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... want to draw a portrait. Like the other family portraits of the royal family. With you.’

And with the new migraine, Claude pushed back his groan and gripped his head.

Yeah. It didn’t have to be this complicated. He just had to get rid of the thing in front of him.

So he needed to destroy that painting. He needed to break it…..

For some reason, his hand didn’t move from his side.

Just what was it. What was that painting. Just what did that person in the painting mean ...

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No, he will not let this happen! She is bound to be his!

For the arrest of a bandit, she became the hostage and jumped off a cliff? Dead?

…Nonsense! He does not believe! She is destined to become his wife, and he will find her…

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He stalked towards her, chin low so the shadow cast by his hard jaw cut across the thick fur collar of his vest. His hair had fallen over his eyes in the scuffle, so he peered at her through it like a lion in the grass. With each step, his graceful, rolling gait reminded her of a predator stalking its prey. Despite the forest floor littered in twigs and leaves, he didn’t make a sound.

“Wh-who are you?” Elia stammered, backing away, her hands up. He met her step for step until she came up hard against the tree behind her—and didn’t stop until he loomed over her, so broad his shoulders and chest made a wall in front of her. She could feel the heat rising off his skin in the cool, night air.

“I am the Leonine King.” His voice was a dark, husky gravel. Behind him a chorus of wheezes, howls, and chirps of agreement rose from the people watching. “And you are?”

“Elia,” she breathed.

“Elia,” he growled, leaning in closer, bringing with him the scent of pine and rain and the musk of something distinctly male. “I am Reth.” He said the name with a strange, guttural roll in his throat. “I am King of Beasts. I am Clan Leader, and I am Alpha of WildWood.” Several snarls rose from the crowds behind him then, but he ignored them.

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