It was likely the she-wolf probably didn’t even know she was doing it.
Callum took Sonia’s hand and moved toward the door, muttering, “Let’s do this.”
“Hang on,” Ryon called and Callum stopped, pulling Sonia to his side.
“Have you briefed her on protocol?” Ryon asked, getting close.
“Sorry?” Callum replied, his thoughts anywhere but on protocol which was something, as king, he didn’t have to concern himself with. Only those around him did.
Ryon gave him an aggravated scowl but turned gentled eyes to Sonia.
“Sonia, you’re about to walk into a Throne Room in the official capacity as our Queen,” he explained softly. “Everyone in that room will bow to you and Callum. If you were alone, you’d walk to the throne, seat yourself and tell them to rise. As you’re with Callum, you don’t say anything. Don’t speak at all until Callum tells you that you can. He’ll lead you to the throne and give the order. In a minute, as this happens, people will talk but you won’t. Your duty is to observe in silence, don’t say a word. But pay attention, love, to everything that’s going on. You’ll understand why later. Okay?”
Callum found he was annoyed with himself that he hadn’t thought to instruct her on the way down the mountain.
He found himself further annoyed that Sonia was gazing up at Ryon with open gratitude.
She nodded to Ryon. Callum gave her hand a tug and, without looking at her, he led a silent Sonia through the mansion and up the wide staircase to The Throne Room.
The doors were opened as they approached and he heard Sonia take in a surprised breath before he guided her through.
The room was filled with his warriors and the mansion’s detail. Every one of them, including Mona, who was standing at the foot of the dais, dropped into the deep, heads lowered, ceremonial bow.
He strode through the room, hand in hand with Sonia whose step had faltered. Looking down at her, he saw her staring in fearful awe at the fifty large wolves who were bowed low.
He lifted her hand and tucked it under his arm, drawing her closer to him in an effort to offer her comfort.
She looked up at him, her eyes still startled, and he nodded down at her but didn’t wait for her response and led her up the stairs to the throne sitting there.
Without delay, as his father had done before him and every king, prince, duke, governor or noble in history did with their mate, he sat on the throne and pulled her into his lap.
Instantly, she made a surprised noise and tried to jerk away.
His arms tightened around her, he gave her a warning shake and her alarmed gaze flashed to his. Whatever she saw there made her stare then her eyes went blank and her body settled into his.
“Rise,” he commanded, the assemblage took their feet and all eyes turned to the throne.
He knew what they saw.
If he’d not claimed her, she’d be standing at the right side of his throne.
But, claimed and bound, now their queen, she was in his lap.
He felt another thrill of elation, understanding the overwhelming importance of the occasion as did everyone in the room. Everyone except, he didn’t think to note, Sonia.
Watching their eyes scan Sonia, he allowed himself a moment to glory in it, knowing what they saw. Even if it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with fate, he was still exceedingly proud of it.
Then he commenced business.
Not looking at Mona, his eyes searched the room and focused on Mona’s Lieutenant Governor.
“Saint,” he called and the tall warrior walked toward the dais.
Callum knew Saint well. Saint had fought alongside Callum. He was a strong, crafty warrior and a good friend. Thirty-one years ago, Mac had installed Saint at Mona’s side to make certain she didn’t discover Sonia’s existence and to keep an eye on Mona.
He’d done both.
As was standard practice, Saint had also been interrogated but, not surprisingly, he had no connection to the plot nor, until recently, any idea the rebellion had chosen the Western Territories to assemble.