Rhys's POV:
“And which one do Father and you think would make a fine Queen?” Rafael asked, his voice razor-sharp with disdain. He looked like he was ready to lunge at our mother.
Our mother gave him one of her withering looks—the kind that stripped flesh from bone—and then walked away, her regal posture stiff with judgment and cold certainty.
I watched her go, something dark simmering in my chest. “She wants to find you a mate,” my wolf muttered, not bothering to hide his irritation. “Keya is—”
“There’s no one else for me,” I said back, cutting him off. It didn’t matter that Keya wasn’t our true mate. She was ours, in every way that counted. The bond we had forged wasn’t made of fate—it was made of fire, blood, and choice.
“Same,” he agreed.
I turned toward Rafael. His entire posture
