"Do you know what it means?" Mirabelle's mother asked the matriarch. The rich scent of old books, polished wood, and burning oak lingered comfortably in the room.
The old lynx sat in one of the heavy armchairs in the drawing room adjoining the library.
Behind her stood the salt-and-pepper-haired Beastman, one hand resting gently on her shoulder. His broad thumb absentmindedly traced slow circles through the fabric of her dress, a gesture so unconscious it spoke of decades of habit.
Mirabelle, her three mates, Leontis, the Duchess, and the former Duchess with her mate had all gathered there after returning from the temple. And Mirabelle had told them everything.
Now, silent and uncertain faces turned toward the elderly lynx Beastwoman.
One of her hands rested atop the elegant walking cane positioned between her knees.
The other covered her mate's hand where it lay upon her shoulder.
