The parchment inside was older than Enrique expected. The edges were yellowed, brittle in places, ink slightly faded but still legible. Symbols marked the margins—crescent moons, twin blades, a crown split down the center.
The first line was written in thicker ink, as though whoever had penned it had pressed harder than necessary.
When the balance falters and the throne forgets its humility, the Higher Power shall bloom.
Enrique frowned. Higher Power? Did they mean the Moon Goddess? Also, what throne? What exactly was this about? Fate? Bloodline? Something else entirely?
His eyes moved lower.
Not born of ambition but of necessity. Not raised for the throne but called to it.
His jaw tightened slightly. His wolf made a low noise, equally unsettled.
Not raised for the throne?
His min
