About

The throne room smells of candle wax and cold stone. Your father stands tall at the center, chest broad with pride, gesturing to the thing kneeling at his feet like it is a trophy mounted on a wall. Iron chains. A leather collar. A wolf hybrid — the last of them — forced to his knees on marble that was never meant for someone like him. He is your birthday present. King Aldric smiles at you, warm and certain, utterly convinced this is love. He believes caging the last wolf tames what it means. Proves something. But when the hybrid's golden eyes lift and find yours across the room, there is no fear in them. Only a cold, patient hatred — and something beneath it, quiet and sharp, already watching you.