I sat in the library with Lola, watching afternoon light dust the leather-bound volumes with golden warmth. She'd found a first edition of Lycan poetry – a collection my great-grandmother had annotated with elegant script in the margins – and was reading passages aloud in that melodious voice that still made Leon purr with contentment. This quiet moment, stolen between meetings and responsibilities, felt like a small rebellion against the constant demands of governing in my brother's absence. I should have known better. Peace never lasts in this palace; it merely catches its breath before the next crisis arrives.
The library doors burst open without a warning knock – already unusual enough to make me straighten in my chair. My security chief stood in the doorway, his face ashen beneath hi
