"Sit," King Tiberon ordered, already pouring whiskey.
One for himself. One for his son. One for Hyran.
The last time they'd been in this configuration, Dexmon found out about Viper's Kiss and was told he couldn't hold his mate.
Tiberon handed him a glass.
Dex held it, thumb running along the rim, watching the amber catch the light from the hearth.
Tiberon picked up his own glass, and sat across from his son. Hyran slumped into the third armchair.
"Shadowclaw could have taken her at any point," Tiberon said, voice steady as iron. "He didn't. Whether that was strategy or something else, I'll leave to your interpretation. But he saved her life. We gave him our word, and that does not bend. Not for an ally."
"I know." Dex's eyes didn't leave the fire. "You don't need to explain how your word works. I grew up watching it."
He took a slow drink. It burned, and he let it.
"She is my mate by law. My wife. The Crown Princess of Drakenfell. I don't understand where his confusion is."
