Dorian’s POV
The purge did not begin with screams.
It started with silence.
A ripple of awareness passed through the pack like a held breath—wolves pausing mid-step, guards stiffening at their posts, sentinels turning their heads as if they had heard something just beyond sound. Dorian felt it everywhere at once, the sudden tightening of invisible threads snapping into alignment with his will.
He moved.
Not toward the throne. Not toward Lucian.
The palace corridors blurred as he walked, power coiling tight beneath his skin. Wolves parted instinctively, some bowing their heads, others watching him with wide, uncertain eyes. Fear flickered—then obedience followed. That, more than anything, told him the truth.
They felt it too. He was still one of them—simply the one who would protect
