Months later, our polished obsidian carriage carried us to the World Spire for the new Continental Summit. Silent shadow magic moved it through the crowd.
Delegates filled both sides of the road, and the Night Court banners flew in daylight above them.
Near the grand entrance, guards stopped our procession for a line of prisoners bound for the barren lands of exile.
They were gaunt, shackled survivors of the wolf pack's failed coup, the last soldiers who had fought for Fenrir's rule.
Fenrir walked among them.
Selene's last attack before her escape had twisted his legs and left them set at the wrong angles.
The plague had stripped away the rest of his strength. Filthy rags hung where his royal furs had once covered his shoulders.
Chained between two wolves, he stumbled through the mu
