Millicent
The second morning of the Summit arrived with a knot of dread in my stomach that had nothing to do with morning sickness. Today was the formal tribunal - a supposedly routine review of Abel's leadership that certain packs had turned into an opportunity to challenge him. And everyone knew the real topic wouldn't be trade routes or border disputes.
I sat at the makeshift desk in my suite, tablet in hand, coordinating Abel's appearance schedule when he emerged from his adjoining room already dressed in his formal king attire - dark suit, alpha presence dialed up to eleven.
"You don't have to come," he said for the third time since breakfast. "Dr. Winters was clear about bed rest."
"I'm not hiding while they attack you," I replied, not looking up from the schedule. "Besides, some
