The private chamber was cold.
Iva sat on a velvet settee, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had turned white. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed, her composure hanging by a thread. Beside her, Caleb stood with his arms crossed, his jaw tight, his amber eyes blazing with barely contained fury.
The royal security team had reviewed the footage with ruthless efficiency.
Now, a Gamma stepped forward, holding a tablet. His face was grim.
"Your Highness," he said, addressing Caleb. "We have identified the sequence of events."
He turned the tablet toward them.
The footage showed the ballroom—the grand hall filled with guests, the music, the laughter. And there, near the edge of the crowd, was Rana. She was speaking with another she-wolf, her face relaxed, her body
