Chapter Twenty-Five #2
"My lord," the man said, touching his forehead respectfully. "Is something amiss?"
"No," Casteel replied, though he couldn't explain the restlessness that had driven him from his bed. "I just... felt like checking on the horses."
The watchman nodded as if this were perfectly reasonable behavior for the kingdom's prophesied savior in the middle of the night. "I was just going in there. They've settled well, my lord. Even the war-mounts returned today."
Casteel told him to go get himself a hot drink from the kitchen and entered the stables, breathing in the familiar scents that had once been his entire world—sweet hay, leather, horse sweat, and the earthy musk of bedding.
Each stall held a different memory: here he'd hidden from the master groom's temper, there he'd nursed a colicky foal through a long night.
It warmed his heart to know each stall would be full, eventually.
He paused at a stall near the end, drawn by a soft nickering that raised gooseflesh along his arms. The door stood partially open, unusual this late. Casteel pushed it wider, lantern raised.
His breath caught.
The Skellarae mare, Miralisse, stood before him, her black coat gleaming like polished metal in the lantern light. The same mare that had saved his life. Taken the arrow meant for him and then led them to safety.
"Impossible," he whispered, hanging the lantern, and reaching out a trembling hand.
Her ears flicked forward in recognition. She stepped toward him, her muzzle soft against his palm. Warm flesh and the gentle puff of breath against his skin.
"How did you—"
Movement in the shadows caught his attention. A second horse stood in the spacious stall—a bay mare with kind eyes and a white star on her forehead. Her sides were swollen with obvious pregnancy, her belly a rounded drum in the final stages of foaling.
The bay nickered softly, stretching her neck toward Casteel with none of the wariness he would expect from an unfamiliar horse. When he cautiously extended his hand, she nuzzled it as if they were old friends.
“Where did you come from?” he whispered.
The bay mare pressed closer to Casteel, her pregnant belly brushing against the stall door. The Skellarae stood protectively beside her, tail swishing gently.
Casteel's hand moved to the bay's swollen flank, feeling the movement of the foal within. The kick was strong, vital, and something in that life stirring beneath his palm made tears prick his eyes. After so much death and destruction, this simple miracle of life felt like a new start.
Casteel's throat tightened. The Skellarae had somehow brought this pregnant mare to him. as if she understood what he needed.
"You’re close to foaling," Casteel observed. "Only days. Feeling restless, my beautiful girl?"
As if summoned by his words, the bay mare shifted, her breathing quickening slightly. The Skellarae moved closer, offering the comfort of her presence.
"What have you found?” Nero’s voice came from the stall door.
The Skellarae mare nickered, and Nero gently greeted both horses with a rub, and his mate with a kiss.
Three nights later, Casteel knelt in the same stall as the bay mare labored through the final stages of birth.
Nero crouched beside him, having been roused from sleep by Casteel's urgent summons.
The foal emerged in a rush of fluid and membrane—a colt with his mother's gentle eyes but a coat that shimmered between black and gray, catching light like captured moonbeams.
"He's beautiful," Nero breathed, watching as the foal struggled to his feet on impossibly long legs.
The Skellarae blood was unmistakable—the refined head, the arched neck, the way he moved with an otherworldly grace even minutes after birth. But he had his mother's warmth, nuzzling Casteel's outstretched hand without fear.
The Skellarae mare bent her nose to touch both the colt and the mother, then turned and nuzzled Casteel's shoulder, then walked through the open door of the stall. A moment later they heard her galloping hooves.
"A gift," Casteel whispered, understanding flooding through him.
"What will you call him?" Nero asked, his arm settling around Casteel's shoulders.
Casteel watched the colt take his first tentative steps, and his mother nudge him until he could feed from her.
"Vaylara," Casteel said softly, watching as the colt found his footing and began to nurse. The name felt right on his tongue, carrying with it all the weight of what they'd survived and what lay ahead.
Nero's fingers intertwined with his, warm and steady in the lamplight. "Vaylara," he repeated approvingly. "A new dawn."
The bay mare nickered contentedly, her eyes soft as her foal fed. She had accepted Casteel completely.
"She trusts you," Nero observed, his voice filled with quiet wonder.
Casteel leaned against his mate's shoulder, exhaustion finally catching up with him. "Perhaps she does. Animals sense things we miss." He watched Vaylara’s tail flick as he nursed, already strong despite being barely a bell old. "The Skellarae brought her here for a reason."
"Our future," Nero said eventually, sounding as tired as Casteel, though neither man moved to leave the stall.
Dawn was breaking over the palace walls when they finally returned to their chambers, where River still slept peacefully in the adjoining room. The war had made many orphans, and Casteel felt sure River wouldn’t be an only child for very long.
"Tomorrow, we'll show him the foal," Casteel murmured, settling back into Nero's arms.
"Tomorrow," Nero agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of Casteel's head.
The wolf-soul settled beneath Casteel's skin, finally at peace. Outside, the kingdom waited for its Silver Wolf to guide it through the challenges ahead. But in this moment, surrounded by love and the promise of new beginnings, Casteel allowed himself to simply be a man who had found his way home.