I stood outside the throne room for a hour before I was told, that the King and Jack had been called away urgently.
And so, I went home. And I went to bed even before Jack came home.
But screams tore through the night.
I jolted upright, heart hammering against my ribs.
Jack was already at the window, shirtless, the torchlight below carving shadows across his back. His stillness was predatory.
"What's happening?" I scrambled toward him, the silk sheets tangling around my legs.
He blocked the window, a solid wall of muscle. "Go back to sleep."
"Jack—"
"Pack dispute. I'll handle it."
But the shouts were knives scraping stone.
Council's orders!
Bring him out!
I grabbed his arm, the warmth of his skin a shock. "Tell me!"
He turned. In the flickering gloom, his expression wasn't anger. It was resignation. Like he was expecting whatever that was happening downstairs.
"Jack. Tell me"
