The King rose from his seat with a sudden, explosive force that silenced the music mid-note. The golden goblets trembled on the table as his chair scraped harshly against the polished marble. His amber eyes blazed with barely contained fury, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.
"Enough!" he roared, the sound echoing against the high vaulted ceiling. Conversations died instantly. The nobles, diplomats, and attendants froze where they stood, their gazes darting between their sovereign and the royal musician who had been innocently plucking at his lyre moments ago.
Riven's hands hovered above the strings, confusion written plainly across his face. His black wolf ears twitched nervously, picking up the sharp edge in the King's tone. He hadn't finished the song—the song Theresa had asked him to play, a tribute to the First Queen.
