Derek's gaze snapped to Ruby like a blade unsheathed. His voice came out low, controlled, but edged with something dangerous. "I should be asking you that question."
Ruby's eyes widened, her face turning into a perfect picture of shock. She pressed one hand lightly to her chest, as though the accusation had physically struck her. "Me? Your Grace, I… I prepared everything. The invitations, the seating, the ritual timetable—I sent the Queen her dress and the time of the event as early as I possibly could. I wanted this to be perfect for her… for the pack."
She spoke with such careful precision, the image of a devoted servant pushed to her limits. Derek didn't answer. Instead, he pulled his phone from his coat pocket again and redialled Kira's number. The line went to voicemail. Again.
"What's going on?"
Declan strode up just as the call cut off, his face tight with worry. He looked from Derek's stone-cold face to Ruby's distraught expression.
