Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
First light cracked through the pine branches overhead.
Casteel woke first, blinking at the extra weight on his side.
River had shifted in his sleep, one little arm thrown over Casteel’s chest, his face calm and innocent.
Casteel's heart squeezed. He'd dreamed of this.
At some point in his dream of a future it had included a child or children.
Except he wasn't sure he could offer this little one safety at the moment.
He sensed his mate and looked up. Across the small clearing, Nero sat bolt-upright, silver-flecked eyes scanning the tree line like a predator.
“You didn’t get any sleep?” Casteel whispered.
“My wolf hardly needs it,” Nero said softly, careful not to wake the boy. “I had to keep watch.”
He didn’t think it was a criticism, more a practical declaration of how things were.
Nero had been insanely protective of him even before the wolf.
He’d wrestled with doubts, even before he’d given the wolf-soul to Nero.
But seeing how alive Nero looked with it—how fierce—he was even more convinced it should have always belonged to Nero.
Casteel leaned over and watched River’s eyes flutter open, confusion flickering across his face before memory clicked in.
The boy tensed up, scanning their little camp like someone far older than he looked.
“Hey there,” Casteel said with a gentle grin. “You catch any sleep?”
River gave a small nod, his eyes hopping between Casteel and Nero, who was already rummaging through their meager supplies for breakfast. “I’m… hungry,” he murmured, like admitting it might break something.
"Me too,” Casteel admitted, brushing a hand through his hair as he sat up. “Let’s see what we can scrounge, yeah?”
He held out his hand, but really he held his breath.
After a beat, River slipped his fingers into Casteel’s and together they wandered to the edge of camp, where a clutch of wild berries peeked out from between the rocks.
Casteel guided River behind some scrub to relieve himself then the small creek to scrub his hands and face.
Eagerly they went back to examine the berries.
“My ma taught me which ones are safe,” Casteel said, gently plucking the plump blue berries. “These blue ones are sweet. The red ones… not so much.”
River watched closely, then knelt to help, his little fingers surprisingly steady. “My mama knew all the plants, too,” he whispered.
“She sounds smart,” Casteel said, his chest tightening. “Mine worked in the kitchens back home—she made magic with bread and pies.”
“Mama made bread, too,” River said, pausing to pick a berry. “With seeds on top.” Casteel smiled and held up a handful. “My favorite. Did she let you help?”
River nodded, eyes drifting off as he remembered. “I got to sprinkle the seeds.”
They gathered berries in silence. When River’s cold fingers brushed his, Casteel took the boy’s hand and warmed it with his own.
“Your hands are big,” River said, peering at them. “Like my pa’s.”
Casteel’s heart pinched. “I’ve worked with horses most of my life. Builds strong hands.”
“The black sparkly horses,” River breathed, eyes wide. “I thought they were a dream.”
“No dream,” Casteel said softly. “They’re called Skellarae. I’ve been hearing stories of them since I was your age.”
“They were so pretty,” River said, then tugged on Casteel’s sleeve. “Can we go back to see them?”
Casteel squeezed his hand. “Maybe one day. They have to stay hidden right now, for their own good.”
River’s face fell, and Casteel felt that familiar ache of another disappointment. On impulse, he dug in his pocket and pulled out a sliver of silver-streaked bark he’d tucked away from the Skellarae valley.
“Here,” he said, pressing it into River’s palm. “So you won’t forget them.” The boy stared at the bark, then closed his small fingers around it. “I’ll keep it always.”
Casteel ruffled his hair. “And whenever you look at it, remember there’s still magic in the world—even when everything seems dark.” Maybe that was a lesson he had to learn as well.
River leaned into his side and Casteel dropped an arm around the boy’s shoulders.
“We should head back to Nero,” Casteel said after a moment. “He’s probably wondering where we wandered off to.” But he only said that for River's benefit. He had no doubt Nero knew exactly where they were.
As they turned for camp, River slipped his hand into Casteel’s without a word. Casteel slowed his steps, savoring the warmth that blossomed in his chest—something that felt a lot like hope.
“How far to Morven’s place?” Casteel asked as Nero looked up.
Nero tilted his head, nostrils flaring as if he could sniff the answer. “Maybe two bells on foot. That stallion got us closer than I thought before they vanished.”
“You think he knew where we were headed?” Casteel stretched, still stiff from the hard ground.
“Those horses understand more than we credit them,” Nero said
“We’ve have to keep moving,” Nero said, offering River water.
River blinked. “But where?”
“Morven’s estate. There’ll be food, beds… people to help,” Casteel told him.
“And the bad men won’t find us there?” River’s voice shook.
Nero and Casteel exchanged a glance. Even the safest walls were just walls in a civil war, but they needed somewhere to regroup. “We’ve got you,” Nero promised, resting a hand on River’s shoulder. “Both of us.”
They broke camp quickly, snuffing fires and hiding footprints. Nero led, ears perked for trouble. Casteel walked with River, helping him over logs and across brooks until Nero finally swung the boy onto his shoulders. River crowed with delight, and Casteel didn't blame him.
The forest thinned, pines giving way to mixed woods, then fields of neat vineyards and orchards. “It’s… like an entire village,” River whispered, staring at the stone manor and the tidy rows of grapes. The other smaller houses all dotted about.
“Well-defended,” Nero added. Watchtowers dotted the walls, guards pacing with spears ready.
“Peaceful?” Casteel asked.
Nero’s expression darkened. “Not anymore.”
They knew they'd been seen, when the gates opened and four horses galloped out.
Nero relaxed recognizing two of them.
