The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen
A woven rug at the dais—old, intricate, glaringly tasteful—and in the center of its pattern, a tiny shimmer where sunlight pooled unnaturally, like a puddle pretending to be a mirror.
Solen’s residue doesn’t blaze. It coaxes. It turns noon into a persuader.
“Lumi,” I murmured. “Tell me you see the shiny stain under Kael’s boots.”
She blinked. “Yep. Light’s sticking to the floor. Like honey.”
“Don’t touch it,” I breathed, just as she took a curious half-step. “It’s a nudge ward. It warms the brains of the credulous.”
“Gross,” Lumi said. “And efficient.”
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