LYRA'S POV
I narrow my brows at the female standing near the entrance. She is clad in a deep crimson velvet cloak trimmed with black fur from an Arctic direwolf. Beneath it, a corseted bodice laced with gold thread hugged her waist, the neckline adorned with obsidian scales shaped like falling crescent moons. Her leather trousers, dyed a rich charcoal shade, bore delicate embroidery of her pack's sigil — a silver wolf mid-howl. Matching thigh-high boots, reinforced with enchanted steel at the toe and heel, clicked confidently with every step.
On her fingers, claw-like rings glinted, sharp enough to be deadly, and around her throat sat a highborn torque — a thick, twisted band of silver etched with ancient glyphs, marking her as heir. Her dark hair was braided back, entwined with strands of red ribbon and moonstones, revealing a tattoo glowing faintly on her temple — the mark of her royal bloodline.
The Nightclaw Pack.
She is a royal from the Nightclaw pack?
