Rhaegar wiped the bloodstained blade of his sword with the hem of his discarded robe, the crimson streaks smearing across the once-pristine fabric.
Killing Daro brought him no solace. If anything, it had stoked the fire of hatred burning in his chest, awakening a bloodlust he had thought long buried. The desire to kill had returned with a ferocity that clawed at his restraint, demanding more.
I can't feel her, his inner wolf whispered, its voice trembling with despair. The misery woven into every word cut through him like a blade. All is empty now.
Rhaegar's jaw tightened as he exhaled a slow, measured breath. His amber eyes flicked toward the distant royal palace, where the faint glow of torches lined the defensive walls.
Night had fully descended, but his beastly vision had already adjusted, sharpening the scene before him with unnerving clarity.
