The dream always began the same way. Golden fields stretching endlessly beneath a clear sky, springtime warmth on her face and in her heart. The twin pups tumbled through tall grass, only twenty months old, all small fluffy bodies. They yipped and wrestled, rolled over each other in a ball of dark fur, then broke apart to chase butterflies.
And Elodie was beside her, hair catching the light like spun gold. Her name was Josie now, but she was still Nezarin’s daughter. Her face transformed from the hardships of the weeks gone by into pure radiance. The first time the dreams had started, Bram hadn’t been part of them.
But lately, over the past nights, he’d been there too, standing at the edge of the meadow, watching over them all with those gold wolf eyes. It didn’t feel wrong to find him there. But then the sky would darken all at once, as if someone had snuffed out the sun. Nimbus clouds blackened and twisted, and Tristan’s face appeared, godlike and terrible, exactly as he’d loomed over her during those twelve years when he held her captive.
His hand reached down and casually plucked the twins from the grass like berries while they screamed. And Nezarin tried to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. Tried to shift, but her wolf was locked away. She was always helpless, chained to the iron ring in her cell again, as she’d been all those years.
Twelve years in that cell, to be exact. She remembered every nook and cranny of it, the way moisture collected in the corners. She could still feel the steel bite of the manacles around her wrists in her dream as she watched Josie’s laughter turning to screams and then to nothing at all. Nezarin woke up gasping, her shift soaked with sweat despite the pre-dawn cold.
For a terrible moment, she didn’t know where she was. Couldn’t tell if the darkness around her was her tent or the cell. Her hands flew to her throat, feeling for the collar that wasn’t there anymore. She forced herself to focus on something real.
The rough canvas of the tent wall. The faint sounds of the camp stirring outside. The soft breathing of her children sleeping nearby. Not the cell.
Not anymore. But the screams of the twins echoed in her mind still. She heard the rustle of the ash Josie had dissolved into. And Bram.
His own howl etched like a splinter in her mind. Nezarin pushed herself upright and reached for her cloak with shaking hands. She needed to check on the children, make sure the dream was nothing more than that. Outside, the war camp sprawled before her in shades of gray.
Dawn hadn’t quite broken, and thousands of soldiers were sleeping or standing watch. An army waiting for her command to march south toward Tristan, toward war. Nezarin shuddered. The dream was still clinging to her like cold cobwebs.
I have them all back, she thought, staring into the dark trees. So why am I still here? Two weeks since Josie had brought the children home. Two weeks since she’d believed her war was won.
She’d raised this army to get her kids back, to free herself from Tristan’s shadow. And she’d succeeded. The twins slept safely in her tent. Josie was here, no longer a stranger, but her daughter for all to behold.
She had everything she’d fought for. So why did her general still sharpen weapons? Why did she stand here at dawn, staring south like the war wasn’t finished? Because Tristan was still out there.
And some part of her, the part that had spent twelve years in his dungeons, that had borne his children while chained to prevent shifting, that had listened to infant Josie cry floors above while forbidden to comfort her—that part wanted him to pay. But another part, newer and more fragile, whispered, “You have them. Isn’t that enough? ”
Nezarin pulled her cloak tighter and continued toward the medical tent.
Her children didn’t need to be there anymore. But Nezarin preferred it that way. She didn’t want to scare them with her night terrors. Her children would wake soon.
The twins always woke with the sun, restless and demanding. Josie still startled awake sometimes, confused about where she was. They needed her present. Not standing at the edge of camp wrestling with ghosts.
The tent was still dark when she slipped inside, moving quietly so as not to wake them. Someone was there. A figure crouched beside the twins, carefully tucking a blanket that had slipped from Veto’s small wolf form. The pup stirred, made a small whimpering sound, and the figure’s large, scarred hand stroked the pup’s head with infinite gentleness until Veto settled back into sleep.
Then the figure moved to check on Josie, adjusting her blanket too, his movements careful and protective. Bram, Nezarin realized with a smile. This dangerous rogue wolf, this man who’d killed Tristan’s trackers with his bare hands to save her children, was still watching over them. And deep inside her, something she thought was broken—her wolf, dormant for so long under the weight of trauma and captivity—stirred.
Bram’s head snapped up. His gold eyes found hers in the darkness. For a heartbeat, neither moved. “Couldn’t sleep,” Bram said quietly, his voice rough with exhaustion.
“Thought I’d check on them. ”
Nezarin’s throat was tight. “Thank you,” she said. His eyes were steady on hers.
