IOWYN
I had been wrong about many things in my long life, but nothing compared to the magnitude of my misjudgment regarding mortal wolves.
The golden sunlight streaming through ancient windows felt like an affront. As Prince of the Unseelie Court, heir to Winter and Shadow, I found the cheery brightness almost offensive. I stood rigid among the pack elders, their questions about fae politics buzzing around me like particularly determined gnats. My attention remained divided—one part maintaining the façade of diplomatic engagement, the other stretched thin across the bond that now tethered me to Savannah.
"Prince Iowyn," Elder Blackthorn, a gray-haired male with spectacles perched precariously on his nose, leaned forward. "You mentioned the Winter Court has been monitoring wolf territori
