Dreynthor.
The horrible uncle.
He stepped forward with a smile that looked practiced, measured, and wrong.
The warmth that had filled the space moments ago cooled at the edges. But I kept my smile in place, slipping easily into the mask of pretense — the one that said I knew him, and that he did not unsettle me.
He stopped before me and took my hand without asking. His fingers were cool, his grip polite.
He bent and pressed a kiss to my knuckles.
“Welcome to the family, my dear,” he said smoothly. But his eyes did not match the words.
I held his gaze and smiled wider. “Thank you, your Grace.” I loathed calling him that. He didn’t deserve the title.
Wolfe’s hand found mine again the moment Dreynthor released it. He gave me a quiet squeeze mean to reassure me.
It worked and the air steadied.
Dreynthor turned to face the crowd, and the applause fell away at once. He spread his arms wide, palms open — every inch the gracious ruler.
“Welcome, honored guests, treasured friends and allies. Tonight, we gather to celebrate the union of my nephew and his lovely mate.”
Well at least he was putting on a good act. I had to be grateful for that.
I tried to listen as he continued saying something about legacy, alliances, the strength of Galaythia but the sound of hisvoice blurred at the edges. The bond had stirred again, low and restless, fidgeting beneath my ribs.
It tightened.
Not because of Dreynthor.
Because Wolfe shifted beside me and he was holding my hand.
As if sensing my unease, he glanced across at me. His jaw worked and he made an attempt to loosen his collar slightly. Somehow, I knew he felt it too.
My thoughts were confirmed when he turned his head and his eyes found mine.
His gaze roamed over my face, tracing my features slowly, before settling on my lips. Then his thumb traced lazy strokes over the center of my palm. Sparks of electric pulsed through me and my mouth watered for more.
“Wolfe.”Dreynthor’s voice cut through the moment, sharp enough to sever the connection.
It was only when Wolfe turned to his uncle that I realized Dreynthor had been calling his name, and he hadn’t heard a word.
Dreynthor and the crowd below watched in quiet expectancy, waiting for his answer.
“Apologies,” Wolfe said with a slight dip of his head.
“Speech,” Dreynthor grated under his breath, the word edged with irritation. His gaze flicked to me, flinty and unamused.
I wondered if he could tell what was going on with us—the bond at work because we hadn’t slept together yet. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but I kept my gaze ahead.
Wolfe stepped forward to take Dreynthor’s place at the center of the circle.
His hand slipped from mine, and the absence hit instantly, a sharp, hollow drop in my soul.
The bond pulled hard with insistence, like something straining against restraint.
And I suddenly felt hot. Hot like I’d stepped too near a raging hearth in the dead of winter.
