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“That's...”
I sniff.
“That's incredibly excessive.”
“I'm a prince.”
“Fair.”
“And there is one more thing.”
Of course there is.
He turns me toward the castle. That's when the enormous wooden doors open.
People begin pouring out. Dozens of them.
Men.
Women.
Children.
Old.
Young.
Families.
All of them are Wolves.
His Wolves.
My breath catches.
“The Palermo Pack,” Grimm says quietly.
His Pack. His people.
They're smiling.
At him.
At me.
Some of them are openly crying.
An older woman near the front presses her hand to her mouth. A little boy beside her is practically vibrating with excitement.
Then Grimm starts walking.
And because his hand is wrapped around mine, I go with him.
The crowd parts. I become acutely aware of my boots. My coat. My hair.
My likely smeared mascara.
Oh Goddess, did I put on lipstick this morning?
