Night came quickly.
The sky bled into deep blue, then black, as the silver light of the full moon rose high above the trees, casting its glow over the kingdom like a silent curse.
Inside the stone-walled office of the palace, Draka shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The air had grown thick. His skin prickled with the unmistakable warning—the heat had begun.
He clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the dull burn starting at the base of his spine and spreading like wildfire through his chest. His muscles tensed. His claws, usually retracted, threatened to break the skin of his palms as he balled his fists.
"Draka?" Kaen’s voice cut through the silence.
Draka looked up, locking eyes with his most trusted warrior.
Kaen paused when he saw the golden ring glowing in his king’s irises. A flick
