If my mind had been buzzing before, it practically roared now. We talked into details about the plan to infiltrate the pack, by gaining the trust of the triplets.
The queen had even suggested that I flirt with them if necessary to get the mission done, that she would talk with her son after this so that he wouldn't be taken unawares.
Her tone was calm, but her eyes held that glint that told me she wasn't joking—she never joked when it came to strategy. My smirk faltered when she leaned back, fingers drumming the arm of her chair, and began outlining what I had only heard in whispers.
"The combat season is brutal," she said, voice low, like she was reciting something etched into her bones. "It stretches for two weeks, sometimes longer, depending on how many contestants survive the stages. You win, you advance. You lose, you are cast out. If you survive the bruises, that is."
So far, so good.
But she wasn't done.
