The moon was full when the summons came.
A low horn echoed through the palace halls, its sound both sacred and chilling, as though it had traveled across centuries just to call her name. Ivy stood in the center of her chamber, cloak already wrapped tight around her shoulders, her hair braided back from her face. Her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, but Selra’s pulse inside her was wild, throbbing like a second heartbeat.
It begins, her wolf murmured, voice sharp with pride. Stand tall, Ivy. We do not bow.
Ivy pressed her hand against the mark on her neck. It pulsed, hotter than ever, as though Arthur himself stirred at the edge of her thoughts, waiting, watching. She forced her grip to loosen. This trial wasn’t his. It was hers.
A knock came, sharp against the wood. Two guards app
