[Meredith].
The palace loomed ahead like a monument of white stone and centuries-old power. The air was cold, crisp, sharp—almost ceremonial.
When the convoy finally stopped, Jeffery stepped out first, followed by Draven, and then me. Warriors bowed deeply as we passed, but Draven kept my hand in his, warm and grounded.
Inside the grand entrance hall, a woman stood waiting—tall, poised, and dressed in an elegant blue gown that shimmered like starlight.
She was Stormveil's Queen. Loraina.
My breath caught in my chest. I had never met her before. She hadn't attended our wedding.
Just then, her gaze moved first to Draven.
"Alpha Draven," she greeted, her voice calm, composed, regal. "Stormveil welcomes your return."
Draven bowed his head respectfully. "Your Majesty."
Then her eyes shifted to me—cold silver. Evaluating. Neutral.
"And you must be Luna Meredith," she said. Her tone wasn't warm or cold; it was simply observing.
