The Great Hall of the Winter Court was a masterpiece of ancient Lycan architecture, carved entirely from dark mountain stone and illuminated by massive, roaring hearths that cast a warm, golden glow over the celebrating crowd. The air was thick with the rich scent of roasting meats, spiced mead, and the overwhelming, intoxicating pheromones of joyous wolves.
Elara sat at the head of the colossal high table, completely overwhelmed but incredibly grounded.
A year ago, she had spent the winter holidays scrubbing the blood and mud off the floors of the Blood Moon packhouse, surviving on cold scraps that the Omegas had managed to sneak into her closet. Tonight, she was dressed in a breathtaking gown of spun silver and midnight velvet. A delicate crown of enchanted, unmelting frost rested up
