~Prince Kaeren~
The boardroom table was a slab of cold, polished obsidian, much like the men sitting around it. For three hours, I had played the part of the dutiful Prince, the architect of a multi-billion-dollar merger with our Spanish allies.
My face carried professional indifference, but beneath it, my skin felt tight. I wonder why.
"The logistics for the Spanish distribution centers are finalized," the lead partner said, his voice a droning buzz in my ear.
I nodded, my mind flickering back to the suite at the palace. Waverly. I'd left her there. I told myself it was for the plan. I told myself I didn't care that her scent—that maddening mix of jasmine and something as sharp as the air before the storm—was still clinging to my skin.
"Something is wrong," Vane, my wolf, growled in the back of my mind. He'd been pacing for an hour, his hackles raised. "The air is sour. I feel reckless, Kaeren."
