The moon was not yet full, but it was hungry.
Prince Kaelen stood at the edge of the royal observatory, his silver cloak fluttering in the alpine wind. Below, the kingdom of Viremont slumbered beneath a blanket of frost, unaware of the beast that stirred within its heir.
Tonight marked the seventh cycle since the curse first clawed its way into his blood. Seven moons since the coronation feast, when the wine turned bitter and the shadows whispered his name. Seven moons since the bite.
He had learned to count time by the ache in his bones.
"Your Highness," said a voice behind him. It was Elira, his sworn protector, her armor gleaming like ice. "The council awaits."
Kaelen didn't turn. "Let them wait. They debate treaties while I battle my own skin."
Elira stepped closer, her voice low. "You're changing again, aren't you?"
Kaelen's jaw tightened. His reflection in the glass showed eyes too bright, pupils too wide. The beast was near.
"I can feel it," he whispered. "It wants out."
Elira placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then we find the source. The curse came from somewhere. Someone. And if it can be given—"
"It can be taken away," Kaelen finished.
A howl echoed from the distant woods. Not human. Not animal. Something in between.
Kaelen turned from the window, his eyes glowing faintly gold.
"Let the council wait," he said. "Tonight, we hunt."