Alter froze. Her vision blurred as heat prickled behind her eyes, tears welling before she could stop them. Her voice lodged in her throat, useless, as she stared at the three figures rushing toward her.
The Catfurren man in the cloak was Purigon—the current King of Ventaria. Beside him ran his younger sister, Princess Fishia, her silver hair disheveled from the wind.
They had always called her Great Aunty Felicia.
Though more than six generations stood between them, the distance had never mattered. Alter had been there since the moment they drew their first breaths. She had taught them how to hold a blade, how to command an army, how to rule with strength without forgetting compassion.
And behind them stood Azraphael. Alter's mentor waited quietly, her presence as steady as the earth beneath them.
Beyond them, an entire host had gathered.
