Nearby, Scarlett was bristling, her predatory instincts screaming that she had walked into a snare. Paul’s groveling posture before Tyrone only made the bile rise in her throat.

She yanked the Ferelden noble into the shadows of a stone pillar. "I brought you here to show dominance, not to roll over like an omega," she hissed. "You are high-born. Tyrone is just a merchant who happens to have dens in Avalon. Why are you baring your throat to him? You should be asserting your rank."

To her horror, Paul ripped his hand away, his eyes flashing with a cold, territorial anger. "What is wrong with your head? You expected me...