It started with the guards.
Not the new ones. The old ones. Wolves who had served the Montenegro bloodline longer than I had been alive. Wolves who trusted their instincts more than words.
One morning, as I crossed the lower hall, two of them straightened and bowed.
“Good morning, Luna,” one said.
His eyes lifted. Flicked over my face. His brow creased.
“I—” He swallowed. “Forgive me, my Queen.”
The other guard shifted uneasily. “Your scent changed,” he said before he could stop himself.
The words hit harder than an insult.
I didn’t answer. I kept walking, my spine straight, my steps even. I didn’t look back until I was alone in the stairwell, my palm pressed flat against the stone wall, my breathing shallow.
My scent had not changed.
But something else had entered the air.
By m
