Kael’s POV
Power did not roar anymore; it whispered.
It was in the scrape of boots outside my chamber, the murmured words exchanged by servants when they thought I couldn’t hear, the way silence seemed to stretch longer between sentences when I entered a room.
At first, I thought it was the usual unease of new rule. The pack was still learning to breathe without fear, and I was still learning to lead without it. But lately, the whispers had changed. They no longer carried talk of rations or patrols. They carried something older. Something colder.
It began with the letter.
No messenger claimed it. No guard saw it delivered. It simply was, lying on the desk in my study, the wax seal dark as blood. The symbol pressed into it was one I didn’t recognize — a crescent moon split through the
