The High King’s arrival was not a battle; it was an eclipse.
By sunset, the horizon was no longer orange and gold; it was a shimmering, unnatural silver. A fleet of massive, silent airships hovered over the Black Mountain, their hulls etched with runes that hummed with a frequency that made every wolf in the pack drop to their knees in involuntary submission.
I stood on the front steps of the Estate, flanked by Killian and Kael. We had dressed in our full formal regalia. I'm in a gown of woven silver wire that felt like armour, Killian, in his dark Regent’s coat.
A single platform descended from the largest ship. On it stood a man who looked like he was carved from the very ice of the Arctic. His hair was white, not from age, but from the sheer concentration of magic. His eyes were the
