The garden had not changed.
The white roses were still swaying in the brittle wind. Frost still clung to their pale petals. The mountains still loomed like silent judges beyond the iron gates.
And yet everything felt… tilted.
As if the ground beneath Mei's feet had shifted half an inch and her body had not yet caught up.
She stared at Lucian, but her mind was no longer entirely present in the garden. His words were moving through her thoughts like cracks spreading through glass.
Kael, the name echoed louder than anything else he had said. Kael, who had walked her through the estate on her first day. Kael, who had patiently explained the pack hierarchy when she asked too many questions.
Kael, who had been the one to reassure her quietly, firmly; that Alaric was not the monster the rumors made him out to be.
"...A weakened king is much easier to advise… and eventually replace."
Her stomach twisted.
No.
Her mind rejected it immediately. Instinctively.
