Ryley's expression grew solemn as he lowered his gaze to the message.
—
She wants us to extract and develop a scenting perfume using the Alpha Sovereign's blood.
We understand how sensitive this matter is to you, Your Highness.
Without your permission, we intend to give her a defective product instead.
—
The color drained from Ryley's face.
"...What?"
His eyes widened as he looked back at the message, reading it again as though hoping he had misunderstood.
"What the hell..." he breathed.
A knot tightened in his chest.
"What is she planning to do with it?"
His gaze snapped toward Mitchell, confusion giving way to growing alarm.
"...Why would she need something like that?"
The question had barely left his lips when—
Crash.
The painting resting on the easel suddenly toppled onto the floor by itself.
Both Ryley and Mitchell instinctively flinched.
"I'll put it back—"
Mitchell stepped forward, but Ryley's voice stopped him so abruptly that he froze.
"No!"
