The rumors began quietly, whispered behind cups of wine and around training grounds. But within days, they spread like wildfire across the palace. They said the heiress couldn't shift. They said the daughter of the Moon's chosen line was broken. They told the wolves of Lycanthria that they would soon need a new leader.
Aveloria tried to ignore them, but conversations stopped abruptly every time she walked through the courtyard or past the barracks. She could feel the eyes on her back, the pity and curiosity wrapped in false respect.
It cut deeper than any blade. Her wolf had been silent since the night she spoke to Rowena. Not a growl, not a whisper, nothing. A void.
Even Galen, who had been patient during their daily training, looked concerned. That afternoon, they had spent hours sparring under the harsh sun, the dirt beneath their feet turning to mud from their sweat.
