Footsteps. Two voices. Low. Whispering. Jadon froze, forcing her breathing to quiet. She tilted her head, straining to hear.

“…did you see the King’s arm?” one guard muttered. “The mark’s already forming.”

Jadon’s stomach dropped. The second guard snorted. “Of course it is. He’s preparing for the ritual.”

Ritual? Jadon’s pulse hammered. “What ritual?” the first guard asked.

“The marking,” the second whispered, voice dropping even lower. “He has to mark the wolf ...