The stables waited. Five horses stamped and steamed in the cold, their flanks heaving clouds into the dawn. Jakobav went straight to the largest: black-coated, leather-strapped, power coiled in every line, like a beast waiting for war. He adjusted the bridle with a focus so controlled it hushed the air. Sleeves rolled, ink flowing down his arms in symbols too old for speech, veins drawn tight beneath his skin.
“First Guard…this is Ella. She’s coming with us.”
Maeren sat already mounted, sleek black braid hanging over her shoulder like a weapon disguised as hair. One hand on her hip, the other twirling a dagger as if boredom might strike harder than metal. Ella recognized her immediately, remembering that brief glimpse from the time she’d been wedged against Jakobav in the furs, when Maeren had delivered her report. Heat pricked Ella’s throat at the memory of beingpressed against him, the way it made her skin tingle and thoughts tangle.
“Welcome,” Maeren said. A subtle glint flickered in her eyes, almost amusement. “Try to keep up,” she said, tone cutting.
Ella gave her a single nod in return and took a closer look around the stables. Two men lingered by the tack benches. One was tall and muscular, the other massive, and he gave her a half smile when he noticed her watching.
She could tell Jakobav had already told his Guard about her joining them on this ride by the way that no one seemed surprised to see her.
“Well, well.” His voice rumbled low, rich, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the floor. He strode forward with a swagger that bent gravity, each step rolling like distant thunder. “The little fox returns.”
Ella blinked. “I’m sorry…have we met?”
He clutched his chest like she’d wounded him. “Thane Ironfell. East wall, gate duty. You slipped past me like a whisper of chaos. A lesser man would’ve been offended. I was aroused.”
“Delighted,” Ella said dryly.
“You should be. You humiliated the Guard, gutted Savina, and landed me two positions higher in command for a week. Should’ve been permanent, if you ask me.” He grinned, and the dimple in his cheek threatened to undo her resolve.
Ella bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling back. Thane was…dangerous in a different way, all sun-warmed muscle and irreverent grin. Not scored with scars like Jakobav, though he didn’t need them. Trouble clung to him like a second skin, or so it seemed. Mischief danced behind his eyes when he spoke, reckless and knowing, as though the world had been built to notice him.
“You’re telling me you were guarding the entrance and still let me slip past you?” she asked.
“You floated,” he said, deadly serious. “Like a breeze carrying murder. One second the wind stirred, next second, gone. The trees still talk about you.”
Maeren snorted. “Ignore him. He offers every girl Fae wine and dramatic compliments. Thinks a decent vocabulary makes him irresistible.”
“Hmm, well, I don’t trade secrets for booze,” Ella replied, arms crossed. “Even if I could use a stiff drink after dealing with your future king.”
“Blasphemy,” Thane gasped, a grin already tugging at his mouth.
Jakobav walked past and cuffed the back of Thane’s head without looking. “Stop flirting.”
“Come on now, Jake, I’m not flirting,” Thane said with a grin. “Just thanking her for improving morale.”
Jakobav didn’t respond. He only nodded toward the last man, hooded and cloaked in charcoal, his gloved hands folded in silence.
“This is Soren,” Jakobav said. “He sees everything but says almost nothing.”
Soren inclined his head slightly, but remained silent, as promised. His eyes, pale gray and unblinking, met Ella’s like fog meeting glass.
“Charmed,” she said carefully.
He blinked once. Nothing more.
A clatter of hooves snapped her attention as another rider rounded the corner of the stable with feline grace, reined to a stop, and swung down in one liquid motion, leveling Ella with a gaze sharp enough to cut.
Fuck. Savina.
Ella’s breath lodged in her throat. She hadn’t seen the woman clearly the night she’d broken into the castle and openedher stomach with a single slash. Now, in daylight, it was impossible to look anywhere else.
Savina was ruin made flesh.
White-blonde curls spilled down her back like coiled lightning, wild and unforgiving. Her armor hugged a body built for war, for speed, for beauty that promised lethal consequences and dared you to crave them anyway.
Ella’s stomach twisted. She remembered the blood, the wound, the devastation she had caused. There was no universe where Savina was fully healed—and guilt punched cold beneath her ribs.
