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With a tight fist at one side, Roark spoke with his other hand in swift gestures—a sign he was shouting. His head is mine.

“All in due time,” Gunter insisted. “Don’t go in that room and slaughter everyone. Let them see Lyra, let them know of your bond, then they will have no ability to argue your vengeance.”

The way Roark’s face deepened in a flush, he was clearly perturbed by the stay of slaughter, but after a long moment he nodded.

Brynn stroked the top of Òlmr’s wide head but looked back at me. “Ready?”

“I doubt I ever will be.” I tightened my grip on Roark’s hand.

With a short nod, he signaled the twins to open the heavy doors.

The hall was crowded. Folk bustled around the long table in the center. Some worked filling ewers with wine and water. Others laughed and plucked flatbreads and aged cheeses off plates before they hurried on.

Dravens flowed through the royal house like it was its own sort of marketplace. Dark Watch warriors tipped back drinking horns before meeting their patrol posts, hair braided off their faces, fur cloaks over the double-headed ravens stitched on their tunics.

Women tended to the young ones who were led through the hall. Some gathered baskets of eggs, loaves of rustic bread, and stacks of linens and wool for the market down the slope.

This was different from the more stoic hall of Stonegate, where Ingir and her ladies avoided Damir and his lovers. Folk in the Draven hall laughed more; they shouted without care for propriety. It felt a great deal like organized chaos, and I was glad for it.

With everyone focused on their own lives, no one looked to us at the doors. No one took note of the way the melder had entered, her hand clasped tightly with the prince’s. They did not notice the fading bands on our fingers.

Until Auki somehow stumbled over Gunter’s foot and the door clattered against one wall.

I froze.

All eyes seemed to snap in our direction. All voices hushed. I wanted to fall into the cracks of the floorboards.

Roark stepped in front of me. The way his shoulders were strong and back, the way his face was locked in stoic condescension, I could see the prince he’d been born.

Despite knowing folk would not understand his words, Roark spoke all the same. Where is the queen?

“The prince asks to see his mother,” Emi said.

For a time no one spoke, merely stared. Something heavy and firm brushed against my leg. I shuddered when the great head of the fara wolf came to stand beside me, Auki and Brynn at my other shoulder.

Gunter remained at Roark’s shoulder, stiff and nearly daring his clan to speak against the sight of us.

At long last, a man rose from the bench of the long table. His beard was wiry and peppered the same as old Thorian’s from back home. He pointed toward a back room. “The queen speaks with the úlfur.”

Roark did not wait another moment before pulling me across the hall.

Shards of my heart chipped and cracked away when folk turned their scrutiny to their plates and one woman was so startled at our swift approach, she picked up a tiny girl who shared her features and shielded the child as though we might reach out and steal the babe away.

Before we reached the doors, a man, perhaps a few full seasons my elder, stepped in front of the latch. He spun a knife in one hand. “Standing against the clan, Blackvale?”

Gunter returned a narrow look. “Stand aside, Haukur. Virki isn’t here for you to kiss his ass.”

The man’s lip curled, but he kicked his eyes toward Brynn. “You too, Oakbriar?”

Before Brynn could respond, Gunter shoved Haukur’s shoulder. “Step back. Your prince wishes to speak to the queen.”

Haukur looked to Roark. Disdain was there beneath the shade of pale green in his eyes. “My prince lost his privileges long ago. Besides, I don’t think there’ll be much speaking to be had.”

The man chuckled at his joke over Roark’s stolen voice, but it lasted mere moments. His eyes darkened when Roark stepped nearer, and draped over Haukur’s shoulders were the faintest hints of darkness. A cloak of shadows.

By the two hells, Roark was doing something with his craft. Skul Drek was doing something.

Haukur didn’t move, didn’t blink. His body shuddered and his teeth clenched. A hushed “Stop” broke from his lips.