The sharp sting of cold stone met Lucas’s back as he jolted awake. Darkness surrounded him, thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint flicker of a torch beyond the iron bars. The dungeon stank of blood, sweat, and despair. His muscles ached, and his wrists were raw from the shackles biting into his skin.
Then it hit him, memories crashing like a wave.
The ambush. The betrayal. Kaen.
And worst of all... Draka.
Lucas’s breath hitched in his throat. The last thing he remembered was standing in his chamber, demanding Kaen to attack Draka, only for the traitor to stand motionless. And then—pain. A sharp jab to his neck. Wolfbane. The same poison he once used to keep Draka weak during his own imprisonment.
Now the tables had turned.
He was the prisoner.
And Draka was king.
The crea
