Selene climbed the narrow wooden stairs of the abandoned northern watchtower alone.
For the first time in months, she was simply herself, carrying a heavy leather tube of fresh border maps under one arm and a modest basket of bread, smoked meats, and a bottle of blackberry wine under the other.
Kael was already there. He stood by the open-air stone window, his dark hair catching the golden hue of the sinking midsummer sun. He didn't turn when her boots clicked against the top step; his wolf had likely tracked her scent a mile down the trail.
“You're late,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated against the quiet of the tower.
“The Council wanted to debate the grain taxes again,” Selene replied, setting the basket down on a rough-hewn oak table in the center of the ro
