The atmosphere within the Blackfang Stronghold had shifted from a place of victory to a tomb of suspicion. The air was thick, not with the smell of the coming spring, but with the metallic tang of unsheathed steel and the cloying jasmine scent of Sienna's pervasive influence.
Lucien had marched his army into the blizzard, a king chasing a shadow, leaving the fortress under a lockdown that felt more like a mass imprisonment.
In the Western Wing, Gwen stood in the center of her cell. The iron collar around her neck hummed, a low-frequency vibration that was supposed to keep her submissive. But the collar had been designed for a Sun Queen—a girl of fire and heat. It was not built to contain the cold, celestial power that was currently blooming in the marrow of her bones.
Ever since Kaelen's touch in the forest, the silver resonance had grown. It wasn't a flame; it was a frost. It was the silent, inexorable power of the moon that pulled the tides and froze the world.
