Chapter 92

Maeve’s POV

I slammed the heavy oaken door to Draven’s chamber shut behind me. He still hadn’t returned, and nobody in the castle knew where he’d gone all morning—not even his beta, his closest friend. I exhaled in frustration.

Everything would have been so much simpler if Dorian had come back from the witches’ coven. But neither he nor Marcello or Seraphine were anywhere to be found, and dawn was already breaking; in only a few hours, the twilight would give way to night and the crescent moon would rise, ushering in the curse’s pain for every werewolf in the territory.

I paced out of Draven’s wing and threaded my way through the hallways toward my own rooms, planning a quick shower to wash away the restless tension. Halfway down the corridor, Aria sprang up beside me, her breath catching in a sharp gasp.

I stopped on the spot and pivoted to face her. She was clutching a piece of brown, bonded paper—weathered, unsealed, edges rough.

“What’s that