DAMIAN POV
Eight years.
Eight years since Damian had knelt before a child's grave in a burned garden and felt the mate bond snap into existence.
Eight years of searching. Of sending scouts to every territory. Of following every rumor of a marked wolf.
Eight years of finding nothing.
Damian stood on his private balcony overlooking Caer Thalor. The city sprawled below, fifty thousand souls going about their lives. Unaware their King was slowly going mad.
The mate bond was supposed to be a blessing. The Moon Goddess's gift. Two souls perfectly matched.
Instead, it was torture.
A constant pull toward someone he couldn't find. A thread connecting him to a ghost. An ache that never faded, only grew worse with time.
She was alive. He knew that much. The bond wouldn't exist if she'd died.
But where?
"Your Majesty."
Damian turned. General Thorne stood in the doorway. His expression was carefully neutral.
"The council is assembled. They're waiting."
