Deeper.
The kind of resonance that comes from eight hundred years of absolute authority.
The kind of tone that makes stone crack and predators submit.
"You will address Ms. Beck with the respect due to my mate and my equal. You will listen to her analysis without interruption. And you will remember that questioning her presence in this room is the same as questioningmyjudgment."
I take a single step forward.
My wings unfold.
Not fully.
Just enough.
Just enough to fill the space behind me, casting the room in shadow, blocking out the light from the windows.
My amber veins flare.
Bright.
Dangerous.
The color of molten gold on the edge of combustion.
"Do we have an understanding?" I ask.
Lucien goes very, very still.
His pale skin—already bloodless—seems to drain further.
His hands, resting on the table, curl into fists.
And then, slowly, he inclines his head.
"Yes, sir," he says. "My apologies."
"Good."
I fold my wings back into place.
The light returns.
The tension eases.
Slightly.
I turn to Tamsin.
She is watching me with an expression I cannot quite read.
Not fear.
Not awe.
Something else.
Something that makes my chest tighten and my veins pulse with warm, steady light.
