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... he way the estate was built made it very weak in terms of defense. There was no way they would leave Bery and Kreschenta at that kind of place.

There's also a suggestion to let the soldiers be their escort, however Krische doesn't trust their abilities, also although Bery who had slight distrust towards men doesn't object to it, she still showed some discomfort. That was why for the time being, everyone would be staying at the fortress----

"Really, when it comes to using these kinds ...

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After Song Jianzhi’s death, she participated in the lottery for the reemployment of the underworld population, and started a second life in the small world of dog blood romance and romance. Her job was to be a golden finger for the heroine of destiny.

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later.
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Mingxu’s voice was clear: “Girlfriend.”
Song Jianzhi: Hmm?

Read the guide: Modern overhead, same-sex marriageable settings
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#trying to write the breath of sand sculpture but readers say I am not enough sand sculpture series#
There are always readers who ask if it is mutual attack, it is mutual attack, but it is not strong, it is a cute girl falling in love, but they do not see that mutual attack is not written.
Don’t take the logic seriously, the plot is only for sugar sprinkles, and it’s a pleasure to eat.
This article has opened the anti-theft, passing sugar
Declined to change the text
Author Weibo: @jinjiang small tanluan

Content tags: A soft spot for entertainment, sweet text, through books
Search keywords: Protagonist: Song Jianzhi, Ming Xu ┃ Supporting role: ┃ Others:

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He stalked towards her, chin low so the shadow cast by his hard jaw cut across the thick fur collar of his vest. His hair had fallen over his eyes in the scuffle, so he peered at her through it like a lion in the grass. With each step, his graceful, rolling gait reminded her of a predator stalking its prey. Despite the forest floor littered in twigs and leaves, he didn’t make a sound.

“Wh-who are you?” Elia stammered, backing away, her hands up. He met her step for step until she came up hard against the tree behind her—and didn’t stop until he loomed over her, so broad his shoulders and chest made a wall in front of her. She could feel the heat rising off his skin in the cool, night air.

“I am the Leonine King.” His voice was a dark, husky gravel. Behind him a chorus of wheezes, howls, and chirps of agreement rose from the people watching. “And you are?”

“Elia,” she breathed.

“Elia,” he growled, leaning in closer, bringing with him the scent of pine and rain and the musk of something distinctly male. “I am Reth.” He said the name with a strange, guttural roll in his throat. “I am King of Beasts. I am Clan Leader, and I am Alpha of WildWood.” Several snarls rose from the crowds behind him then, but he ignored them.

Elia swallowed as he leaned in until the scruff on his jaw rasped her cheek. “I am the King,” he said, “And you will be my mate.”

The forest behind him erupted.