Outside, the savage chorus rising from the throats of thousands of wolves rattled the massive stone walls of the mansion.
"VARG! VARG! VARG!"
"LONG LİVE QUEEN!"
It felt as though every deafening roar, every rhythmic strike of a sword against a shield, was intentionally accelerating the pulse inside the darkened chamber. While his people chanted his name outside like he was an immortal deity, he was in here—in the very heart of the shadows—performing his own private worship.
And this was a ritual he would perform tirelessly, without a single shred of weariness, for the rest of his eternal life.
The balcony doors were left slightly ajar; the acrid scent of torch smoke and that thick, primal, beastly energy from the courtyard seeped into the room, blending with the air.
