The moment I sat on the Winterborn throne, the world changed.
Not gradually. Not gently. It was as if the air inhaled and did not know how to exhale again. A pressure swept through the hall, thick enough that Ronan staggered and Kade dropped to one knee, blades scraping against the frost. The walls blazed with silver fire, the runes igniting in a cascade that raced from ceiling to floor.
My back pressed against the throne, and for a heartbeat I felt weightless. Then something surged up from beneath the seat, into my spine, through my ribs, and straight into my bloodstream. My wolf roared in approval. Not with fury. With recognition.
This was not a throne.
It was a crown that required a body to wear it.
Ronan forced himself to his feet. He looked torn between dragging me off the throne
