Chapter Three
Calista
The door swung open. Instead of a king, I found a Hollowcrest guard. The breath of relief rushed out of me so hard my knees nearly gave.
“I am here to escort you to Alpha Dorian’s home.”
I nodded and forced a smile. Dorian likely thought I would flee if he didn’t send an official escort.
I waited outside with the silent guard for what felt like an age before Suri emerged, already wrapped against the cold.
She handed me my cloak without a word, her eyes searching my face the way one might search ice for cracks.
I tucked the folded strip of parchment deeper into my pocket before she could see. My fingers worried the worn edge of it once, then stilled. It was only a precaution, no need to worry her for nothing.
“Ready?” Suri asked.
“Always.”
The guard led the way toward the Alpha’s manor.
Dorian Woodsmere waited at the foot of the steps. This morning, he looked older than I remembered. Worn thin by responsibility. Salt had begun to creep through the dark at his temples, and his cloak had been patched so often the stitches had become part of the design.
“Calista.” Relief and worry folded themselves into my name. “Thank the moon. We must meet them at the lane. It wouldn’t do to keep the Alpha King waiting.”
Suri dipped her head. “Alpha.”
“What news did the runner bring?” I asked before I could stop myself. I couldn’t leave Suri and Ma behind with nothing but vague reassurances. Not when smoke still hung over our coast.
Dorian dragged a hand through his hair. “The raiders are pushing farther inland. They burned another village south of here last night. We were lucky.”
“We have to—”
“Enough, Calista.” His lips flattened into a grim line. “This is what you have to do. Your betrothal to the Savage King is the only measure that will save Hollowcrest.”
For a heartbeat, my temper flared, but I shoved it down.
This marriage would not mend everything broken in Hollowcrest, but it could give us something we had not had in far too long: protection.
It might be enough.
Aunt Mara appeared in the Alpha’s yard a moment later, silver hair half-escaping her bun. After giving Dorian a brief nod, she crossed to me and squeezed my hand. “I gave your ma a moonveil draught,” she murmured. “She’ll sleep through the departure. I wanted to be here with you.”
“Thank you.”
Another low note drifted from the watchtower.
Dorian inhaled slowly, then let it out. “It’s time.
” He nodded down the pathway, then paused.
“But before we go, I need you to listen to me.” He stepped closer, voice lowering.
“Hollowcrest has run out of time. There is no more grain to move, no more coin to beg, and the southern raiders press harder every month. We need Frostcrag. We need this alliance, or our isle will be ash and empty beds by spring.”
“By spring?” The question escaped before I could smooth my face into calm.
“If that long.”
The answer struck harder than I expected. I had known things were bad but hearing him say it plainly made the desperation impossible to dress up as anything else.
My resolve steadied. “I understand.”
His pale, tired eyes searched mine. “Then you know why this matters. Behave. Do as you’re told. Be…” His jaw worked as though the word itself tasted wrong. “Diplomatic.”
If I’d been a true Wolvryn, my Alpha might have compelled my obedience. But there was no wolf in me for such power to grasp.
Suri’s hand found my sleeve, small and steady.
“You don’t have to ask me to save my own court.” I raised my chin. “I’ll do what’s needed.”
“More than that.” Dorian took another step, and for the first time this morning his voice sounded less like a command than a plea. “If you can, make a friend of the king. He is not a gentle male. But I have heard he is a Wolvryn of his word, and that he honors bargains.”
A king of his word. At least it was something.
And I had learned long ago not to turn my nose up at scraps when scraps were all Hollowcrest ever got.
“I will not shame Hollowcrest.”
A ripple of sound moved along the outer wall, drawing my attention.
What was left of our entire Court gathered along the lane, anxious to glimpse the infamous king and the female being sent to him.
Their faces held the same mix I’d been feeling for a year now: fear, hope, and the kind of desperate curiosity that only comes when survival hangs in the balance.
A head of pale blond hair caught my eye. Jameson.
My friend stood half-hidden near the wall, shoulders squared, expression carefully neutral. His smile when it flickered into being was small and cautious, but I felt it like a remembered warmth. He had been one of the few pieces of ordinary life that had remained mine over the past year.
I let myself take comfort in that for half a breath, then tucked it away. This was no morning for softness.
Dorian held my gaze for one long moment, then nodded. “Very well. Shall we meet the king?”
I dipped my chin and followed him toward the path.
The small Hollowcrest clan lined the road, huddled in blankets, eyes bright with fear and hope. Children peered between skirts. An elderly female lifted an iron ring to her brow in the old sign of honoring the goddess.
I could only hope Selraya listened better to her than she ever had to me.
We took our place at the head of our bedraggled Court with Dorian in the center. As we moved down the lane, the sounds from the road swelled. Frostcrag voices low and disciplined. Harness buckles chiming like little bells. The soft percussion of hooves. The rasp of sled-runners over hard earth.
Then a clean cold scent rode ahead of them, like split ice and winter pine.
I felt him before I saw him.
A weight like a hand at the back of my neck. Ridiculous to know such a thing, but there it was all the same.
“Eyes down, Calista,” Dorian murmured without looking at me. “You must keep your gaze lowered in deference to the king.”
I almost argued out of instinct. Then thought better of it and fixed my gaze where the lane met the road.
“He is called Savage for a reason,” Dorian continued under his breath. “They say he does not lose, does not yield. We need that.”
“They say a great many things about powerful males,” I murmured. “Only some of them turn out to be true.”
A weary sound escaped him that might once have been a laugh. “That tongue. Keep it sheathed today.”
“I’ll be good,” I said softly, because he needed to hear it. “I’ll smile and agree. I’ll do my duty.”
The procession crested the rise.
The first Frostcrag scouts appeared, wrapped in dark furs, hair stiff with ice, and spears topped with frost-bitten banners.
Behind them came mounted riders in ranked lines, then a sled with a prow carved in the shape of a snarling Wolvryn.
And at the rear, masked males dragged a low cart covered by a stained tarp.
Steel gleamed everywhere.
The Frostcrag party slowed, then uncoiled into order with careless efficiency. Males and females in furs fanned outward until the world narrowed to a corridor between Frostcrag and Hollowcrest.
And through that corridor rode the Alpha King.
He came like winter arriving, an iron wolf mask concealing most of his face. There was no formal announcement. No trumpets. Only cold fact.
The Savage King.
The king looked down at me, and the weight of his gaze crashed over me. Heavy, unrelenting.
I stole one glance beneath lowered lashes.
His crown of crescent moons was as dark as iron, settled atop a tumble of wild black hair. His shoulders were impossibly broad, even beneath the heavy wolf-gray cloak. And for such a massive male, he carried the kind of stillness that made every other body around him look restless by comparison.
Goddess. He was beautiful and terrifying in the same breath.
I lowered my gaze again before anyone could see too much in my face. Still, his attention surged over me like cold running across warm skin. It found me in the crowd and settled there.
As I stood between my battered court and the male who might become its answer, the full, awful weight of it hit me.
This was no longer some far-off fate.
It had arrived.