Alaric smiled softly. “You are truly remarkable.”

  She felt the blush creeping up her neck, so she deflected quickly, “Tell me how you found me.”

  A heavy pause as the moment ceased. Wren was beginning to think he wouldn’t tell her when he admitted, “I was dying.”

  Her heart sunk to somewhere below her ankles. “What?” she gasped.

  “Twice. I almost died twice. From the arrow wound the witches inflicted on me, and from a winter storm I got caught in.” From the look on his face, it looked like he had more to say but was holding himself back. “Both times, I was transported to this…dream world. It appeared as our world does, except it was empty, barren of people. Although a woman appeared and she—she spoke to me, showed me the path to you. I know it sounds crazy—”

  Wren saw it then. A flash of blood-red hair in the trees, flying past. “Ric,” she muttered, heart hammering and eyes wide. “We have company.”

  Alaric swiveled his head, scanning the surroundings.

  “Don’t look,” Wren hissed. “She has the upper hand already. You won’t see her anyways. She’s a shapeshifter and posed as a spy in Farrador Castle.”

  He looked straight ahead, though Wren felt him stiffen. “What do you mean a spy?”

  “My maid, Dahlia? She was really a witch in disguise, and her name is Phoebe. She’s the one who stabbed me in my room the night before our supposed wedding.” She refused to balk at the fact that Ric… He was her husband, and she, his wife.

  I can get used to that idea. Or so she kept telling herself.

  Alaric’s hands clenched the reins so hard she thought he might snap them. “Well then, is she following us or attacking us?”

  “I don’t know yet, she’s lurking—”

  With a dramatic pop, Phoebe appeared in their path. The horse reared, launching Wren and Alaric off its back. Wren landed with an oof in the snow, Ric beside her already reaching for his sword.

  Phoebe sent a bolt of magic towards them, and they barely had time to dash out of the way before it impacted in the snow, sending the fluffy flakes into the air.

  Wren leapt up; hands raised. Alaric had dodged in the other direction, and now they were sectioned off by a very high wall of snow. She punched a jet of flame through it, but the hole knitted itself together faster than Wren could react. Damned witch magic. The Ravyns were really beginning to grate on her nerves.

  “Kerensa!”

  Ric’s shout came from the other side of the snow shield, followed by a grunt and a snarl. A wolfish snarl. She heard a whimper of submission and then silence.

  The wall melted away to reveal Phoebe suspending an unconscious Ric in the air, Wynter left abandoned to the side and the pack of wolves seeming to have fled. The prince appeared unharmed. For now.

  “Phoebe,” Wren warned, clenching her fists.

  “Go on, then, Aevym,” the witch taunted. “I know you’ve been practicing that magic of yours. Show us what you’ve got.”

  Wren took a minute to assess the situation. Phoebe seemed to be focused on keeping Alaric aloft, while she tried to hide it with banter. If Wren could cause her to have to drop her hold on Ric to protect herself, they could fight it out without putting him in danger.

  Wren zoned in on Phoebe and sent sparks flying. Stream after stream of flame shooting from her hands, but the witch kept up, deflecting Wren’s magic with one hand and holding Alaric in the air with the other.

  Until her other hand began to wobble, and Ric dipped toward the ground.

  Wren panted, the effort of drawing out her magic exhausting and foreign. She pushed and pushed, taking from the store of magical energy inside her, testing her limits.

  She saw Phoebe’s chest heaving, the expense of the witch’s magic also taking its toll. And then Wren sent an arrow of fire straight at Phoebe’s head, forcing her to use both hands to extinguish it.

  Alaric plummeted the rest of the way to the frozen earth, landing in a heap. He startled into consciousness, his brilliant eyes locking on Wren.

  She didn’t let herself dwell on the regret as she mouthed to him, I’m sorry. Then she raised a fiery shield around him, boxing him in and cutting him off from the danger.

  His shock was palpable, and so was his fury as he rammed his shoulder into her magic repeatedly. It held against his strength, never wavering.

