Martha
The door to my chambers slammed open with enough force to rattle the crystal decanter on the sideboard. Ella stormed in, cheeks flushed, silver-gray hair swinging like a whip behind her.
“Mother!” she hissed, slamming the door shut again. “Did you hear? That old hag Agnes just invited Leah to the Silver Moon Pack—for Her Royal Highness’s eightieth birthday banquet. She’s parading the little freak in front of the Lycan King’s mother, hoping for a royal blessing on Leah and Samuel’s marriage!”
I let out a low, mirthless laugh and poured myself a generous measure of aged whiskey. The amber liquid caught the lamplight like trapped fire.
“Let her go,” I said calmly, swirling the glass. “Silver Moon is the pinnacle of our world. Leah—the country-bred, blotch-faced monster who’s never
