Alaric's POV
The castle's hall was colder than usual, the torches lining the obsidian walls casting long shadows that flickered like restless spirits. The air smelled of iron and dust, thick with expectation and contempt. I stood at the head of the stone dais, throne behind me untouched, arms crossed over my chest as the murmurs swelled into something louder anger taking shape in the voices of those who had gathered. They don't gather here today to give me fake praises and smiles, they are here for something else. After dropping Enzo off I had come here because I know with that hunter in town my people will be restless.
The first to speak was Maevis, her hair braided in tight coils, eyes sharp with defiance. "You've let a hunter live, my lord," she said, stepping forward. "One who has spilled the blood of our kind. One whose scent should have been erased from the earth the moment it dared cross our territory."
