Three Years Later
The salt breeze carried the scent of distant kingdoms as Casteel adjusted River’s ceremonial sash for the third time. Their eldest son fidgeted with the formal clothes required for greeting foreign royalty.
"They're not going to eat you, pup," Nero said quietly, his hand settling on River’s shoulder with familiar warmth.
At ten years old, the boy had grown tall and lean, his dark hair catching golden highlights in the morning sun.
The heart-knife still hung at his belt, though he'd earned his own weapons since those days.
"I know that, Pops," River replied with the exasperated tone of a child who considered himself far too mature for such reassurances. "But King Raz’mar is supposed to be enormous. And His Highness Attiker..." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "They say he's half-dragon."
Casteel exchanged an amused glance with Nero over their son's head. "Maybe so."
The distant sound of ships’ horns echoed across the harbor as the Cadmeeran royal vessel rounded the breakwater. Even at this distance, Casteel could see the crimson and gold banners snapping in the wind, the sleek lines of a ship built for both speed and ceremony.
"Remember," Nero said, his voice taking on the tone he used for important lessons, "Attiker and Raz'mar are our allies. More than that, they're family. The bonds between our kingdoms were forged in blood and trust."
River nodded solemnly, though his eyes remained fixed on the approaching ship. "Because they helped us defeat the Silver Guard remnants in the northern provinces."
"And because along with Rajpur they opened their borders to refugees when the rebuilding began," Casteel added, remembering those first desperate months after Doran's death.
The kingdom had teetered on the edge of complete collapse before alliances with neighboring realms had provided the stability needed for recovery.
"Prince Flynn has a sister," River added with the true disgust of a little boy.
"And a brother," Nero pointed out. Thanks to Princess Veda, who had acted as a surrogate for them, then along with the retired rebellion leader Eryken, had settled in Rajpur close to her brother and his huge family.
Casteel had to pinch his lips tight to stop smiling because while River's newly adopted two-year-old brother was upstairs napping, they'd just found out about two orphan girls eleven and five that had been found trying to steal the scraps from the village bakery.
They were both currently with Martha getting fed and bathed. Martha had gotten so attached to River, she had accompanied them from Morven's estate and was in her element in the large farmhouse they now lived in at the edge of the palace grounds.
It was just as amazing as they both had envisaged having their own home away from the palace to have privacy, but close enough for days like today.
Miralisse had come two more times to them.
Once bringing a white mare with a newly born filly that River was madly in love with and had bonded so closely Casteel knew River would be the only one to ever ride her, and once bringing another heavily pregnant bay mare.
Their stables were growing and thriving just like their family.
The ship drew nearer, revealing figures on the deck.
Even from this distance, King Raz’mar was unmistakable—a giant of a man whose presence seemed to command the very wind and waves.
Beside him stood a slighter figure with brown hair who waved as soon as he caught sight of them, and a third nearly the same height as Attiker.
Crown Prince Flynn had been allowed to accompany them, and Casteel knew River was eager to meet him.
Flynn had, after all, been an orphan himself and it had only been barely three moons ago that laws had been changed in Cadmeera to enable Raz’mar to name whomever he considered fit to be his successor rather than require a blood relative with a Fenrir wolf.
Flynn may not have a wolf, but he had a rather devoted dragonet that followed him around, much to the palace servants’ consternation, and no one would dare argue with that.
And who needed a wolf when you could simply incinerate your enemies?
The royal ship glided toward the dock with practiced precision, sailors calling out in Cadmeeran as they prepared to make port. Harbor workers scrambled to secure the mooring, under the direction of the new dock supervisor, Elias, the dock worker who had always been kind and fair to Nero.
It turned out Nero had been right to suspect Gareth of wrongdoing, but the weasel had been too much of a coward to take up arms, instead he had gone to Doran and the priests and suggested once he took over the shipyard he could resume the trade in silver white through the port.
His uncle Malachai had thrown him out on his ear himself when he found out, and last they'd heard Gareth had been lost at sea after a nasty storm had capsized the ship he was trying to smuggle stolen grain on.
Elias had just wed Maisie, the daughter of the new tavern owner Isaiah Blackwood. Nero and Casteel had enjoyed many a pint of ale pulled at The Silver Tankard.
Casteel chuckled to himself. Most businesses all over Abergenny now had the moniker “The Silver” whatever in front of them as if the wolf had given its blessing. He leaned into Nero’s side in utter contentment.
Abergenny was thriving under its new council, comprised of thirty percent nobles and seventy percent elected common folk. It was working well.
There would be more battles in life, there always would, but the war was finally over.
Casteel turned to his mate. "I love you, my fierce warrior."
Nero tightened his arm around Casteel's waist and chuckled. "I've retired. I'm leaving all my battles now to the assassin I keep close."
"Assassin?" Casteel queried innocently.
"The one I keep in my bed," Nero almost growled. "And if you need the reminder, we can leave the dock any time you're ready."
Casteel reached up on his tiptoes and kissed his warrior. He didn't mind being called an assassin.
Love was always worth fighting for.