Vincent’s POV
The palace never sleeps. My boots echo against cold stone as I stalk the torchlit corridors absentmindedly. My thoughts are elsewhere—on Myra. My daughter. Her shallow breaths, the fever dimming her spark, the fragile frame too small for the crown she was born to carry.
I shove open the council chamber doors. Rowan, my Beta, straightens at the long oak table, parchment scattered like fallen leaves.
I knew something was off or he heard news to deliver.
“Alpha,” he says, inclining his head. “Word’s back. Dr. Lean has agreed to perform Myra’s surgery.”
Relief slams into me. My chest seizes as I drag in a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been denying myself for days.
“She’ll heal,” Adam, my wolf, rumbles in my chest, certainty vibrating through my bones.
I close my eyes, ste
