The arrangements for the ceremony were beautiful.
Sunlight poured over the beautiful golden and bold decorations, lighting up the sea of wolves below. Every Alpha and Beta from every known pack stood in attendance, clothed in their finest armor and ceremonial robes. They had come from mountains, from forests, from cities guarded by blood and fang—all to witness Cyrus ascend as the Alpha King.
The roar of the crowd rose like thunder as Cyrus stepped forward, a royal chain that once belonged to his father glittering against his chest.
He looked cold and unyielding, like a beast ready to ascend the throne, but Amelia knew better.
She knew the man who held her hand beneath cold blankets, whose lips whispered promises in the dark. The one who washed her blood from his hands and never spoke of it again.
However, her smile turned sad as the stark realization of where he stood and where she stood dawned upon her.
Her place was carefully chosen—close, but not too close.
