She stood in line with the other soldiers, facing the vast expanse of shimmering blue that was the Ice Bay. Nearly an hour had passed, and there was still no sign of the king’s arrival. He’d ordered them out here at the crack of dawn, and noon was approaching fast. After a scrapping session in the snow when they’d first arrived, Zenaide had instructed the eighty-four of them to assemble into two silent and straight lines to await the king’s arrival.
How much longer could he possibly take? Nocturne’s toes and fingers were numb, the tip of her nose pink from the bite in the air. The waters of the Ice Bay shimmered like something from a dream, but to Nocturne it looked more like a nightmare. She’d heard stories of what had happened on this soil many years ago, and she had no more desire to be standing here than she did to saw off her own foot. It felt like they were standing on a grave.
One massive grave bearing the unmarked tombs of thousands of men.
Her wounds had reopened again; even through the bandages, she could feel her cotton shirt clinging to the fresh blood. The torn flesh stung from even the smallest movements; keeping her pain at bay on the way here was a challenging task.
Days had passed since the king had whipped her in his chambers, but she’d barely caught a wink of rest. Along with the physical pain, she was also emotionally disturbed. Since the deaths of her family members, she had accomplished nothing. Instead of finding and destroying those responsible for inflicting the pain they’d suffered, she was being bruised and cut open by the murderous king and his henchmen. She was no better than the scarecrows they often set up in the courtyard only to shred to pieces.Practice,they called it.
And in those two days that had passed, Nocturne hadn’t so much as looked at the Wolf of Winter. On several occasions they were forced to walk past each other in the corridors, and every time they both faced straight ahead, as if neither of them existed to the other. Only once did Nocturne allow herself to steal a glance at his face, but the remoteness in his eyes and the tight set of his mouth had made her wish she hadn’t even bothered.
A very short time ago she had wanted nothing more than to be left alone, but now that the general had stopped caring about her, she felt hollow and abandoned. Although she hated to admit it, she’d somewhat enjoyed the attention he gave her. It made her feel less invisible. And now that he refused to even acknowledge her existence, she realized how pathetic she was to believe he could think differently of her than he did the others. To him, she was nothing but a pawn. Only a girl as stupid as her would think otherwise.
The wind picked up, ruffling her hair. In the corner of her eye, Nocturne spotted the general standing beside Zenaide. Watching her for the first time since their encounter in his office. His white shoulder-length hair was unbound today, the strands thrashing about his face, and his crimson cloak undulated in the wind like a ribbon of blood. Without even fully looking she could see the intensity of his eyes, the flurry of emotions burning brightly within.
Instead of giving him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze, she stared straight ahead, at the sun-bright waters. As she stifled the loneliness in her heart, she allowed herself to pretend the biting wind was the cause of the moisture pooling in her eyes.
~
The king was late, as usual. By the time he and several of his men rode to where eighty-four soldiers were waiting by the Ice Bay, Kit Wilding was more than ready to retire to bed.
But the king had important news, he’d announced at dawn. And when the king had news, all ears were required to listen.
Kit wished it could wait for another day. He couldn’t bear to be this close to Nocturne, to watch as she deliberately ignored him. Since the night he’d told her to leave his office, he’d regretted his words. And every night since, he had walked by her chambers. Once, he’d even placed his hand on the doorknob, but in the end his self-control had won over his desire.
But he could’ve sworn he’d heard her weeping.
The sound had nearly crushed his heart. After what had been done to her family, he couldn’t expect her forgiveness. And her grieving was surely warranted. He just hoped it wouldn’t be the wrong person listening outside her door one day.
He knew he couldn’t watch her forever, and that she wasn’t his to look after, no matter how much he wished it could be true… But he couldn’t help it. Whenever he set his eyes upon her, his heart swelled with something between pleasure and pain. And whenever she deigned to glance his way, he all but fell to his knees.
If this was how the girl made him feel from the few interactions they’d had, he was reluctant to discover what it might become if they dared to grow closer.
The general was so distracted by his thoughts and the dark-haired vixen turning her nose up at him that he barely noticed when the king dismounted and took his place beside him. The Dragon followed suit, claiming the spot beside the king. Zenaide didn’t hesitate to switch from Kit’s right to his left, though the frown etched into the beta’s face made Kit want to laugh out loud. Zenaide needed to learn a thing or two about rank. Far too many times, his beta had overstepped his boundaries; perhaps having the king, the Dragon, and his men present was a good thing, no matter how much Kit absolutely loathed them all.
Flanked by Kit and Killian, the king looked oddly short. Insignificant. Killian and Kit both stood several inches over six feet, and although the king was of average height and build, standing directly beside him put an emphasis on how physically outmatched he was. It was true that he was a powerful man; he had seized four out of six realms on this side of the Black Sea and nearly half of the remaining two, after all. He had come out of his mother’s womb a mortal and had somehow clawed his way into the world of the Folk and immortality. But put the man in a room alone with the Wolf, and it could be a whole other story.
At that thought, Kit wanted to kick himself. Ten years ago, he’d had his chance. And like the fool he was, he’d let that chance slip away.
He clenched his teeth together so hard he nearly gave himself an instant headache.
The king began to speak then, and Kit forced himself to listen. Even as every word the bastard said made him want to rip his own flesh off his bones.
“As you are all aware, we have recently lost several men,” the king began. “We’ve been investigating these killings but have had no luck finding answers. There is no pattern; the bodies have been ripped to shreds, as if the person responsible is attempting to make it look like an animal is to blame.”
The general tried not to fidget as the king scanned the faces of his soldiers.
He continued. “There are few realms on this side of the Black Sea that still stand against me, and one of those few is the Shadowlands. I have reason to believe that those in hiding there have opened portals throughout the North. And I will not stand for them creeping into my lands.”
The general stopped breathing.
He had known it was only a matter of time before this happened. Only a matter of time before the king put together an army specifically to slaughter the last of the Shadowfolk.
Years ago, the king had assembled an army of skin-changers and had given them a single task: To enter the Shadowlands and not come back until every single person dwelling there had sworn fealty to him. If they did not swear fealty, they would be executed. The person selected to lead this army was Kit himself—in the days before he was appointed general. Their army had slaughtered a solid portion of the Shadowfolk, but what remained of them had fled into the Outlands and escaped through what they presumed was a portal. The land had shifted that day; entire structures had vanished, and the Shadow Temple had been left in ruins.
To this day, no one had found the portal. Most of what was left of the once hauntingly beautiful Shadowlands was now a barren wilderness, and the magic there was of the evil sort. It was considered a cursed place; to even speak of it was an invitation for bad luck.
When Kit dared a glance in Nocturne’s direction, he found that her golden-brown face had drained of color. The king couldn’t force a girl like her—a girl who had yet to bond with a wolf—to enter the Outlands. It was a joke. A cruel, sick joke. He wouldn’t have it.