“Only right. After everything we went through, we—” The words were a comforting blanket over her heart. Silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable exactly, but charged.
Finally, Bram glanced back toward camp. “Your generals are getting restless. They want to know when we march. ”
“I know,” Nezarin replied.
“I’ll join the fight. ” His voice held an edge of eagerness. “Now we could move within days. Strike before he’s prepared.
Josie is eager for us to rescue that Paula woman. ”
“Bram—” Nezarin interrupted gently. He looked at her. “We need to end him,” Bram murmured.
“Not just for what he did to you. For every shifter he’s broken or murdered. Like my brother. ”
The passion in his voice stirred something in Nezarin.
This was what she’d wanted too, wasn’t it? Why she’d raised an army. But looking at Bram now, at the barely contained violence in his stance, she felt something else entirely. A desire.
A want. And wanting scared her. Tristan had been gentle once, too. In the beginning, before they’d mated, he’d been everything a young queen could want.
And look how that had ended. Twelve years in a cell, five miscarriages. Her daughter taken from her arms and raised as a servant. Her sons used as leverage to keep her compliant.
Bram took a step closer and Nezarin’s breath caught. His scent washed over her. Pine and leather and something wild that made every nerve in her body come alive. “We end him,” he said.
She could see the intensity in his gold eyes, the barely contained energy in his frame. The way his hands flexed like he wanted to reach for her. She looked away. “No,” she said.
The word came out sharper than she intended. Bram blinked. “What? ”
“I said, ‘No.
‘” Nezarin wrapped her arms around herself. “Ness? ” Bram’s expression shifted. “I’m just saying we need to—”
“I know, Bram,” she cried out.
“I know what Tristan is. I survived him for twelve years while you were—” She cut herself off, breathing hard. The hurt that flashed across his face made her chest constrict with guilt. “While I was what?
” His voice was quiet. Nezarin shook her head. She couldn’t stand feeling his pull and fighting it and wanting him and hating herself for wanting him. “War tent,” she said, forcing steel into her voice.
“One hour. Assemble the generals. ”
Bram frowned. “Why?
What are you—”
“Just do it,” she commanded. “One hour, Bram. ”
She strode toward the command tents before he could respond, her back rigid, her hands clenched into fists at her sides to hide their trembling. Behind her, she could feel him standing there watching.
She didn’t look back. Because if she did, she might turn around and do something foolish. Like apologize. Or explain.
Or, gods forbid, close the distance between them and find out if his mouth tasted as good as she imagined. Nezarin kept walking, her stride purposeful even as guilt gnawed at her chest. She wasn’t proud of pulling rank to end a conversation that had gotten too intimate. But the fear that lived in her bones was real.
The certainty that trusting her desire, trusting any man, would lead her back to that cell was real. And her children needed her focused. Not distracted by revenge against one man or clouded by attraction for another. They needed her to make the smart and safe choice.
They needed to go home. The war tent was already filling when Nezarin arrived. Her generals stood in tight clusters, their low conversations dying as she entered. They’d assembled quickly.
She could feel their eyes on her as she moved to the head of the table. Could sense the questions building like pressure before a storm. She didn’t let herself look for Bram among them. Focus.
Her children needed her focused. “Your Majesty. ” General Ko stepped forward, his weathered face creased with concern. “Has there been news from the south?
Is Tristan moving? ”
Nezarin’s voice came out steadier than she felt. “No news from Tristan, Captain. This is about our movements.
”
The tension in the tent shifted. “We’re ready to march at your command,” another general said, a younger man named Veric whose eagerness for battle practically radiated off him. “Just say the word and we’ll—”
“We will not be marching,” Nezarin said. She forced herself to meet their stares, to stand tall despite the weight of what she was about to say.
“I’m calling off the war. We’re disbanding half the army and going home. ”
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then the tent erupted.
“Your Majesty, you can’t be serious,” someone exclaimed. “We came all this way, and now you want us to just go home without a fight? ” another insisted. General Ko’s voice cut through the chaos.
“Respectfully, Your Majesty. We raised this army to finish Tristan off. To end his tyranny once and for all. ”
“I raised this army to get my children back,” Nezarin corrected.
“And we succeeded. Josie and the twins are safe. That was the goal. ”
“The goal was to remove a monster from power.
” Veric slammed his fist on the table. “My men left their families and homes to fight this war, and you’re telling us to walk away? ”
A grizzled warrior she didn’t know by name spoke up. “We deserve blood for what that bastard did to you, Your Majesty.
