Lyra’s POV
The Great Hall of the Crimson Moon was a cavernous, intimidating monument to the pack’s ancient, brutal history. Towering pillars of black marble held up a vaulted ceiling lost in the shadows, and at the far end of the room sat the Obsidian Throne—a massive, jagged seat carved directly from volcanic rock, flanked by twin fire pits that cast a harsh, flickering orange light over the assembly.
The room was packed, filled with dozens of pack elders, high-ranking generals, and wealthy nobles clustered together, their voices a low, anxious murmur.
But the center of the room was dominated entirely by Lady Morana and her daughter.
The Ice Queen paced furiously in front of the throne, dressed in an immaculate gown of spun silver and white fur, her face a mask of cold, venomous fury.
