Page 24 of The Fox Heir

But my feet are glued to the frozen ground. I can’t leave him in danger, that irritating, infuriating Wolf. Suddenly, I realize there might be another way.

I can’t outrun the moose or help Tristan from the ground. So, I look up. The snow-capped trees sway above us, and an idea strikes me. I toss aside my red cloak and scramble up the nearest spruce. Turns out, these leather breeches were a good idea after all.

Below, Tristan weaves between trees, the moose lumbering after him. He knocks another arrow, but the shot glances off an antler and vanishes into the trees.

Finally, I reach a long snow-covered branch and shake it.

Nothing happens.

I need better footing, and there’s only one way to get it. Higher. I grit my teeth and climb, muscles burning as I haul myself up past the next branch.

Then, I jump.

My boots slam onto a snow-covered limb, jarring it so hard it crashes into the neighboring tree. Then another. Branches sway in a chain reaction as snow drops in a thunderous hush. Snow falls like a curtain of white over the moose and Tristan below. It blinds them both, just long enough.

I unsheathe my sword and leap out of the tree—right onto the moose’s shoulders.

It’s disoriented in the whiteout, but it knows enough to try to knock me off. I hold tight, my thighs squeezing the animal’s neck as I loop one arm around an antler. It’s all I can do to hold on as it bucks.

Tristan rolls out of the way of the creature’s hooves. I swipe my sword toward the beast’s neck, but all I manage to do is slice its skin. At this angle, with only one available hand, it’s not enough.

With a curse, I throw the infernal weapon to the ground, then reach into my boot to retrieve my trusty knife. The silver blade flashes in the sun before I stab the creature in the neck, dragging my blade across its artery.

Blood gushes over the snow, turning the whiteout red. The spray of warm blood coats my arm and face as the creature finally slows. There’s just enough time for me to roll out of the way as its 2,000-pound body crashes to the ground with a thump. The moose looks toward me with surprise, then the light fades from its eyes.

My hand instinctively reaches up to my own neck, touching the thin scar there. I just killed a creature the same way my father tried to kill me.

For a moment, all is silent.

“Why didn’t you tell me you can’t shoot a bow?” Tristan stomps toward me. His hair is a mess, and his face is red with fury. “Didn’t they teach you anything at that fancy palace?” His face is wild with anger.

I glower at him from my spot in the frozen mud. “Why would they when my father has guards watching me at all times?”

Tristan pinches the bridge of his nose before letting out a gruff sigh. “It’s like you’re a baby,” he mutters under his breath.

My face and arms are covered in blood, and I just took down a veritable giant. I may not know how to be a northerner, but I’m not a child. I seethe. “In case you failed to notice, I killed it.”

“And could have died in the process. That was stupid. And reckless.”

“And I saved your life. Again!”

We stare at each other for a long time before I start to piece things together. He could have stopped the charging animal in a heartbeat if he truly thought he was about to die. He’s a Wolf with immense shadow power. Heat flashes in my cheeks at the realization. Now that the chaos is over, I see this exercise for what it was.

Training. Pure and simple.

He never bothered to use an ounce of shadow power, because we were never in real danger. What is one measly moose against a Wolf?

Tristan sighs. “Well, at least now I know where to start with you.”

“Meaning?” I cross my arms in front of me petulantly.

“The archery range.” His eyes dart around, looking for the discarded sword. He spots it a few feet away, then picks it up. “And we’ll need to work on sword basics.”

“Seems to me, I should stick with what I’m good at.” I twirl my moth blade in one blood-soaked hand.

After a moment, he holds out his hand to help me off the ground. I don’t take it. Instead, I get up on my own, even though my knees and hips crack in protest.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.