Ravena got the news from Luciver. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She didn't crumble. The first thing Magnus had taught her when they took the throne together was that a queen must always hold her crown with pride. So she held it now, even as her heart cracked in the middle. Her mate—her partner, her confidant, was gone. Slaughtered by the same creatures who now politely called her "Your Majesty" and offered condolences as if their fangs weren't still wet with werewolf blood.
"Ravena…" he began. "I am sorry. I will do everything in my power to get these people. The ones responsible will bleed for this."
"Who brought the news?" she asked.
"One Beta Talon," he replied. "Says Alpha Kyllian demands that you be escorted out of Blood City instantly."
Ravena raised an eyebrow. This she expected. Kyllian was loyal to the throne to a fault, he worshipped his king. "I guess Kyllian blames you after all," she said coolly, eyes scanning Luciver's unreadable face.
