Zion had barely managed thirty minutes of relative peace on the terrace, his mind wandering through the labyrinth of what his life would look like after the coronation. Since his father's departure, he'd struggled to focus on anything else—the weight of leadership, the endless expectations, the rituals like the hunt that loomed over him. But inevitably, his thoughts drifted back to Aubigo, to the whirlwind of that trip and the woman who'd left an indelible mark. Her face flashed in his mind, unbidden, stirring something deep in his chest that he couldn't shake. Gunther, his wolf, was relentless, obsessing over her day and night—her scent, her eyes, the way she moved. It was maddening.
