The moon hung heavy over the capital, its silver sheen casting eerie shadows against the palace spires. Kaelin couldn’t sleep. Not after the priestess’s words. Not after the way her eyes glowed like embers soaked in oil.
Theron stirred beside her. “Still awake?”
She nodded. “The dreams are back.”
He sat up, his presence grounding. “The fire?”
“No,” she whispered. “This time, it’s blood.”
A pause stretched between them.
“I saw wolves,” she said. “Thousands. All unbound. Marching. And in front… a woman wearing my face. But her eyes were wrong.”
“Velmora,” Theron muttered. “Or the version they believe you’ll become.”
Kaelin rose and pulled on her cloak. “Then we need to make sure they never get the chance to crown her.”
---
At sunrise, the priestess was gone.
The guards were found
