two queens. One crown. Should we get popcorn. . .or body bags?”
I sneered.
Body bags.
Kiko got to us and stopped.
Too fast.
Too loud.
Too entitled.
She didn’t bow to me as she was supposed to.
Didn’t wait.
Didn’t even lower her gaze.
She glanced at Nyomi, and the look wasn’t casual.
It wasn’t curiosity.
It was murder.
Full-body loathing wrapped in pearls and pink silk.
A glare so sharp it could’ve cut my Tiger’s flesh.
Careful.
As if she heard me, Kiko narrowed her eyes. Her nostrils flared once. Her hand twitched at her side. Not toward her stomach. Not in maternal protectiveness.
Toward her wrist.
The one she used to slap people.
