*Xamara*

I stand in the cold dungeon cell, the damp air suffocating as I take in the woman chained to the far wall. Selvara’s iron cuffs glow faintly where her magic strains and sputters beneath them, but the rest of her is a shadow of the creature she once pretended to be.

She’s a far cry from the woman she used to be, seated on Moonfang’s throne, draped in silk and stolen authority, holding herself with the poised confidence of someone who believed she deserved a crown. She moved among the pack as if she belonged, mimicking the strength of a shifter.

But here in the dim light, her hair...