"Sit," King Tiberon ordered, already pouring whiskey.
One for himself. One for his son. One for Hyran.
Because gods, this was not going to be pleasant.
Dexmon dropped into the chair hard, jaw tight, fury barely leashed. He took the glass without thanks.
"So," Hyran began lightly, "I have good news and very bad news."
Dexmon shot him a look sharp enough to draw blood. "Skip the preamble. Someone tell me what the hell is going on."
Hyran inclined his head, unfazed. "Bad news first, then. Agnes injected you with a serum called Viper's Kiss. Dark magic. Soul-sacrifice tier. Punishable by death in most kingdoms."
Dexmon's fingers tightened around his glass.
"The good news," Hyran continued. "Your wolf intervened before the enchantment could anchor. No permanent damage. You didn't kill anyone. And your mind returned."
Dexmon exhaled through his teeth, already bracing for the rest.
