Where is my mate?” Tristan demanded the moment he stormed into the chamber. His voice exploded through the room like a trumpet blast, angry and thunderous, reverberating off the walls with enough force to make even the guards outside flinch.
Conri froze.
He stared at his son, words caught in his throat. The tension wrapped around his spine like chains, cold and unrelenting. The news from Octavia—her cryptic confession, the chilling implications—had left him stunned. And now, with Tristan standing before him on the brink of a rampage, Conri could barely breathe, let alone speak.
Octavia, ever the opportunist, seized the moment with calculated grace. Her voice sliced through the air. “I ran away because I knew my secret was exposed,” she declared, her tone sharp, rehearsed.
Conri’s eyes
