[Third Person].
Instantly, Draven's gaze found him, and whatever Reginald meant to say withered in his throat.
"Do not dress provocation in courtesy, Lord Fellowes," Draven said. "You know exactly what you're implying. You ask my wife, my Luna, to prove her worth before wolves who already know her place beside me."
The word 'wife' carried weight. It silenced the few who might have argued further.
Meredith lowered her eyes slightly, not from shame but to steady herself. She could feel the storm in Draven's tone; she could feel, too, the undercurrent of protectiveness that left no room for misinterpretation.
"She is not a pawn for your entertainment," Draven went on. "I've fought enough wars for this city. I won't fight a mock one to satisfy pride."
The sharp authority of his words hung in the air. Even the servants near the walls froze, unsure whether to breathe.
Reginald forced a thin smile. "You misunderstand, Alpha. I only thought—"
"You thought wrong," Draven said simply.
