The air was thick with the stench of blood. My father’s boots crunched against the brittle leaves as he stepped onto the desecrated forest floor, the other guards behind him falling into stunned silence.
Bodies were strewn like rag dolls, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, expressions frozen in agony.
“Oh Moon Goddess, help us,” one of the guards muttered, crossing himself.
“Where’s Fredrick?”
“He said he was on his way, sire.”
Richard didn’t respond. He crouched beside one of the corpses—a man, throat slit cleanly by claws. His eyes scanned the surrounding area until they landed on two silver daggers, their edges slick with dried blood.
“Poison,” he growled, picking up one of the daggers.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
“…Lyra?”
A streak of blood dragged through the bush, lea
