21
Tempest and I stand on the roof of the Emperor’s Palladium. It’s a modern high-rise that’s our center of operations. Below us, the red landscape of Furonium stretches out in every direction. A large crowd quietly waits by the base of the building. Anticipation charges the air. It’s a big day.
Tempest and I wear special leathers for the occasion. Mine are red; his are black. Both sets are sleeveless to show the armscale pattern that marks us a mated pair.
As we stand side by side, Tempest rests his large hand on my lower back. Warmth radiates from his palm, sending shivers up my spine.
“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice growly and low. “It’s a big moment and there’s no cause to rush.”
Tempest makes a good point. Am I ready to start the official Procession that will mark the beginni
