Page 16 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

Whatever alliance he has with Lilis, I may not yet understand the nuances of it, but I recognize Brunkil’s craving for power. Without her, he will go back to a life of fighting Frost Fae in the Northern Wilds.

He hunches within his fur coat, his clawed fingers raking the snow, but he doesn’t make a move toward me, his lips drawing back from his sharp teeth before he shouts to his people, “Stand down.” Then he seethes, “For now.”

He doesn’t spare a glance for the shapeshifters who were killed during our initial fight, appearing unfazed about the bodies of his dead brethren littering the field.

I tumbled so far that I’ve ended up distanced from Stellen once again. As I drag Lilis toward him, I, too, give a call. “Nara, get to Stellen!”

The white wolf snaps her jaws at the nearest shapeshifter, forcing the fae back before she races to her master.

Reaching Stellen, she whines softly as she nudges his shoulder with her nose.

He lies on his side, his form hunched, his bloodied hair covering much of his face and neck. His chest rises and falls, but shallowly and other than that, he doesn’t stir.

I try to take hope because blood isn’t pooling around his body at his neck—or at his side any longer—but his stillness frightens me.

“What’s your plan, Thyra?” Lilis asks, her voice strained. “I’ve invoked the Winter Strife. By Frost Law, a battle of armies must now ensue.”

“Armies?” My lips twist. “You’re the Frost General. All Frost soldiers follow you. So do the Northerners. You planned this well.”

I don’t know exactly how the Strife is supposed to play out, but Lilis has positioned herself for victory.

It was only this morning that Stellen’s soldiers looked at him with anything other than fear and loathing. Their loyalty to Lilis was clear in their desire to see her rescued. They will follow her in a heartbeat.

“You’re right,” she says. “Stellen has an army of one: him alone. When he dies, it’s all over. Assuming you don’t join him. In which case, he has an army of two, and both of you must die. Is that what you want?”

What I want is for the pain to stop.

I’m barely holding on to my sanity right now, timing my footsteps to the slow beats of Stellen’s heart while Brunkil and his pack begin to prowl around us.

The only shapeshifter who doesn’t join them is Fable. I first met her on the field outside the Alak-Teah. She was with Brunkil that day and he commanded her to attack me. She only stopped when I warned her she was about to die.

She didn’t join the fight on this field before, remaining in her wolf form within the shadows of the compound’s gate, her head low, patches of her fur matted with blood. Her whimpers break through my focus. She’s injured, but not by me or Stellen.

Lilis is still speaking. “Don’t tie your life to Stellen’s, Thyra⁠—”

“How long,” I growl into her ear before I drag her another step, “have you been allied with the Northerners?”

She winces. “Since I was sixteen years old.”

That long?

“Why did you join them?”

Opposite us, Brunkil’s ears prick up and he slows his pacing. His hearing is as sharp as Stellen’s and he will be able to perceive even a whispered conversation between Lilis and me.

He smirks. “Tell her, Lilis.”

“Because I did what you must never do in Frost,” Lilis says. “I asked for help.”

Never ask for help.

It was one of Stellen’s first warnings.

“Never ever ask for help,” I say.

“I had no choice,” she snaps. “My father had just sold me to Iker Silversten. My mother wasn’t alive to stop him. I was allowed to take one thing with me, so I chose my white wolf. But…” Lilis drags in a breath. “The first time Iker hit me, my wolf bit him. He killed her, dragged her body out into a snowstorm and me with her. He threw me a dagger and told me that if I could cut her open, I’d find enough warmth within her carcass to survive until morning.”

My stomach turns. Even highborn Frost Fae can’t endure the freezing snowstorms that pound their kingdom at night—and sometimes even in the day.