“What do you say?”
The words followed an incredibly shocking speech. Draven sat with his head tilted to the side, letting Esmae’s words ring through his mind, testing the feel of them on his tongue in silence. Draven, King of Dawnshire. King Draven. King Consort of Dawnshire. Mate of Esmae, Queen of Dawnshire; consort to the alphess of a pack.
He rather liked the idea, and was honored that such a female would even consider him to be her partner, a bit of pride surfacing. Draven, though he wasn’t hungry for power, had to admit he liked the notion. “I am duly honored by your consideration, Queen Esmae, and I would be happy to accept if you truly want it to be so.” Draven’s violet eyes locked onto Esmae’s face as a light breeze ruffled the feathers of his wings, lifting them oh-so-gently.


“& they will run you down, down till you fall!”