Every man and woman in this camp has lost someone to Tristan’s cruelty. ”
Nezarin’s chest tightened with guilt. “I empathize with your anger. I really do,” she said.
“But I won’t needlessly sacrifice more lives to this man. ”
“What about Paula? ” another voice called out. “You’d abandon her to that monster after she saved Josie?
”
Nezarin maintained her composure with difficulty. Paula, the woman who’d protected Josie when no one else would, who’d helped them escape. “Her release will be negotiated,” she said, though the words felt hollow even to her own ears. “As part of a peace treaty.
”
The laughter that erupted was disbelieving. “Peace treaty? ” Veric asked. “Your Majesty, Tristan would not know how to honor a peace treaty if you led him by the nose.
”
Nezarin’s voice rose. “Peace must be attempted before I march my children into a war zone. ”
“Your children are guarded by the best the north can offer,” Ko said, his usual deference cracking, revealing frustration beneath. Nezarin’s fist clenched.
“Enough,” she snapped. “This army answered to my call. I shall not send them to die while I cower behind them. ”
“So, your solution is abandonment?
” Veric asked, his voice dripping with contempt. “Is choosing my children’s future over revenge abandonment? ” Nezarin asked. “It’s cowardice.
”
The word fell into the tent like a stone into still water. Bram stood near the back of the tent, his arms crossed, his expression harder than Nezarin had ever seen it. Their eyes met across the crowded space, and something in her chest constricted painfully. “Bram,” she started.
“You’re afraid,” he said. “But retreating won’t keep your children safe. It’ll just delay the inevitable. ”
Nezarin shook her head.
“You don’t know that. ”
“Yes, I do, and so do you,” Bram said. “Tristan will never let this go. You humiliated him by escaping, by taking his heirs.
He’ll come for them eventually. Peace treaty or not. ”
Nezarin lifted her chin. “Again, this is speculation.
There’s a chance—”
“There’s no chance,” Bram cut off. “Not with him. Men like Tristan don’t forgive. They don’t forget.
They take until there’s nothing left to take. ” He stared at her, something fierce and frustrated burning in his expression. “I’d trust that the queen who raised this army knows how to use it. ” He stopped, his jaw working.
“I’d taken you for a leader, not the frightened prisoner he tried to make you. ”
Nezarin felt her face go hot. “Get out,” she said. Bram straightened, looking like he knew he’d overstepped the mark.
“Get out. ” She pointed at the tent entrance, her hand shaking. “Everyone out now, except my senior counsel. ”
The generals exchanged glances but didn’t move.
“Now! ” Her voice cracked like a whip. They filed out slowly, reluctantly, casting worried looks over their shoulders. Bram was the last to turn toward the exit.
For a moment, Nezarin thought he might argue, but he just looked at her disappointedly and left. The tent felt cavernous suddenly with only her four senior council members remaining. Veric spoke first abrasively. “Your Majesty, we can’t condone this course of action.
We must—”
“No. ” Nezarin straightened her spine, forced steel into her voice. “I’ve made my decision. I’m disbanding half the army.
The rest will remain as guards for the camp until we negotiate peace terms with Tristan. ”
“Your Majesty—”
“I’m sending envoys south within the week. ” She pulled a map toward her briskly. “They’ll carry terms for a treaty.
Territory division, trade agreements, and Paula’s immediate release. ”
Ko sighed before he spoke, his voice more careful. “And if Tristan refuses? ”
“He won’t,” she stated shortly.
She had no arguments to back it up, but she would not back down. The silence that met this statement was answer enough. Nezarin pushed forward anyway, filling the silence with plans and strategies and anything that kept her from thinking about Bram’s words. “The frightened prisoner he tried to make you.
”
She wasn’t frightened. She was being strategic, choosing her children’s safety over her own desire for revenge. How was that frightened? By the time she dismissed her council, the sun had fully risen.
Nezarin stood alone in the war tent, staring down at the map covered in her notes, and tried to ignore the way her chest felt hollow and tight all at once. She’d done the right thing. She had, hadn’t she? Nezarin found Josie awake in the medical tent, sitting cross-legged on her pallet with the twins nestled against her.
Veto and Theon were in their wolf forms, small fluffy bundles of dark fur pressed into Josie’s sides. Veto’s tiny paws twitched in sleep, chasing something in his dreams, while Theon’s muzzle was tucked under Josie’s arm, his breathing deep and even. Her daughter looked up as Nezarin entered, her young face composed but tired. One hand absently stroked Veto’s head, the rhythmic motion clearly soothing for both of them.
