I had just turned eighteen. Instead of celebration, I was given ruin. The rogues came at night. Lycans. Ferocious, taller, stronger, hungrier than any ordinary wolf. They broke into my home with claws against stone and steel against bone. I fought. Gods, I fought, though my hands shook and my heart screamed louder than my throat. One of them caught me, his grip like iron around my arm. "You would learn not to mess with the wrong king again," one of the guards barked, dragging me across the splintered wood. His voice was thick with cruel delight. My breath hitched. I twisted my head back toward the ruins of my home and in that split second, I saw it. A smirk. My stepfather’s lips curved, smug, satisfied, as if my capture was a victory he had planned. I had been betrothed to Xander, the Alpha’s son, out of duty, not love. Neither of us wanted the bond, yet it was supposed to secure our kingdom, to keep us safe from threats like this. But the rogues were not just a threat.