Bride of the Beasts
Then a second figure stepped through.
Long hair the color of freshly fallen snow. Silver eyes threaded with gold. Robes of white and gold so immaculate they seemed untouched by the world he walked in. Every line of him was precise, regal, impossibly composed.
Even the air around him seemed to still, as though the wind itself hesitated to touch him without permission.
The High King.
Gadreel had met him more times than he could count, yet the man's presence always struck him the same way—an instinctive urge to kneel, to bow, to lower his gaze. Power radiated from him not as a threat, but as an undeniable truth.
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