“So, we’re not fighting the king? ” she asked softly. Nezarin’s chest tightened with guilt. “You weren’t meant to hear that.
”
Josie shrugged. “You really think he’ll accept peace? ”
Nezarin settled beside her daughter. Immediately, Theon’s nose twitched and his golden eyes blinked open.
He let out a small, sleepy yip and scrambled over Josie’s lap to reach Nezarin, his puppy body clumsy with exhaustion. “Hello, my darling,” Nezarin whispered, gathering him close. Theon burrowed against her chest, already half asleep again, his small tongue darting out to lick her fingers in drowsy affection. The simple trust in the gesture made her throat tight.
“I just want us to be safe,” she said quietly, stroking Theon’s soft fur. “We’ve only just found each other. I don’t want to risk losing you all over again. ”
Josie nodded, her fingers still buried in Veto’s fur.
The pup stirred slightly but didn’t wake, making a small, contented sound. “May I? ” Nezarin gestured to the comb lying nearby. Josie smiled and carefully shifted so Nezarin could reach her tangled hair without disturbing the twins.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Nezarin gently working through the knots while Josie relaxed under her touch. Theon’s warm weight against Nezarin’s side. Veto’s soft snores. Josie’s small sigh of contentment.
These quiet moments with her children, denied to them for thirteen years. This was worth protecting. “Paula used to do this,” Josie said quietly. “When the other servants weren’t watching.
”
Nezarin’s hands stilled. The name sent a complex wave of emotion through her chest. Gratitude so profound it ached. And beneath it, grief.
“You must miss her,” she murmured, forcing herself to keep combing. Josie’s voice was soft, distant with memory. “She was the only one who was kind to me. Everyone else used to call me worthless.
I couldn’t shift. So, yeah. ” Her fingers twisted in Veto’s fur, and the pup stirred slightly, pressing closer to her. “They’d throw things at me sometimes.
Or trip me. ”
Nezarin’s throat burned with suppressed emotion. Thirteen years. Thirteen years her daughter had endured that cruelty while Nezarin lay chained in a cell floors below, helpless.
And Paula had been there. Paula had protected her, comforted her. Paula had saved Josie in ways Nezarin never could have from that cell. And she was grateful.
But beneath the gratitude lived something harder to acknowledge. The piercing awareness of everything she’d missed. Paula had braided Josie’s hair. Paula had smuggled her extra food.
Those were her years, her moments, her daughter. And she would never get them back. But Paula was Josie’s family. The person who’d raised her when Nezarin couldn’t, who’d protected her, comforted her, loved her through thirteen years of cruelty and loneliness.
And if Paula was Josie’s family, then Paula was Nezarin’s family too. “She always told me I mattered,” Josie continued. “That was nice. ”
“She’s right, you know.
” Nezarin whispered, setting down the comb to wrap her arms around Josie from behind. “You matter to me more than anything in this world. ”
Josie leaned back into her embrace. “I promise you,” Nezarin said, her voice thick.
“I’ll bring her home. ”
Veto chose that moment to wake, stretching with a huge yawn that showed all his tiny puppy teeth. He blinked at them sleepily, then wiggled his way over to press his cold nose against Nezarin’s free hand, demanding attention. She laughed wetly and obliged, scratching behind his ears while he made pleased little sounds.
Josie turned in her arms, her eyes searching Nezarin’s face. “And if the king refuses to let her go—”
“He won’t. ” Nezarin cupped her daughter’s face. Josie studied her for a long moment, then glanced down at Theon, who was now fully awake and trying to climb into her lap from Nezarin’s.
“Bram seems angry,” she said. The sudden subject change made Nezarin’s hands still. “What makes you say that? ”
“I don’t know.
I feel like he wants to start an argument and hug you at the same time,” Josie answered, helping Theon settle between them. Nezarin laughed. “It’s complicated, my love. ”
Josie looked at her with those too-old eyes while absently rubbing Theon’s belly.
“I hope he stays,” Josie said quietly. Her tone carried weight. Not quite a request, but close. A need, maybe.
The words settled uncomfortably in Nezarin’s chest. She watched Josie’s face as her daughter focused on the twins, saw the way she held them close like anchors. Josie had already lost so much. Raised without the family she deserved.
She needed stability now. She needed people who wouldn’t leave. Paula, who’d been her constant for thirteen years, and Bram, who’d proven he’d stay even when things were hard. “Bram cares about us,” Josie continued softly, still focused on Theon.
