Lyra’s POV
Days had gone since Fenrir adopted me as his responsibility, and it felt like days since I had gone insane.
The rooms that belonged to the King were luxurious, but they also resembled a cage. Thanks to the super-healing ability of Lycan blood, the s***h wound on my shoulder had already faded into a pale scar. I was no longer a bleeding prey, wrapped up in a thick fur mantle. I was a twenty-three-year-old Vanguard, used to twelve-hour-long drills in mud and frost, and the enforced idleness almost drove me mad.
The King gave me new black leathers, precisely tailored, but I had nothing to do besides pacing across the carpets brought from the faraway lands. Every day, he went somewhere, sorting out the matters related to his power, to make sure Anton wouldn’t have a chance to rui
