Lucien's Draven:
I've always hated being with my father.
He never allowed me to walk at my own pace—he'd either drag me along or force me to keep up with his long, unhurried strides. Now was no different.
The moment I agreed to follow him to "see Elara," he seized my arm in a bruising grip, guiding me through corridors I'd never walked, up staircases that seemed to wind into shadows.
Ronan stayed behind, his face twisted with fury and worry. I tried not to think about the look in his eyes, the silent plea he gave me. I tried not to think about how terrified he must be for Elara and our unborn child. Because if I let myself dwell on that, I might lose the fragile composure I needed to face my father.
