He moved down the steps without responding to Calder. His stride was measured, unhurried, carrying the specific authority of a king who did not accelerate for chaos.
He walked past the two fighting wolves without looking at them.
The two largest Alpha wolves in the kingdom were tearing into each other three feet from his path. But he had walked through battlefields that made this look like a disagreement between puppies. His eyes were on the white wolf, and the white wolf alone.
Aegon snarled in his peripheral vision. Tiberon did not flinch, did not slow, did not acknowledge the sound, because acknowledging it would grant it significance and it had none.
He stopped in front of Aurelia.
The white wolf looked up at him with golden eyes that were wide and frightened and carrying the residual stress of a wolf who had been caged, licked, fought over, and abandoned in the span of fifteen minutes.
