While the council room continued to smell of old stone and incense, beneath it, a subtle yet persistent odor of smoke and iron crept in from the combat outside the walls. The roar of wolves shedding their blood for split allegiances, the sound of steel on steel, claws tearing flesh, the battle outside had gotten louder by the minute.
However, the words that Elaria had just heard reverberated louder within her than all of that commotion.
Her father’s name. On Veylen’s tongue.
It was like being cut open all over again.
Across the room, the shadowed figure raised his chin, the sharp edges of his face glinting in the firelight. With patience and composure, Veylen emerged from the shadows as if he had been waiting there all along, feeding off the destruction outside. More chilly than the
