Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 1 - Chapitre 8

“Kneel and submit to your superiors” Isolde Ashbourne sneers, stepping into my path before I can cross the stone archway of the Royal Lodge Quarter.Her amber eyes flare with raw predator malice, her wolf itching right beneath her polished skin. The morning sun reflects off the heavy silver runes etched into the lodge’s entrance, but all I feel is the cold, sharp ache in my injured ankle. I stand my ground, shifting my weight over my full hips, refusing to let my plus-size frame diminish under her threat. I was born human, without a drop of wolf blood or a beast to protect me, but I have survived four years in the Moonfang Province on grit alone.“Isolde, if you kneel and beg for my mercy right now, I might consider letting you keep your desk post at the lodge,” I reply, keeping my voice level, smooth, and entirely unbothered. “Otherwise…”“Otherwise what?” she snaps, her claws lengthening a fraction of an inch, digging into the velvet sleeves of her tunic. “You’re an unbonded human,

“Get out of my face, Isolde,” I snarl, my voice laced with human grit as I shove past her in the stone corridor of the Royal Lodge Quarter, my heavy skirts sweeping against her polished leather boots.Every step aches in my ankle, but my plus-size frame carries a deliberate weight that no wolf in this mountain territory can shake. I am a bloodless human living in the heart of the Moonfang Province, surrounded by lethal predators, yet I refuse to bow. Isolde Ashbourne’s eyes flare with venom, her face still bruised from her recent humiliation before the elders, her wolf sulking deep beneath her skin. She snaps her jaw shut, retreating into the shadows of the lodge.By the time the sun hits its zenith over the Frostfang Refuge, the mountain air turns thick and heavy.I sit at my dark oak desk inside the lodge archives, reviewing the seasonal harvest yields for the Whitlock Moonfang Dominion. My fingers are stained with dark berry ink, my eyes burning from hours of reading parchment. The

“You shouldn't be carrying that heavy basin, Elowen,” Lucan Blackmoor says, his voice thick with gentle concern as he steps onto the damp stone path of the Frostfang Refuge.I keep my hands steady on the wooden edges, adjusting the weight of the freshly picked berries against my plush hip. “I might be human, Lucan, but I am certainly not broken.”He smiles, the dark fur collar of his cloak shifting over his massive shoulders as he reaches out to take the wooden container from me anyway. “The pack elders would have my head if I let the niece of Lord Dorian Wolfhart break a sweat on midsummer eve.”I do not bother arguing. Being a bloodless woman in the Moonfang Province means every male wolf assumes I am crafted from fragile glass. They do not understand that surviving four years in these frozen northern mountains takes a different kind of iron.Briar trots out from behind the blossom bushes, her small boots thudding against the dirt. She holds up a glowing blue rune candle, her dark e

As we sit at a small stone table outside the tavern, my eyes catch the massive, glowing light-rune display fixed to the side of the central Grand Tribunal building. It is broadcasting a high-end promotional recording for the Moonweaver Guild, featuring the stunning wolf-shifter actress, Lyanna Thornfield, draped in shimmering silver gowns and expensive diamond collars.Lying on the wooden counter near the tavern clerk are several printed news scrolls from the capital. The front pages are plastered with pictures of Lyanna, and nearly every article links her name to the High Alpha of the Thorncroft Alpha Dominion.One image shows a broad-shouldered male in a tailored black suit from behind, his back turned to the camera as he stands beside Lyanna at a high-society capital banquet."It is all political garbage," Caelan says abruptly, his low voice cutting through my thoughts.I startle, pulling my eyes away from the printed scroll and looking across the table at him. "What did you order