  Wren narrowed her concentration on Phoebe, blocking out Ric. The witch’s silver eyes flashed, and she prowled closer, going on the offensive. Wren settled into a defensive position, prepared to deflect any magic sent her way. And if Phoebe came in range, she still had the dagger Alaric had given her in the witch camp.

  “Feeling brave, are we?” Phoebe mocked, tilting her head to Ric’s bubble, where he relentlessly pounded to break out. Her feline eyes stayed trained on Wren, however. “Or just stupid?”

  Wren rolled her shoulders. “Maybe a bit of both.” She would play the witch’s game for now. “And you? Brave or stupid, coming after us on your own?”

  Phoebe chuckled. “I’m only here to restrain you and kill him. My training has been much more extensive than either of yours, darling. And considering you’ve already taken the pesky Corruna Tsurich out of the picture, it should make this decidedly easier.” And she lunged, with her magic and her body.

  Wren barely had time to twist out of the way. She yanked her dagger free and slashed, but Phoebe danced away. The witch had no weapons but her lithe form and lethal magic.

  She’s right. How long could Wren last against a century-old Ravyn witch trained in the craft of magic and the art of deception? She racked her brain for a plan as she circled her opponent.

  She glimpsed the glint of Wynter’s hilt in the snow behind Phoebe and knew her move.

  The witch shot out two sears of white magic, both of which Wren disintegrated with her fire. Her eyes darted around, searching for her opportunity.

  Phoebe sprang at her again, and Wren grasped it.

  She rolled past the Ravyn, seizing Wynter in one hand, her dagger in the other. The weight of Ric’s sword threw her off balance as she tossed it through the air, arcing for its master. Wren dropped the shield around Alaric, and he caught the hilt of his blade perfectly.

  Phoebe had her back turned from the prince as he charged at her back. Just as he was going in for the kill, Phoebe narrowed her eyes at Wren before shifting into a pure white cat with a flash, leaping out of Alaric’s path. He halted mid-swing, head swivelling as he searched for her again.

  A white cat with silver eyes. Like the one Wren had seen so long ago in the castle.

  Phoebe shifted back to her witch form a few feet away from them, a triumphant grin on her face. “Two against one now? That hardly seems fair.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have picked a fight with my wife,” Alaric growled.

  Wren couldn’t help but stare at him as the words left his mouth, though his attention was rigidly set on Phoebe, who cocked her head intently with a bark of laughter. “So much fuss over a girl you hardly even know.” She clucked her tongue, gaze sliding to Wren. “Tell me, Aevym, should we enlighten him? Don’t you think he should know who you really are?”

  Her heart sped up, shaking her head. “No, I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Suddenly Phoebe was at her side, a hand holding the back of her neck as Wren was forced to watch fear and confusion flit across Ric’s face. “Haven’t you ever questioned your father’s motives behind your speedy marriage? Didn’t you wonder why she arrived more or less alone? And how,” Phoebe rattled off somewhat lazily, “do you think a Cebrevenese woman can possess magic like ours if she grew up across the sea?”

  “Please,” Wren whimpered, unable to do or say anything else. Her eyes fell shut against whatever was going to happen next.

  Without warning, she was lurched forward, Phoebe’s grip breaking with a shriek. She felt the gust of air as something flew past her and then her body was pulled against someone by two strong arms encircling her. “She’s gone,” came the rumble of his voice above her.

  Wren nodded, hiding her tears in the folds of his cloak. Alaric held her for a few more beats before ducking to look her in the eyes. “Don’t ever,” he said lowly, “pull a stunt like that again.”

  She winced, knowing he was referring to the shield she’d put him in. “I was only trying to—”

  “What if you had gotten hurt? What if she had killed you?” His expression faltered, sea green eyes going glassy. “We’re stronger together, Kerensa. Don’t try and push me away.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. Because that was exactly what she had done—pushed him away when she should have let him in.

  Wren wasn’t sure if she knew how to let anyone in anymore. “About…” she tried, throat closing up momentarily, “what she said about me—"

  “I don’t care.”

