By the time I arrived at the debate venue, the mood outside was already combustible. Wolves crowded in tight knots, their voices low and guarded, tension humming in their postures. Security moved faster than usual, badges flashing, scanning everyone twice. Even the human press had pushed past the barricades with microphones raised and rolling. The last time a werewolf debate drew this much attention, it ended in blood. This one felt closer to home.
Richard stood just inside the backstage corridor in a sharp black suit, no regalia. He didn’t need it. The weight of his crown showed in the stiffness of his shoulders, in the way his eyes followed the crowd without blinking.
He didn’t speak when I approached.
I touched his arm, low enough that the cameras wouldn’t see. “You’re going to be gr
