Lucian’s POV
The air in Lucian’s private chambers was wrong.
Too still.
Too heavy.
His wolf sensed it first—a restless scrape beneath his ribs, unease prickling along his spine. The instinct to pace, to break something, to move pressed against his bones. Grief had a scent. Cold stone. Old ash. It clung to the walls, as if it had seeped in over the years, settling into every crack of the chamber.
Travel bags waited by the door, strapped and ready.
Talia hadn’t risen since the showcase.
Today was Alina’s birthday.
The realization struck like a bruise he hadn’t meant to touch. Ten years since the portal had taken her. Ten years without a trace—no echo, no pull, nothing for the seers to chase.
But Talia had not moved with it.
Down the corridor, behind a closed door, his queen lay s
