Chapter 269
Daphne
"What suggestions?" the burly man with the tiger ears says. His voice is tight, the earlier smugness replaced by a thin veneer of control stretched over panic.
I sigh internally.
"You know what suggestion," I say, letting a hint of bored impatience color my tone. I roll my shoulders in a lazy shrug. "I propose a duel."
The gasps that ripple through the chamber are, frankly, pathetic. A symphony of indrawn breaths and fluttering fans. What fucking cowards.
I'd expect the theatrics from the herbivore bloc—their instincts are wired for flight, after all. But the predators in here? The wolves and foxes and hawks? They've been declawed by velvet chairs and vintage wine.
"Duels and death matches for succession have been banned for over a hundred years! They are a relic of a savage past! We are a civilized kingdom!"
"Oh."
The single syllable drops from my lips, flat and cold.
