LYRA

The journey to Eboncrest took another three days, and by the end of it, I understood exactly what I was walking into.

Death wrapped in silk and parties.

We traveled in a royal carriage, thirty she wolves from across the realm, each one more polished and perfect than the last. They rode in carriages lined with velvet, their maids fussing over their hair and gowns, their laughter ringing out like bells across the frozen landscape.

I rode alone in the last carriage, separated from the ...