Ariana’s POV
I felt my father’s presence before I read his words.
There was something about the letter that carried weight even before I broke the seal, as if the parchment itself remembered his hands, his discipline, the quiet authority that had shaped my entire childhood. I sat on the edge of my bed with the window open, the evening air drifting in gently, and held the letter for a long moment before opening it.
I wasn’t afraid of what it would say.
I was afraid of how deep it would reach.
My father never wrote unnecessarily. Every word he chose was deliberate, measured, and anchored in purpose. As I read, his voice formed naturally in my mind—not loud, not commanding, but steady and calm. He spoke of the royal pack, of how it continued to function with its usual precision, of counc
