SIGRUN
If I thought the dinner toast fiasco was as bad as it could get, the formal council session that followed proved me hilariously, dangerously wrong.
The plates had been cleared by a small army of neutral-faced stewards, but the heavy scent of spilled wine and raw, apex-predator adrenaline still hung thick in the air.
Lord Halvar sat rigidly across from me, his expression carved from stone. He hadn’t looked at me once since Varul threatened to feed him and his entire pack to the crows. I hadn’t looked at him either. The memory of his face morphing into a bloodthirsty beast would probably haunt me for the rest of my natural life. For the rest of this frightening dinner, it was best to pretend he didn’t exist.
“The eastern watchtowers require additional supplies,” Lord Eirik was say
