The wind howled across the balcony of the Flame Queen’s citadel, raking over Elizabeth’s cloak as she stared out across the city of Crimson Ridge. Fires glowed warmly in the distance celebratory torches still burning from the unity rites between the packs. But beneath that golden glow, she felt it: something was wrong.
Lucian stood at her side, arms crossed, silent. He hadn’t slept in days. The whispers were returning. And this time, they weren’t only haunting their dreams.
“I feel it too,” he murmured as if reading her mind.
Below them, the palace courtyard buzzed with dignitaries and emissaries from the High Clans, all demanding council with the new Flame Queen. Some praised her rise; others questioned it. And more than a few had eyes that glinted too sharply under torchlight.
Elizab
