I stare at nothing in particular as my father and Alaric make arrangements for tomorrow. My fingers are folded neatly in my lap, a picture of subservience. My gaze drifts between the Lycan King Fenrir, and Alaric. I wonder which of them is the lesser evil.
Alaric who ruined my life, or the King who would have forced his son spend the rest of his life with a woman he didn’t love. Said woman is me. Rune, my ex, is the Lycan King’s son, and the only heir to the throne. We might have married, were it not for Rune’s last minute epiphany to dump me at the altar.
I wonder what it would have been like to take Sinclair down my horrible memory lane while he held me against his chest. Would he have kissed my cheek and promised to love me like no one else could?
I guess I’ll never find out.
A tear
