The dining room in Matriarch Genevieve's private quarters was elegant yet cozy, with warm lighting and antique furniture that spoke of generations of Valois history. The elderly wolf sat across from me, her silver hair immaculately styled despite her advancing years. Though her body showed signs of aging, her amber eyes—so like Julian's—remained sharp and clear.
"More wine, dear?" she asked, lifting the crystal decanter.
I nodded, watching as the dark red liquid filled my glass. "Thank you... Grandmother."
The title still felt strange on my tongue, but Genevieve's smile widened at hearing it.
"I've waited a long time to have you address me as such," she said, setting down the decanter. "Though I wish the circumstances were different."
