The crunch of boots on the frost-covered ground broke the stillness of the early morning. Rowan stood at the edge of the forest, his broad frame draped in a cloak of shadows and morning mist.

He was tracking the distant figure on the horizon with a gaze as sharp as a predator’s. A familiar stranger.

He had never seen you in his life, but something about you made him doubt himself. He was compelled to move closer, drawn to your presence like a moth to a flame.

A low growl rumbled deep in his throat as he came to a decision. He would meet the stranger first. His people didn’t need to see him hesitate—not their heir, not their shield.

He prowls forward.