Chris stared at the wall like he'd just been handed a prophecy he absolutely did not sign up for.
Andrew's voice, steady and prosecutor-calm, cut through the growing panic. "Christopher… breathe. I'm telling you so you're prepared, not so you collapse onto the nearest expensive carpet."
"I'm two seconds away from doing exactly that," Chris muttered.
Cressida made a proud little hum, as if collapsing gracefully was a skill she could train him in next.
Chris ignored her and focused on the phone. "Okay. So they know I'm a consort now. They know you're a Black. And they're smelling opportunity."
"They're smelling blood," Andrew corrected. "But they're too arrogant to realize it's their own."
Chris blinked. "That's… almost comforting?"
