The mood in the garden hall had shifted.
The drunken laughter echoed across the floor, layered with the sound of skin against skin, of moans behind masks, and the scent of wine and sweat clinging to the night air filled with sin. Under the silver light of the full moon, nothing was sacred.
“Bring in the next one,” someone called.
The doors parted, and several guards dragged a figure into the hall.
Gasps and scattered laughter rippled through the crowd.
Xavier Brightpaw.
His hair hung in greasy strands, his body littered with scars and bruises, the collar around his neck dragging a chain behind him. He stumbled as they forced him to kneel at the center of the hall, arms limp, eyes glazed.
The Luna Queen’s laughter was the first to cut through the silence. Free, like nothing in the world bothered. Like she owned the world.