  Her eyes cut to him, startled. “What?”

  He looked at her like he’d been living in the dark his whole life and she was the first ray of light he’d ever laid eyes on. “She was trying to mess with our heads. All that matters to me when it comes to you is you.” He moved so his lips were pressed to her forehead, her eyes fluttering closed. “Only you.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Gray and his unit rolled up their sleeping mats, dousing the fire that had kept them warm through the brisk night, and packing their things back on their horses.

  They were still four days away from the town of Duvine, and Gray couldn’t help but feel as though they were wasting time. He knew there wasn’t much he could do except continue their original trek to Duvine and hope that Ric had perhaps passed through or that any civilians were aware of whisperings of the Ravyn witches and where they might be.

  Gray found his thoughts straying back to Ambria in the capital, wondering how she was faring. Is she better? Worse? Should I have stayed with her instead of searching for Alaric? But he knew that’s not what she would have wanted him to do. Ambria would have had him choose Ric. She would say she could handle herself, that she didn’t need someone fussing over her. Come to think of it, Gray was sure her family would be doing plenty of the fussing for him.

  Reeling himself back into reality, Gray noticed his men were staring at him, all six of them having mounted their horses and prepared for a long day’s travel.

  “Lieutenant?” dark-haired Tarian ventured.

  Demitri chuckled. “Alright there, Zarin?” He flashed a grin, his fair complexion striking against the stark white of the snow.

  “How was your daydream?” Leander’s brown eyes sparked.

  Gray shook his head, smiling faintly. “You are all insufferable.”

  His comrades burst into laughter while Gray swung onto his horse. Nudging and cajoling each other, they fell into rank behind him—Leander and Hendry flanking his sides, and Demitri, Griffith, Calen, and Tarian taking up the rear.

  For hours, their unit galloped across the snow-dusted plains, following the wind that blew south-west. They entertained one another with teasing banter and easy humor.

  It had been a long time since Gray had felt so at ease with his soldiers, able to let go away from the propriety of Court and the constant pressure of rank and duty.

  He was still on a mission, and he would not fail in finding his prince—his best friend. But what was stopping him from letting go and simply relaxing with his men as he did so?

  Stay out of your head, Gray. Reality is a much better place to be.

  ༺═──────────────═༻

  “What about your magic? What can it do?”

  Alaric and Kerensa carved progress through Marawood over the course of the day. Rava hid behind dark clouds around midday, limiting the light they needed to see by. Kerensa summoned a flicker of flame for their vision and to keep them warm.

  Alaric felt the absence of his pack of wolves like a fist around his heart. He’d made a connection with the wild dogs that he wholly did not understand, but they’d left a weight in his chest he could hardly stand to carry.

  He was still upset with Kerensa for what she had done during the battle with the flaming-haired witch Phoebe. Watching from a distance, unable to provide her aid… It had been a torture of the likes he had never experienced before.

  “Ice seems to be its natural form,” Alaric said, accent lilting. “At least, that’s how it first appeared.”

  “And the other times?” Kerensa inquired from behind him in the saddle. He did his best to avoid thoughts of her proximity, the layers upon layers of heavy garments that separated them.

  Alaric huffed, the air in front of him clouding. “Invisibility. And light.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Though I’ve never used it on purpose.”

  Kerensa hummed, “Then we should practice with ice.”

  His brow raised. “Practice?”

  “What do you think would happen if you ever lost control in front of your father, Prince?” she arose, copper eyes drilling into him.

  He turned back around on the horse. “A fair point, milady.” A small smile lifted his lips. “As long as I have your expertise to guide me, practice we shall.”

  She sighed against his neck, and he knew her eyes rolled skyward.

  Alaric breathed a laugh but said, “We should find a place to set up camp for the night.”

  The stallion trotted a little longer until they broke out into a glade small enough for them to remain inconspicuous. Alaric dismounted and offered his hand to help Kerensa down. She refused, hopping down from the saddle on her own. A grin tugged at his lips.

