The moonlight spilled across the war room’s polished table, casting pale reflections over the maps and scattered documents. My fingertips hovered over the inked lines of the territory borders, but my thoughts were nowhere near strategy. They were tangled in the echoes of last night—Kian’s rough whisper in my ear, the way Rowan’s hand had lingered against my back, the storm brewing in Daemon’s eyes, and the almost fragile warmth I’d caught in Lucien’s rare smile.
The quadruple bond was growing stronger. And so was the chaos it promised.
“We need to address the northern patrol breach.” Lucien’s voice snapped through the room like a whip. He was standing, one palm pressed to the table, his other hand gesturing sharply to the map. His tone was clipped, controlled—too controlled.
“Three atta
