Kaelen’s POV)

The stench of rogue blood still lingered in my halls. No matter how many torches the servants lit, no matter how many herbs were burned to mask it, I could smell it seared into the very stone. Death always clung to the aftermath of war.

But it was not the blood of rogues that soured my wolf’s temper. It was betrayal.

I stood at the head of the long table in the war room, maps unrolled across the surface, my shadows stationed silently in the corners like living ...