The West Wing was a hive of frantic activity. We had only hours to pack our lives into a few crates. The mood was sombre, the air thick with the realization that our "victory" had lasted less than twenty-four hours.
I found Killian in the nursery, sitting on the edge of Leo’s bed. He looked battered, his chest bruised from Malakai’s strike, but his gaze was fixed on the sleeping boys.
"I’m sorry, Elara," he whispered as I entered. "I told you I would be your shield, and I couldn't even stand for five seconds against him."
I sat beside him, the weight of the silver gown suddenly too heavy to bear. "No one could, Killian. He isn't a wolf. He’s something else entirely. Silas was trying to overthrow him for a reason because he’s a tyrant who thinks he owns the moon."
Killian reached out an
