Damon
The moment I stepped into the courtyard, I knew something was wrong.
The palace gates groaned open ahead of us, the guards offering their bows a beat too slow. Ronan had peeled off to handle the travel reports. I stayed behind, expecting the usual—an update on the selection, Council requests, maybe a moment of quiet before the chaos resumed.
Instead, silence greeted me like a fog.
No attendants rushed forward with messages. No one met my gaze directly. The stillness wasn’t reverent—it was suspicious.
I handed my coat to a waiting steward, but he flinched when our hands brushed. I stared at him until he bowed and fled.
My chest ached—low and sharp, like a bruise beneath the ribs.
At first, I thought it was fatigue. The journey had been long, the meetings longer. But the ache
