"That dress," he said, voice low and almost—almost—smiling, "is too lovely to be confined to stone halls."
I raised a brow, unsure whether to be flattered or guarded.
I glanced down at the gown, smoothing the fabric with my palms before slipping my hands into the hidden seams. “It has pockets,” I said, too delighted for my own good.
His mouth twitched, a ghost of a smirk. “And this excites you?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” I shot back.
Then he added, "Come to town with me. I need to speak with the smiths.”
The corner of his mouth lifted just slightly. For a man who so often lived behind iron and command, it felt like an invitation.
“You’ve been caged in these halls,” he said, quieter. “Let the town see you. Letyousee it.”
I opened my mouth to argue—out of instinct, out of habit. But before I could speak, he added, quietly:
"Please."
Just that. One word.
And somehow, it disarmed me more than all his authority ever had.
Outside the great doors of Skeldrhall, a chariot waited.
A sled—carved from dark wood, etched with runes I couldn’t read but felt buzzing faintly in the air around them. It was built for command, for resilience, gleaming with brutal elegance.
Two massive wolves were hitched at the front, their silver-and-black coats thick against the cold, muscle shifting beneath leather harnesses. Wolves bred for war, big enough to pull a lord’s sled and mean enough to bite through bone if commanded.
Their pale eyes caught the light as I drew near, luminous as glaciers swallowing the sea. One loosed a sound that was neither growl nor howl, but something in between—a note that skated along my bones. Warning and welcome both.
I slowed instinctively, the mantle tightening in my grip. Every instinct screamed caution, yet something deeper thrummed with recognition—the way the ocean sometimes whispered to me in languages I wasn’t meant to understand.
“Don’t flinch,” a Veyrion said behind me. His boots crunched against the frost as he stepped past, the wolves lowering their massive heads in deference. “They’ll smell your fear.”
He reached out, resting a scarred hand against the nearest beast’s thick neck. It pressed into him. His attention shifted to me, dark with something I couldn’t quite read.
He stepped closer. His hand caught mine—rough, warm. Before I could pull back, he guided it forward until my palm brushed the wolf’s face. Its breath steamed against my skin, hot and damp, carrying the scent of wild fur and frost. Pale eyes watched me with unnerving clarity.
Veyrion’s voice dropped low, steady. “Verja.”
He spoke it like a command, yet reverence threaded the sound.
The wolf’s eyes slid closed. A rumble shivered through its chest as it leaned into my touch, pressing its massive head against my hand with a weight that nearly unbalanced me.
The elders had whispered the same word to him as we left their chamber.
When his hand finally withdrew, leaving mine on the wolf’s fur, a hollow ache rushed in where his warmth had been. His focus lingered, dark and knowing. I hated the way part of me wanted to lean into it—was so curious about him.
He helped me into the sled, his hand at the small of my back—firm, steady, lingering a fraction too long.
Heat prickled through layers of fur and leather, uninvited, chased quickly by shame. I hated that my body noticed him at all. Hated that I could mistake his touch for something gentle when I knew better.
This was the same man who had followed me out of Shadeau—not coincidence, not chance, but part of some larger design I hadn’t yet untangled.
For all I knew, he had already followed through on his threats. And here I was, shivering at the brush of his hand like some naïve girl.
I couldn’t afford that weakness. Couldn’t let his contradictions blur into anything resembling trust. Veyrion was dangerousprecisely because I didn’t know what his next move would be—and until I did, I had to be careful.
