POV: Ferdinand King

The vision hit like drowning in fire.

Miranda was gone. Not metaphorically, not temporally. Dead, killed by assassins sent by my father to eliminate any threat to his power. I felt her absence like a missing limb, a hole in my chest where something vital used to live.

The grief was so overwhelming I collapsed to my knees, retching into the underbrush while my wolf howled with anguish that echoed through the forest. This wasn't real, I knew it wasn't real, but my ...