Elara’s POV
“Your Majesty!”
Isolde’s voice cracked like a whip through the silence. She stood in the doorway, bleached-gold hair swept high, emerald velvet trailing behind her like a serpent’s tail. Her painted lips were already curving into their practiced smile — the one I’d learned to fear long before I ever set foot in this palace.
My blood turned to ice.
I turned my face away. Instinct. Pure, animal instinct. My hand drifted to the loose strand of silver hair and I tugged it across my cheek, letting it fall like a curtain. A pathetic shield. But it was all I had.
Don’t look at me. Don’t see me. Please.
Moonlight — my wolf — snarled in anger behind my ribs, triggered by the trauma from five years ago. The hunger. The bruises on my arms where Isolde’s nails had dug in. The nights
