Aidan.
The heavy silence of the courtyard pressed down on my chest like a lead weight, suffocating and vast.
Below the high stone pavilion, the entire host pack stood frozen on the bloody gravel. They had gathered under the freezing night air expecting retribution—expecting to watch the head of the man who murdered Adrein roll across the dirt.
Instead, my sister had just declared to the entire valley that Vincent the Lycan prince is the father of her unborn child and he held her soul through a sacred mate bond.
Maria had already ushered a weeping, hysterical Anabel back through the heavy wooden doors of the main hall, leaving only me on the platform and Davian down in the courtyard. Davian hadn't moved an inch. He stood in the gravel beside the execution post, his broad shoulders slumped in complete, soul-crushing defeat. His heavy broadsword lay uselessly in the dirt at his feet where it had fallen from his numb grip, gleaming under the flickering torchlight.
