Draven.
Every hit Wanda landed on Meredith, I felt it.
Not on my body—but somewhere deeper, coiled tight in my chest where it hurt worse.
And not just the physical blows: I felt her frustration, the rising panic, the sharp sting of betrayal she turned on me.
But I stood my ground. Forced myself not to move, not to stop Wanda or speak up again. Because that was the only way she'd see the truth: the difference between sparring with me—who pulled every punch—and facing someone who wanted to see her break.
Then the session ended.
And Meredith… she didn't look at me like I was her husband. Or even her Alpha.
She looked at me as though I was something vile.
"You might be the greatest King our people will ever have,"
"But you shouldn't have anything to do with marriage. You're unfit to be a husband—and you've failed in that duty."
