Celina’s POV
THE HALLS of the manor were too quiet. Not the kind of quiet that soothes, but the kind that warns—like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for something ugly to happen. I pressed my palm to the wall as I moved, the stone cool beneath my skin, grounding me as my heart kept up a restless drum.
I shouldn’t have been awake at this hour. Lucien had insisted I rest after the endless council meetings that dragged him into the late night, all of them circling like vultures over the prophecy and my unborn child. But I couldn’t sleep. Not with the whispers that followed me through every corridor, not with the eyes that seemed to linger longer than they should when I passed.
Rumors spread fast in the packs. Too fast. The prophecy had twisted into something sharp and dan
