She leaned against his chest. The moon cast light across her hair, and he pressed his forehead to hers.
“Let them watch,” he said. “Let them whisper. Tomorrow, you become their queen.”
“I’m no queen,” she murmured.
“No,” he agreed. “You’re something wilder.”
Just before dawn, a soft howl broke the silence. It moved through the amphitheater. It was not part of the ceremony and it wasn’t one of the guards.
Jaxon, half-asleep on the balcony outside Sienna’s door, snapped to alertness.
Darius was already in motion, blade unsheathed, eyes glowing faintly.
They followed the sound.
Near the altar, a streak of ash had been painted across the stone. Not with pigment. With burnt fur.
The carvings under the platform had been shifted. It was a tiny move, but clear to see. A symbol of union no
