The Enemy Moves Closer

The chamber was silent except for the slow, deliberate tapping of Alexander’s fingers against the armrest of his throne. The torches burned lower now, their glow casting long, wavering shadows across the stone walls. The weight of the Moirai’s prophecy hung heavy in the air.

“The mate is the key. Always, it has been the mate.”

His golden eyes darkened. If Ramona was the key to Killian’s rise, then she had to be removed. Permanently.

He leaned forward, his voice measured. “We will do it differently this time. No more sending witches to hunt her. We will go where Killian does not expect us to go.”

A smirk ghosted over his lips. “We will go inside.”

Murmurs broke out among the gathered figures, uncertainty rippling through them. One of the slaves, a frail woman with hollowed cheeks, stepped hesitantly forward. She swallowed hard before speaking.