A voice rang out from the lead one. “Well, well—if it isn’t the Silver Wolf.”
They looked up to see Eryken, his lined face splitting into relief. Behind him rode Lucan and armed men in Morven’s colors.
“You made it,” Eryken called pulling his horse to a halt. Nero shook Eryken's hand as he jumped down. In another minute more riders caught them up with spare horses and they were saved a walk to the gate.
Nero set River down when they got into the courtyard but stood in front of him and Casteel. The captain of the guard, a grizzled veteran, approached.
“Lord Morven’s been expecting you,” he said, eyeing their travel-worn clothes and lingering on River. “The meeting’s started.”
“How many nobles showed?” Nero asked.
“Five houses so far,” Eryken said as they all dismounted and handed off the horses to the grooms. “More trickle in each day. Doran’s latest horrors are spreading fear faster than wildfire.”
Casteel felt a chill. “What did he do now?”
Lucan’s jaw tightened. “Three villages burned. Martial law across the east.”
River pressed against Nero, tiny hand gripping his. Casteel felt Nero’s fury—and his determination to shield this child from any more pain.
"Lord Morven waits in the great hall," the captain informed them. "But perhaps you'd prefer to refresh yourselves first?"
"The boy needs food and a bath," Nero said firmly. "And clean clothes."
"Of course." The captain gestured to a waiting servant. "Martha will see to the child's needs."
River shrank back against Nero, his eyes wide with fear. "No," he whispered.
Nero knelt to the boy's level, his voice gentle. "You're safe, River. But we need to speak with Lord Morven about the battle." He looked up at the servant. "Martha, is it?"
The woman nodded, her motherly face softening as she observed the frightened child. "Yes, sir."
"Martha will take you to the kitchens first," Nero continued, still addressing River.
"There will be warm bread and honey, perhaps even sweet cakes.
Then a hot bath and clean clothes. I promise we'll come find you as soon as our meeting is done.
" He scratched his chin. "I could do with a bath myself. "
River's lower lip trembled. "But what if the bad men come?"
"This is the safest place in the kingdom right now," Casteel said, crouching beside Nero. "Look at those walls, those guards. No bad men can reach you here."
The boy's eyes darted between them, uncertainty warring with hunger and exhaustion. "You promise to come back?"
"I swear it," Nero said solemnly, placing a hand over his heart. "On my honor as a wolf."
That seemed to satisfy River. He gave a small nod and tentatively took Martha's outstretched hand. The woman smiled reassuringly.
"Come along, young sir. Cook just pulled fresh bread from the oven, and I believe there might be blackberry preserves as well." Not a sign of starvation here when there were so many in the kingdom that couldn't fill their children's empty bellies.
As Martha led River toward the kitchen entrance, the boy looked back once, his small face a mixture of fear and hope. Nero raised his hand in reassurance, maintaining the connection until River disappeared through the doorway.
"A child?" Eryken asked quietly, one eyebrow raised. "Whose?"
"Ours," Nero replied, his tone brooking no argument. "His family was murdered by Doran's mercenaries."
Something like understanding flickered in Eryken's eyes. "Another orphan of this war."
"The last, if I have anything to say about it," Nero said grimly.
They entered the manor: servants paused, whispering “Silver Wolf” and “prophecy.” In the vast great hall, nobles in finery argued over maps and letters. At the head of the table, Lord Morven rose—tall, silver-haired, his look all command. He raised a hand, and the room went silent.
“The Silver Wolf arrives,” he announced.
Heads turned. Some faces lit with hope, others with suspicion. Eryken stepped forward. “May I present—”
“Casteel of Abergenny,” Morven finished, his eyes on Casteel. “We’ve waited a long time.”
Casteel took a breath. “Thank you for sheltering us. But I need you to know—I’m not the wolf anymore.”
Murmurs rose. A heavyset noble slammed a fist. “What nonsense is this? You’re either the wolf or you’re not!”
Casteel met his glare. “I was. But I had to surrender it.”
Nero moved beside him. “The wolf-soul lives in me now.”
Laughter burst out—mocking, loud from a sneering noble, “Now we’re to trust a soldier?”
“As if a stable hand wasn’t bad enough,” another muttered.
Nero’s eyes flashed. Power pulsed around him, chill as starlight. The temperature in the hall dipped.
Nero added, “A soldier who’s killed more men than you’ve seen in your gilded life.”
The noble’s hand went to his sword, but a silver-haired woman in midnight-blue robes stood. “Show us, then. Prove you’re the wolf.”
Murmurs of agreement. Nero stepped forward. Where Casteel's shifts had been gentle, Nero's was explosive—one moment a man stood before them, the next a massive silver wolf with eyes like molten metal.
Power radiated from him in waves that made candle flames gutter and wine tremble in goblets. Several nobles recoiled, chairs scraping against stone. The wolf's presence filled the hall like a storm contained within walls.
"God Almighty," whispered the woman in emerald silk. The wolf's gaze swept the room, lingering on each face as if measuring souls.
After a moment, the silver wolf shifted back into Nero, standing tall, silver still bright in his eyes. Silence filled the room.
“The prophecy named a silver wolf,” he said softly. “Now it’s done.”
Morven’s gaze was intense, then turned to Casteel. “Why the sacrifice?”
“Because he was dying,” Casteel said simply, nodding at Nero. “I couldn’t let that happen.”
Before anyone could reply, the great doors thudded open. The captain of the guard barreled in, face pale.
“My lord! The Silver Guard’s coming up from the south—hundreds strong. High Priest Doran leads them himself.”