I frowned at him and wanted to hit him along with Percival and Solomon who nodded in agreement.
They’re being very bold lately. Maybe I should whack them sometime soon to remind them we weren’t fully back together.
I was settling onto a log, accepting the dried fruit Farmon pressed into my hands, when a rustling came from the eastern path.
Suddenly, everyone went still.
A woman emerged from the eastern path. Tall, dark-haired, with the kind of bone structure that belonged on the cover of a magazine and the posture of someone who had never once in her life questioned whether she deserved to be in a room.
She wore clothes that had no business being in a forest: a tailored coat, expensive leather boots and an expression that surveyed the camp condescendingly.
Behind her, two large packs sat at the tree line. Luggage.
It was Lucian who slowly stood up in recognition first.
“Annora,” His voice had the particular flatness it adopted when someone’s presence was both expected and unwanted.
“Your Majesty.” She dipped her head in a greeting. Her gaze swept the clearing. The fire, the maps, the makeshift camp. “I see the rumors of your operational decline were understated.”
“You received my response.”
“I received a crumpled piece of paper thrown at my courier.” The faintest smile, patronizing and precise. “I took it as an invitation.”
Her eyes found me.
I’d love to say I didn’t care but there was a quality to the way Annora assessed me that bypassed every defense I’d built. Her gaze reduced me to an inconvenience, a stain on an expensive dress she was already calculating whether to bother removing.
“And you must be the human.”
“Mira. Humans have names.”
“Of course.” She said it sweet on the surface, razor underneath. She turned to Lucian and spoke in a language I didn’t understand. Lycan, probably. Designed to exclude me from the conversation.
Lucian responded in English. “Speak a language everyone in this clearing can understand, Annora. Or don’t speak at all.”
“I was simply offering my formal assessment of the council’s position.”
“There’s a word for that where I come from.” I stood up from the log. “We just call it rude.”
Percy snorted. Annora’s smile tightened by a fraction.
“The council’s position is clear,” Annora continued, shifting back to English. “They don’t want a queen with hunter’s blood. The kingdom depends on stability. And stability does not come from...” She gestured at me, head to toe. “This.”
“This.” The word came out flat. “Could you be more specific? My hair? My shoes? My humanity in general?”
“Your hunter blood. It’s disgusting. A bond is biology,” Annora pressed. “Ruling is skill. And this woman has demonstrated neither the training nor the temperament to lead a kingdom.”
“Careful.” Solomon’s voice cut across the clearing. “You’re speaking about the woman who has single-handedly built our intelligence network inside an enemy compound.”
Annora barely glanced at him. “Solomon. Ever the loyal soldier.”
“Loyal to facts. You arrived ten minutes ago. She’s been in the field for weeks.”
“And funny you mention biology,” I said, stepping forward. The anger was cold now, focused, past the point of shaking. “Since I’m carrying heirs along with the king’s. Three of them. Growing inside this disgusting human.”
The clearing went silent.
Annora’s composure cracked. Her gaze dropped to my stomach and the calculation behind her eyes recalibrated everything she’d walked into this camp believing.
