The wardrobe in Lycaon’s cabin did not contain the thin, faded linens or the mended wools that Ariah had been forced to wear in the Blackwood pack house. When the King threw open the heavy oak doors of the chest, she found garments fit for a queen of the frost.
"Put these on," Lycaon murmured, his voice still thick with the lingering gravel of their lovemaking.
He pulled out a pair of trousers made of supple, dark-grey deer hide, lined with incredibly soft shearling to trap the heat. Beside them, he laid a tunic of deep forest-green wool, thick and heavy, and a pair of tall leather boots that rose to her knees, reinforced with silver buckles. Finally, he lifted a massive, heavy cloak of pure black bear fur. It was so thick it looked as though it could stop a blade, and when Ariah touched
