Emily’s POV
The chamber was quiet except for the steady tick of a jeweled clock on the mantle. Shadows stretched across the walls, thrown by the flickering glow of tall candles. Emily Beaumont sat at the long oak table, her fingers drumming idly against the polished surface as her eyes lingered on the parchment spread before her.
A map of the Northern Territories lay open, edges curling, symbols marked in crimson ink. At the center, near the wolf council’s sigil, she had scrawled a single word in elegant script: Lucas.
She leaned back, her silk gown spilling across the chair like liquid shadow. The firelight kissed her features, bringing out the sharp cut of her cheekbones, the cold gleam in her eyes. Beauty had always been her first weapon; it was the one people underestimated until it
