MAILAH DIDN'T HESITATE.
The "newborn foal" feeling in her legs was forgotten, replaced by a surge of adrenaline that burned hotter than the morning sun.
The shock of Grayson's words—the idea of him being stripped of his own land—acted like a jolt of electricity, bypassing the dull aches in her joints. She gripped the railing of the grand staircase, her bare feet silent on the cold marble as she began to descend.
"Grayson! What are you talking about?" she called out, her voice echoing through the vaulted foyer. "What do you mean you don't own it? This is your home!"
Below, the man in the crimson cloak tilted his head. His eyes, dark and glittering like polished onyx, slid toward her with a predatory slowness. He started to open his mouth, a thin, sharp smile curling his lips, but he never got the chance to speak.
Grayson moved.
