Her tone was calm, as if speaking to an old friend. The lion shifted, the taut aggression in his shoulders easing, if only slightly. For a moment, the crowd held its breath. Hope surged. It was as if the years between them had dissolved, the bond resurfacing like an ember coaxed back to flame. King’s head lowered, his eyes fixed on her alone.
But then Margaret’s gaze slipped to the dark shape beneath him. The moment shattered. King tensed, curling tighter around it, a snarl ripping from his throat so sharp it vibrated through the glass. Margaret froze, recognizing the line she couldn’t cross. She straightened slowly, backing away with calm authority.