Mary Ann’s POV
By sunset, Ironclaw smelled like wildflowers and food.
Not politics.
Not war.
Not blood.
Not fear.
For once, the wolves arriving through our gates were not soldiers coming to defend us or council representatives carrying another problem.
They were guests.
Wedding guests.
I stood on the balcony outside the Luna Wing and watched another group of Nightveil families enter the grounds.
Several children carried baskets overflowing with wildflowers.
I smiled.
Apparently, word had spread that I refused expensive decorations.
Nightveil had taken that as a challenge.
They had arrived with flowers from nearly every part of their territory.
Purple moonbells.
Silverleaf blossoms.
Tiny white flowers that grew along the northern hills.
Dark blue nightstars.
No elaborate
