“Frostfang has persisted for centuries,” I reply, my voice even, practiced. “It will persist again.”
A safe answer. The kind my father would have given. It sounds convincing enough, but as I say it, I feel the fissures—not in Father’s wall but in myself. Sira’s watching me, waiting for me to give her any opening. Every decision I make teeters my realm on the edge of war.
Eirik glances at me, his sharp eyes narrowing beneath his light blond brows. “And what of those beyond the wall, my lord? What happens to them when the enemy comes?”
I’ve asked myself the same question countless times, but the answer eludes me. Or perhaps I’ve simply avoided it.
“The wall is their safeguard as much as it is ours,” I say, words hollow. “I’ll give the order to retreat into Keep Wolfhelm before danger arrives.”
Eirik’s lips press into a thin line. He knows it’s not that simple. So do I. The keep isn’t large enough for all Frostfang’s citizens. But this is how it has always been done. My parents built the wall to protect what they deemed most vital: the heart of Winter. Its fortress. Its heir. Everyone else was expendable.
I glance up at the wall again. Is it mocking me, this monolith of ice and stone? Another legacy of my parents that I cannot escape.
“I’ll gather reinforcements from the outer settlements. The Tundrafolk may rally with us,” Eirik says, his tone conciliatory. “We can?—”
His words fade as my thoughts shift to Rosalina. I should ask her what she would have me do to prepare for this war. She who defeated Perth Quellos, who escaped from the Nightingale, who saved the people of Hadria. My mate.
Rosalina’s face drifts into my mind’s eye. She has a warmth this realm has never known. Not that I have been graced with it of recent days. The image of her sweet smile and shining brown eyes twists into a scowl. Every time I think I’m getting through to her, that this strain between us is easing, she goes and getsmadat me.
For protecting her. For choosing her. For not wanting her to make the same mistakes I did.
I take a shaky breath. I wish it would go away—this gnawing fear that eats at me every moment of every day. But it can’t. Because I’ve lived this all before. Caspian will sink his claws into her as he did me. Twist her, manipulate her, until she is a shell of who she once was. Until she is lost to me forever.
I tighten my grip on the reins. A better man—a man like Ezryn or Dayton or Farron—would try to cherish her in spite of it. And I try. But all I end up doing is driving her away.
If only…if only! If only Caspian would get out of my damned head. Ihatehim. Every nerve in my body resents him. I know what he’s capable of, and for good reason, I fear it. And yet…
When I sat at his bedside as he slept in the medical ward, all the moments we’ve spent together played across my mind. His very presence is a blade against my heart, cutting me open with moments of tenderness twisted into pain, promises broken so effortlessly they made me doubt they ever existed at all.
These days, I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror. I’m merely the remnants of the man I used to be. There is Keldarionbefore Caspian and Keldarion after. No wonder the wolf’s presence is so strong, I can’t fight it anymore.
The pieces of Keldarion, High Prince of Winter, have been scattered to the wind. Yet the beast remains whole.
Eirik’s voice pulls me back to the present. “What do you think, High Prince?”
I blink, forcing my thoughts away. “Do what you think is best,” I say, my tone colder than I intend. “Strengthen the wall. Prepare an envoy trip to the Tundrafolk. You and I will go together. If the Below comes, Frostfang will stand.”
Eirik nods, but there’s a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He knows as well as I do that I’m deflecting. But if I falter now, so will the entire realm.
I must be like my father. Like the wall. Let all feelings of weakness hide beneath layers of ice and snow. I only pray the cracks don’t show.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a shadow darting through the fir trees, heading to the back of the keep. I pull to a stop. There are no deer within the keep. Children no longer play. It seemed too fast, too fluid for a soldier.
“My lord?” Eirik says.
A sense of unease shivers up my spine. “Double the guard,” I say. “Now.”
Eirik nods. He heads toward the gates, shouting orders. I don’t wait to see them carried out. My reindeer lurches forward as I kick it into motion, following the trail of that shadow.
A scent lingers on the air, cool and sharp, like wet soil mixed with the tang of rotting leaves. The smell of frozen foliage beginning to thaw.
It is not a scent known to Winter.
It churns my stomach as I push onward, weaving through the outskirts of the keep. The shadow appears again, just aflicker against the snow, speeding toward Perth Quellos’s old workshop.
George.He’s been in there every day, obsessing over the rose. A fool’s errand, perhaps, but I keep faith in him. If anyone can piece it back together, it’s George O’Connell.
I push Arktos harder, breath steaming in the air as we race toward the workshop. The shadow’s lost from sight, but it doesn’t matter. I need to get to George. In a single leap, I dismount and sweep open the door.
