Tygra sat among his adoptive father, King Claudus of Thundera, and his adoptive brother, Lion-O, the rightful heir to the throne, in the grand, ornately decorated throne room of the Thunderian palace. The towering marble pillars, carved with intricate depictions of their ancestors’ greatest victories, stretched high above them, their golden inlays glinting in the warm torchlight. The enormous stained-glass windows cast colorful patterns upon the polished stone floor, portraying the great Cats of old in their moments of triumph. Despite the room’s breathtaking beauty, Tygra found himself utterly disinterested.

He leaned against the armrest of his chair, resting his head on one hand, a subtle frown tugging at his lips. The sheer formality of these proceedings felt stifling, and he could already feel his muscles growing stiff from the long wait. He had always preferred action over endless political negotiations, yet here he was, seated beside his family, waiting for envoys from the rival kingdom of Vaelora—a nation ruled by the feline Vaelorans, warriors of formidable strength and relentless cunning. Their history with Thundera was riddled with war and bloodshed, and though the possibility of peace was something many desired, Tygra couldn’t shake the feeling that this meeting would be anything but straightforward.

He flicked his gaze toward Lion-O, who sat just as tensely as he did, though his younger brother’s frustration was far more evident. Lion-O’s fingers gripped the edges of the throne’s armrests, his leg bouncing ever so slightly in anticipation. Unlike their father, who remained statuesque and composed, Lion-O struggled with patience just as much as Tygra did. The young heir was still learning the intricacies of diplomacy, and this wait, Tygra was sure, tested his resolve.

His amber eyes slid back to the massive double doors at the far end of the hall, still firmly shut. The Vaelorans were late—whether intentionally or not was yet to be seen. Were they testing Thundera’s patience?