Phoebe's POV
The moment I entered the dining room, all conversation ceased. The king wasn't alone—a young man with silver-blonde hair and electric blue eyes sat beside him. His eyes resembled the king's, though softer in shade.
His eyebrows shot up when he saw me walk in, making my stomach twist into knots. I hated being studied like this, and this stranger was watching me with unsettling intensity.
I stood at the far end of the long dining table, my fingers fidgeting nervously while suffocating silence pressed down on us.
Like every other room in this place, the dining hall felt ancient—as if I'd been hurled back centuries. Everything screamed of majesty, reminiscent of the Renaissance or the golden age when the Supreme Kingdom of werewolves still ruled.
Back then, all werewolves bowed to one supreme ruler. But three hundred years ago, that kingdom crumbled, leaving seven separate kingdoms scattered across the continent.
