The war room of the Obsidian Castle was a cavernous hall carved directly into the mountain’s marrow. A massive table of weirwood stood in the center, its surface etched with the topography of the entire continent. Around it stood the Lycan High Command—scarred, ancient warriors who looked like they had been forged in the same fire as Kael Draven.
When I entered beside Kael, the room went silent. I could feel their eyes—predatory, skeptical, and heavy with the weight of centuries. I was no longer the girl in the white silk dress. I was dressed in dark, reinforced leather, the new brand on my chest pulsing with a dull, golden warmth beneath my tunic.
"My King," a massive Lycan with a cybernetic-looking scar across his eye grunted. "You bring the Northern girl to the inner sanctum? The Alph
