The Exiled Princess
Not a question asked.
I blinked. “They obey you very quickly.”
“They are my pack,” he said simply.
I watched them decorate everything in sight, laughing as someone spilled flour upon someone else. The air smelled warm and sweet, filled with cinnamon, vanilla, and something reminiscent of spiced fruit. Children argued good-naturedly over dough shapes. Someone sang in a rather dreadful key.
I had never seen anything like it.
“Is this what Christmas is?” I asked softly.
Marek leaned slightly toward me. “Part of it. People decorate, bake, share gifts, spend time with family and loved ones.”
Bab Populer