The name hung in the chamber like a blade left standing upright in bone.
Darius Noctis.
No one spoke for several seconds after he introduced himself. Even the palace guards outside the western hall seemed to have gone still, as if the entire imperial wing recognized the danger standing just beyond the threshold. The winter wind slipped through the open doors behind him, carrying snow and the smell of blood into the chamber.
Selene stared at the stranger beneath the trembling candlelight.
Darius Noctis.
The southern Alpha.
The one Freya had named with such visible dread.
He did not look like a man who should have walked openly into the imperial palace surrounded by wolves, guards, and the Crown Prince himself. Yet he stood there with effortless composure, one hand resting lightly near his blade, silver eyes carrying the quiet arrogance of something older than etiquette and far more dangerous than politics.
