The King was planning to starve us. I concluded, as he went on and on talking unnecessary gibberish about the generosity of the Queen, and my possible ascension to the throne.
Who sent him to blow my trumpet? And to what end was his praise? I bit on my lower lip, shifting from foot to foot, hearing the applause that exploded through the hall as he talked about my magic prowess for the umpteenth time.
Can we cut this bullshit already? I looked down, meeting Diana's gaze. Of course she is aware of my unstable aura at the moment. But who would blame me? Did the king think that I craved attention like most would?
The applause died down after a few beats, but the ripples of curiosity in the room didn't. As the Lycan King's words settled into the air, I caught the glances then — some fleeting, some lingering — and the low murmurs that never truly stopped.
