Graham leaned closer, nostrils flaring. The scent was wrong. It wasn’t frostbitten lilies or curling smoke. It wasn't the crisp, glacial signature of her magic. No, this was something else.
He inhaled again and tasted…salt. Not the kind mined from caves or laced in a nobleman’s meal. Sea salt. Brine. Magic that crashed like waves and pulled like tides.
The ocean had touched this. Had she been taken by someone from the Coastal Kingdom? Or perhaps the Sea Kingdom? But again, no signs of struggle.
She must be playing a game. But if she was, she would have left him a sign, a hint. That is, if she truly saw him as a partner.
A howl broke across the stillness. Low, mournful, stretched thin with distance. The hair along the back of Graham's neckprickled. His ears, attuned beyond human measure, turned toward the sound. The wolf's call came from the south.
He stood, breath clouding around him. The Forbidden Forest lay that way.
“It appears there’s been foul play." Prince Charming strode forward with his usual smugness masked as concern. He wore the king’s crown like a boy playing dress-up, the tips of it too high for his brow. "Both Queen Raveena and Princess Snow are missing. I suspect the work of traitors—or worse. I will send the queen’s guards east. We will smoke them out and bring our girls back safely.”
The noblewomen had gathered, cloaked in opulence. Their fur muffs and velvet hoods framed pale faces and curious eyes. Jewels winked at their throats and wrists, glinting like icicles in the moonlight. Their perfumes clashed on the breeze—spiced amber, rosewater, and powdered musk. None of them masked the absence Graham felt in his bones.
"Gather your men and leave at once, Huntsman."
Graham didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He kept his gaze trained on the dark stretch in the distance that was the start of the Forbidden Forests.
Why would she go in there? Like most queens, Raveena hated the outdoors. Unless she knew that's where Snow had gone off to.
"Did you not hear your king, soldier? Rally your men and head east at once."
“They went south.”
Charming gave a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Preposterous. My trackers already made their assessment. They used the best magical mapping tech in all the realms—charms from Valebright, spellstone from the Inland mages. East is the logical route. That’s where they’ll be.”
“I used my eyes. My ears. My nose," Graham growled. "And they all point south.”
Charming stepped forward, finger wagging like a petulant schoolmaster. “Mind your king, soldier, or?—”
Graham cut him off by grabbing the front of his finely embroidered doublet and lifting him clean off the ground. The prince's boots dangled for a heartbeat before Graham set him aside like a child throwing a tantrum, placing him firmly out of his way.
Then Graham turned his back on the prince. Because Charming didn’t matter. He stepped toward the crescent of queens and noblewomen.
“There was no struggle. No overturned wheels. No blood in the snow. Only two sets of tracks leading south.” His gaze swept across the women. “They went willingly.”
A hush rippled through the court. The crackle of the torches sounded suddenly loud, the frost-bitten air razor-thin.
“I don’t know what game Snow and Raveena are playing.” A few brows rose at the use of the royal women's given names. Graham was too close to the edge to stand on ceremony. “But the Forbidden Forest is no place to make their moves.”
He took another step forward, into the ring of power, his eyes hard. “I’m going south to get my queen back. And I’ll checkmate anyone—queen, prince, or pawn—who tries to stop me.”
Silence. Even the wind held its breath.
Lady Charming lifted her foot as though to take a step forward. She was fuming, red-faced and trembling with words unsaid. But she didn’t speak. Because the other ladies tilted their heads. No words. Just the slow, deliberate incline of chins.
One by one, crowns dipped, acknowledging Graham's request. Even though it wasn't a request. It was simply notice.
Graham turned on his heel, snow crunching beneath his boots, and strode into the dark.
Toward the forest.
Toward her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The long wooden table was scarred with age, its surface marred by blade nicks and scorches from the battle that had torn through the cottage only moments ago. The fire in the hearth hadn't forgotten. It snapped and hissed, spitting resin and throwing flickers of warmth into a room that still smelled of burned feathers.
