The tent flap rustled, and she flicked a glance to the entrance and then back to the Frost King. His lips pulled back from his fangs as Olwen stepped inside.
“Peace, brother.”
Neve straightened, his body practically bristling with hostility, more sweat clinging to his brow. She frowned. It wasn’t that warm in the tent. In fact, she was a little cold, and frost giants ran hotter than humans. Was he sick?
Does it matter?
“What do you want?” he barked at his commander.
Dahlia glanced between the two, wrapping her arms around herself. Since when did he speak to his best friend that way? Olwen pursed his lips and eyed Neve and then Lia, his keen gaze not missing anything. Embarrassment colored her cheeks when his attention lingered on her hair and lips.
How pathetic must she look. Did he think she was attempting to seduce the king to escape an execution? As if she had the mental capabilities for such endeavors.
Why do you care what he thinks?
Olwen sighed. “We need to speak,Reillov. I have news.”
“Not here.” Neve prowled toward Dahlia and paused by her side. He regarded her with glittering black eyes that held a confusing amount of need and disgust. “Go back to sleep. You need it.” The Frost King leaned down, and her breath stuttered when it seemed like he was going to kiss her. “And if you try to run, I will hunt you.”
He inhaled deeply near her temple and rumbled, the sound not so scary as it was tempting. There was something seriously wrong with her. Maybe she had been hit in the head too many times. There were many more important matters. Like the safetyof her friends and family. Like capturing the monster who stood by while Loshika was attacked.
Lia peered over her shoulder at Olwen. “Did you find them? The Northerners?”
Neve caught her chin and brought her attention back to him. “You are no longer free to ask such questions. You are alive because you are useful. Make no mistake, you are no queen here.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
NEVE
His skin felt too tight.
If Neve had known it was going to be like this once Dahlia was back within his reach, he would have wished for her to stay gone forever. All his carefully laid out plans of vengeance went up in smoke the moment he saw her standing in the snow with an ugly bite on her neck.
Kill him.
Neve ground his molars. He wanted to destroy whoever had branded his wife. It would be a terrible scar that would be on display at all times. It made him sick. Such practices had been abolished by his great grandfather years prior.
“You’re growling again,” Olwen remarked, sitting down in one of his sturdy chairs, a small round table between them with a dirty parcel on top.
Odd. Olwen was messy but not dirty.
Neve sat in the other chair and hung his head. “She has me... on edge.”
“Clearly.” A pause. “What are you going to do?”
“I do not know.” He shook his head. “Enough about the traitor.” That’s what he needed to start thinking of her as, so he would not lose his mind. There were more important things like the fact that the sun would rise soon and with it, another battle. “Your efforts in the mountains could be felt all the way in the camp,” he said gravely. “What happened?”
“Dahlia was not lying.” Olwen cleared his throat and traced the long, puckered scar along his cheek. A nervous habit. “There were Northerners in the mountains. At least two hundred warriors.”
“Two hundred?” Neve’s pulse roared in his ears. That was no small band of miscreants making trouble. “There have been no missives from Warrin about the northern warriors joining us.” He frowned, dread pooling in his gut. “No one comes through the mountains in the winter. It’s too dangerous. If they were here to help, they would have come through Blanche.”
His commander’s lips thinned, and he leaned forward in his chair to the wrapped parcel sitting on the small table between them. “Brace yourself.” He opened it, revealing the old general’s head.
Neve stared at Warrin’s face, and bile burned the back of his throat. “Where did you find this?”
Olwen covered the head and stood, his hands flexing as he began to pace. “It was waiting for us at the top of the mountain on a pike.”
Neve hung his head and battled back tears. He had known Warrin since he was a little boy. The gruff general had always been around. After his parents had died, the old general had been the one to train Neve in the art of war. He had always given Neve good advice. Warrin had made him a better king, and Neve had sent him to his death.
