The evening began with sound.
A swell of voices rose from the great hall, deep and resonant, carrying the weight of wolves and their allies gathering together. The hum of conversation bled through the stone walls as if the place itself couldn’t contain it. Laughter, growls, the scrape of boots against polished floors, every sound sharpened my nerves until I thought they might tear me open.
My palms were damp. My stomach, a knot that refused to loosen.
Clara must have noticed. She stood beside me, her hand brushing my arm in a quiet act of reassurance, her expression carefully composed. Her beauty tonight was as soft and warm, her golden hair braided with silver threads, her gown a deep blue that clung like Sapphires. She looked not like a handmaid to me, but a beautiful omega, dying to
