(Zulan's POV)
The servant's knock was soft, respectful, the kind of interruption that expected immediate dismissal—and received it. Zulan barely glanced at the young wolf who entered, barely registered the parchment extended toward him, the murmured words about Blooded Eye pack's arrival and their delegation's placement in the eastern wing. He took the notice because protocol demanded it, set it unread upon his desk because his mind had no room for diplomacy, for trade negotiations, for the endless machinery of state that had consumed his waking hours for eight years.
His mind held only one occupant. One fixation. One dangerous, consuming thought: Winter.
He had watched her that morning from the balcony above the training grounds, hidden in shadow like a predator observing prey he had n
