Three days after Damian's supposed death, the kingdom gathered for his funeral.
The cathedral was massive. Ancient stone and stained glass depicting the Moon Goddess and her chosen wolves. Today it was draped in black and crimson. Mourning colors. Royal colors. Death colors. The fabric hung in heavy swaths from every column, absorbing light, making the vast space feel smaller and more suffocating than usual.
The entire kingdom attended. Or at least, everyone who mattered. Nobles. Commoners. Soldiers. Servants. All dressed in black. All coming to pay respects to their fallen King. The scent of hundreds of bodies packed into the cathedral was overwhelming—perfume and sweat and the particular musk of grieving wolves mixing with incense smoke that curled through the air in thick ribbons.
