From the balcony of the university’s highest tower, Chloe Evans watched the carriage vanish down the road.

It was a magnificent thing - black oak, inlaid with silver, pulled by six white stallions whose coats shone like moonlight. The crest blazoned on the doors was unknown to her until yesterday - a wolf curled around a seven-pointed star, its eyes glowing crimson. The Royal Standard of the Northern Packs. The standard of Malphas Volkov.

And beside it, the Blackwood crest - revised, overnight. The sword and the rose, now wreathed in thirteen stars.

Chloe leaned against the stone railing, her fingers digging into the cold rock. The air was thin...