The snow came early.
It dusted the treetops like powdered bone, soft and silent, covering the forest floor as Kael’s war camp stirred beneath it.
But there was no peace in that silence.
Because we knew what was coming.
“They’ve crossed the river,” Dren reported, his eyes narrowed. “Flying the Veyne crest. Your father brought at least five units. Maybe more in reserve.”
Kael didn’t speak.
He stood in the middle of the war circle, shirtless and with a cloak over one shoulder, even though it was cold. His skin steamed against the cold, and tattoos made with old wolf blood could be seen down his back.
I stood a few feet behind him, hands trembling inside my cloak.
I hadn’t seen my father in months—not since the letter he sent, offering to cut me into pieces for dishonoring his name. T
