Kael froze.
Not the stillness of control—but of something primal. His body was stiff, and his head slanted a little as the wind changed again.
I lay curled up on the furs, holding my hurting ribs and swelling belly. I was still half-broken from Ayla's attack. But I felt it too, even if it hurt.
Wrongness.
It wasn’t just another patrol.
Not rebels. Not Veyne soldiers.
This scent was colder. Older. Burnt earth and ash. Bone and ruin.
Kael didn’t speak. He slowly got up, his nostrils flaring and his muscles stiff under his scarred skin.
“What is it?” I whispered.
His voice was gravel. “Hunters.”
“From my father’s court?”
Kael shook his head. “Worse.”
He walked towards the cave's entrance, pulling a fur-lined shawl around his naked shoulders. Then he picked up the short blade that
