[New York, 9:12]
Ryley stepped out of the car, Mitchell immediately at his side, arm extended to steady him.
"Ack—" Ryley hissed, breath catching as a sudden, sharp sting flared low in his stomach.
"Your Highness," Mitchell said at once, worry darkening his gaze. "Are you alright? Your body is still recovering. Are you certain you want to go in?" He hesitated, then added gently, "You don't need to force yourself like this. I can speak to him on your behalf. You don't have to do this alone."
"It's nothing, Mitch," Ryley replied. He offered a practiced smile—too smooth, too quick—as he slowly pulled his hand away from his lower abdomen. "Don't worry about it."
Mitchell's concern wasn't misplaced. Ryley knew that.
His body was still paying the price of staying with the Alpha through a full rut.
Of course, he had lied to Clyde when he said he hadn't hurt him.
