Zane~
They looked at me like I was the disease.
One moment I was standing beside my father, the King of Lycans, beneath the vaulted obsidian arch of the royal throne room—every eye, every breath hanging on me like I was some ancient secret finally revealed.
And then Elder Maeron Voss raised his hand.
It was slow, deliberate. His eyes burned with a cold fire, and that single gesture sliced through the awe and celebration like a guillotine's drop.
The room went deathly silent. Even the walls around us seemed to hold their breath.
"I do not believe this boy is fit to be king," Maeron declared.
It landed like a blow.
Gasps echoed off marble and stone. I watched a woman in an emerald gown drop her goblet; it shattered like a scream against the floor. Somewhere, a noble stumbled back and clutched his mate's arm.
