The Lycan King’s Broken Mate
Cassian cleared his throat, his tone brisk.
“Before we move forward, allow me to share the latest border reports.”
The attention shifted, and I clung to the change with relief. Politics, reports—a world easier to predict. Cassian unrolled a parchment, but did not read; his voice carried the weight instead.
“In the last three days, the same strange markings reappeared along the eastern border. Carved into earth, etched into timber. Not wolf tracks, not spell-circles, but deliberate signs.”
“What kind of signs?” a young councilor asked.