Alaric's POV
I dragged some pompous guest's weighty bags down halls that my people once called home. These castle walls had sheltered wolves before the uprising that killed my parents went south. I'd lived most of my years without them, never heard their voices or saw their faces. But loneliness wasn't something that ate at me.
After dumping the luggage in the guest room, I wound through the twisting corridor toward an ornate silver door. My knuckles rapped against the decorative surface, waiting for the okay before I pushed the heavy thing open.
Inside, another figure bore those trademark red eyes from Draven's line. This woman had skin white as fresh snow and matching hair braided into intricate patterns that sat like silver rope around her skull. She balanced on a small platform while two women worked to cinch a corset around her narrow waist. When she spotted me, her mouth tilted into a warm smile.
