Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The trees of the Forbidden Forest twisted like skeletal hands, gnarled and blackened by frost, their limbs creaking beneath the weight of snow and shadow.
Graham moved through them with the stealth of a predator, boots crunching over ice-laced leaves, breath pluming from his mouth like smoke from a dragon’s maw.
Every sense was on edge. His ears tuned to the rustle of branches. His nose flaring for scent. His blade already drawn and slick with condensation from the cold.
Something was behind him. Not human. The forest had long ago swallowed the footsteps of men, replacing them with things untamed. He could feel it—eyes watching, tracking.
He stopped in a small clearing where the moonlight barely touched the snow, just enough to paint the frost in silver and blue. He turned slowly, every muscle taut, and raised his sword.
Nothing.
Only silence. The thick, shrouded kind of silence that made the world feel as though it had forgotten to breathe.
Then a crack snapped through the trees. Graham spun, blade at the ready. But it wasn’t an attack. It was her.
Raveena's scent threaded through the cold like a ribbon of fire. He’d been following it for an hour, his compass through the chaos. But now it had veered. She had changed course.
He growled low in his throat and pivoted in the direction of her new trail—just in time to see movement at the edge of the trees. A blur of pale fur and golden eyes.
A wolf.
It stood still, half-shadowed. The muscles in its shoulders were tight beneath a rime-crusted coat. The animal’s gaze met his—intelligent, unwavering. It wasn't an alpha male. It was an alpha female.
It wasn't issuing a threat or a challenge. This was a summons.
“Commander!” a voice called from behind.
Graham turned. Corwin emerged from the brush, followed by three of his men, all wearing the grime and worry of a hard march. Snow crusted their boots and stuck in their beards.
“We found her,” Corwin said, panting. “We think the princess is in the dwarves’ cabin.”
“The dwarves?” Graham's gaze went south to the dwarves' cabin, then to the west where he'd picked up Raveena's new trail.
What would they be doing there? The dwarves would be in the mines this time of year. Weeks before they’d surface again. This game board made less and less sense with each move.
Graham’s gaze flicked back to the wolf. Still watching. Still waiting. “You four—go to the cottage. Secure the princess.”
Corwin hesitated. “And you?”
“I don't think the queen is there. I’m following her.” Graham nodded to the wolf. “She’s taking me to my queen.”
Corwin looked as if he might protest, but one glance at Graham’s face and he appeared to think better of it. With a curt salute, he and the others disappeared into the trees.
Graham turned back to the wolf. She’d already begun to move, padding silently through the forest, barely leaving a print behind.
They moved fast, weaving through gorges, ducking beneath ice-laden branches, skimming the edge of frozen ravines.
The forest whispered to itself, its secrets carried on the wind, its breath thick with old magic.
The deeper they went, the wilder the world became.
No paths. No markers. Just instinct and hunger and the moon.
They broke from the trees at last, the canopy splitting wide to reveal a cliff edge crowned in snow. The wind caught him hard in the chest, cold enough to steal breath.
And there she was.
Raveena stood on the precipice, her back to him, hair whipping like a pale banner in the wind.
She was surrounded by wolves, their bodies sleek and still, forming a protective ring around her like living sentinels.
The moon bathed her in argent light, casting her in silver and shadow, queen of frost and fury.
"You found me."
"I will always find you, my queen."
The wolves turned as one, ears flicking, bodies tensing. He felt their eyes on him, felt their judgment pass over him like a gust of wind.
Graham stepped forward, slow and measured.
One wolf, larger than the others, bared its teeth in warning.
Graham met its gaze without flinching. He let them see the fire in him.
The devotion that no frost could quell. The tension stretched taut between man and beast—until, one by one, they stepped aside.
He prowled forward until he was within reach of her—until her scent filled his lungs and the cold radiating from her skin made the air between them sting.
"That's your game board down there," she said. "Your seat of power."
Below them, nestled in the valley, was Greymoor. That land was empty of civilization, a canvas ready to be painted upon by men like him. A place without queens and kings. Which lead Graham to question if it would ever be a place for him.
"Want to play a game, huntsman?"