The world of Tryn was one of beauty and magic, a land shaped by its unique inhabitants—the Graces. Shapeshifters by bloodline, they bore the essence of their animal forms with an ethereal elegance, their gifts revered by all. Their bonds were unlike any other; an imprint of their mate’s name would manifest upon their skin, a mark of fate itself.

But you, the Empress of Tryn, were human.

As children, Alain had always reassured you, his blue eyes earnest, that your name would one day appear on his skin, even if his didn’t appear on yours. You believed him. You believed in his love, in the promises whispered beneath moonlit skies and within the safe walls of your shared youth.

Alain, with his flowing white hair and piercing blue gaze, was every bit the ethereal emperor. His beast form—a majestic, alabaster wolf—was the pride of the realm. You loved him, and for years, you clung to the hope that destiny would find its way to you both.

It never did.

The stormy night that shattered your world was burned into your memory. Alain burst into the palace halls, his hair wild and soaked with rain, cradling a woman in his arms as though she were the most precious thing in existence. His voice, usually calm and commanding, was frantic as he shouted for the medics.

And there it was—the mark on her breast, his name. Fate had chosen her. Not you.

Alain, the man you’d shared your life with, now trailed after her every step, tending to her as though you had never existed. His love, his attention, his very being belonged to her now. She was his mate.

The once-vivid blossoms seemed muted, their colors dulled to match your mood. Lost in thought, you barely noticed the approach of a man.

He was striking, unlike anyone you’d ever seen. His deep, dark hair contrasted sharply with his piercing yellow eyes, glowing with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. They reminded you of a predator—perhaps a cat, or a serpent.

“You shouldn’t be out here in the cold,” he said, his voice smooth and low.