Power had been chasing Serena Frostborne her entire life. She had never once turned around and chased it back. Today, she stopped running, sat down in its chair, and dared it to do something about it.
The throne had held Finnick Shadowclaw for years. Before that, it had held his father. Before that, a line of Alpha Kings whose combined reign had produced the most powerful wolf kingdom on the continent.
Serena Frostborne sat in it.
She looked wrong and she knew it. The throne was too wide. The armrests were too far apart. Her boots barely cleared the front edge of the seat, and the iron back rose behind her head like a wall that had opinions about her height and was sharing them through proportion.
She sat in it anyway.
Chin up. Spine straight. Hands on the armrests with the deliberate, measured placement of a woman who understood that the first three seconds of sitting in a throne determined whether the room saw a ruler or a guest, and guests got asked to leave.