  “What? Stop looking at me like that.” She dusted off her trousers, then walked to the centre of the clearing, turning in a full circle before her eyes landed on him once more. “Show me ice.”

  “It won’t be as simple as that,” he admitted, stalking towards her.

  “Then we make it come out,” she said in response, eyes sparkling with amusement.

  Alaric narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at?”

  “Well,” Kerensa drawled, dancing around him, “your magic appears when you’re angry, doesn’t it?”

  And when you’re in danger. “Yes,” he divulged hesitantly.

  “So, aren’t you mad at me? You have every reason to be.”

  He went rigid at her taunting words. Something buried deep inside of him opened an eye, stirring.

  “I cut you off from the fight. From me.”

  It soared through his veins, pulsing, begging to be let free. “Don’t,” he gritted out between his teeth.

  She smiled at him, gaze knowing. “I was in danger.”

  It fed off of Kerensa’s every uttered word, basking in the trembling rage.

  “And I pushed you away.”

  Magic erupted, shooting from Alaric’s fists, and slamming into a tree. The frost in the air cleared, revealing a sculpture of ice encasing the trunk, icicles jutting out at wild angles.

  Kerensa whistled, breaking the stunned silence. “There it is.”

  He flexed his hands, marvelling at the rush of magical energy racing through him, empowering his mortal body. It made him feel alive—truly alive—for the first time in what seemed like forever. And he loved it.

  He let out a glorious breath, nodding. “There it is.”

  Kerensa raised a slender eyebrow at him. “You feel okay?” she asked, almost tentatively.

  “Never better,” he sighed, grinning joyfully.

  She returned his smile with one of her own, disarming him without a single movement. “You look it,” she expelled. “You’re practically glowing with…”—her head tilted, hair falling over her shoulder—“life.” Eyeing him one last time, she turned and pointed to a different tree. “Blast that one.”

  Alaric did as she said, beckoning for the ice to emerge. His magic obeyed, hurtling for the tree Kerensa had indicated and embedding in the bark. He looked back at her to find that her smile had grown. She pointed to another tree. “That one next.”

  He froze the trees around their little clearing one by one, and by the time Kerensa had finished with him, the glade was almost entirely enclosed by magical ice.

  Kerensa laughed at the mess they had made and sent a short wave of fire rolling to melt it all, leaving the glade untouched.

  He could listen to her laugh every day and never tire of the sound of her happiness.

  “Is there a tent in all that?” Kerensa inquired, tilting her head to the stallion.

  “Do you take me for a commoner?” he mocked, aghast.

  She thwacked his shoulder. “Seeing as you’re no commoner, then you can build it.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  It’s just a meeting.

  Ambria hovered in the hall outside the council room, anxiously waiting to be permitted inside.

  Only one of the most important meetings in my entire life.

  She wrung her hands, smoothing her blush-coloured gown.

  Today she was put on trial. Against her Uncle Cade. She had something to prove, and she was determined to do so. This meeting would be just one deciding factor of whether or not she would be allowed to be declared Heiress of High House Ellymae.

  She gritted her teeth, clamping down on any lingering unease. This was no time for second guessing. She had to appear confident and poised in front of the lords of the Privy Council.

  And the King of Lithera.

  He would be there, and Bri knew that his still missing son would be a topic of discussion.

  Her thoughts drifted to Ric and Kerensa. She hoped they had found one another, that they were finally on their way back to Evaleer. Back home.

  From there, her mind had nowhere else to wander except to Gray Zarin. She hadn’t seen him in almost two weeks. Word around court was that the lieutenant had taken off with a unit of soldiers on a search for Prince Alaric. Her stomach had plummeted when she’d heard. Gray hadn’t failed to be her rock since Mateo had passed. And now her rock had left without saying goodbye, leaving her in the middle of an ocean of roiling waves.

  She was left with only her own devices to keep herself afloat. Bri wasn’t sure how long she could save herself from drowning.