“Doesn’t he? ”
Nezarin didn’t have an answer to that. Tomorrow she would send the envoys, against the advice of all her generals and Bram. And it was Bram’s disapproval that weighed most heavily.
Her wolf whined deep inside even as she forced it to be silent. Maybe there would be a time for all that nonsense when it was all over. First, the envoys to Tristan tomorrow. First, Tristan had to accept peace.
Veto yawned again and crawled fully into Nezarin’s lap, circling twice before collapsing in a heap. Within seconds, he was snoring softly. Theon followed suit, abandoning his belly rubs to curl against his brother. Nezarin held them close.
Her daughter. Her sons. And tried to ignore the hollow feeling in her chest where Bram’s approval used to sit. She was doing this for them.
To keep them safe. She just hoped it was enough. Two weeks had passed since Nezarin sent her envoy south. With half her army gone, the camp felt almost empty.
Bram remained. He still trained soldiers in the yard and attended council meetings, continued to check on the children, but they hadn’t spoken since she’d taken her decision. Nothing beyond professional courtesy. He wasn’t exactly hostile, just absent.
And Nezarin hadn’t banked on the ache his absence left. Somehow that hurt worse than his anger would have. Nezarin told herself it was better this way. Simpler.
She had enough to manage without the complication of whatever had been building between them. But at night, lying awake listening to the twins breathe, she found herself missing the sound of his footsteps outside her tent. Their quiet conversations in pre-dawn darkness. The way his presence had made her feel safe in a way she hadn’t felt since ever, perhaps.
On the fourteenth night, a storm rolled in from the north. Nezarin was already awake when the first crack of thunder split the sky. She sat up instinctively, reaching for her knife before she’d even registered the sound. Another crack, louder this time.
The tent lit up white with lightning, and the twins started screaming like in her dream. High-pitched yips of pure terror as they shifted involuntarily to wolf pups, their small bodies unable to control the transformation under such stress. Nezarin scrambled over, scooping them into her arms. “Shh, my darlings.
It’s okay. It’s just a storm. ”
She was glad that she had moved them from the medical tent to hers only a few days ago. Otherwise, they’d have been alone with Josie.
Thunder crashed again, and Veto’s yipping reached a fever pitch. Theon tried to burrow under her arm, his whole body shaking. Coming awake, Josie didn’t wait for instructions. She scrambled over to the twins, gathering Veto in shaking but confident hands.
“Come here, silly goose,” she cooed. She began to sing, her voice thin but steady at first. The lullaby Paula had taught her, which had always worked before. But her voice wavered and cracked as thunder crashed overhead.
The twins only screamed louder, Veto thrashing while Theon shivered against Nezarin’s side. Josie’s singing dissolved into a choked sob. “It’s all right,” Nezarin said quickly, gathering both pups closer despite their struggling. “They’re just scared.
It’s not your fault. ”
But Josie’s face crumpled. For the first time since she’d brought the twins home, her singing hadn’t worked. The one thing she could do for them.
Another boom of thunder shook the ground, and the twins’ screams reached a pitch that made Nezarin’s ears ring. The tent flap burst open. Bram stood there, rain-soaked and breathing hard, water streaming down his face and neck, his tunic plastered to his chest and shoulders. His gold eyes took in the scene immediately.
The screaming pups. Josie’s tears. Nezarin’s barely controlled panic. Wordlessly, he moved toward them.
And Nezarin felt something tight in her chest loosen. He’d come. Despite the distance between them, despite everything, he’d heard them and come. Nezarin’s throat was too tight to speak.
The relief flooding through her was profound. Another crack of thunder, and both pups tried to leap from her arms at once. Bram knelt beside them without hesitation. His large frame somehow making the tent feel both smaller and safer at once.
He held his arms out. A man of few words. Nezarin nodded once and placed Theon into his large hands. The rogue handled him with surprising gentleness, tucking the trembling pup against his broad chest.
“That’s a set of lungs on a tiny pipsqueak,” he grunted with a chuckle. The storm raged outside, but Bram began to hum quietly, a low, steady thrum that reverberated from deep in his chest. Nezarin felt it vibrating in her own body. Felt her own tension ease from her shoulders.
It was primal, that sound, the kind of rumble that spoke to something ancient in her wolf. Safe. Protected. Home.
Theon’s whimpering quieted slightly. Nezarin adjusted her hold on Veto, following Bram’s lead. She began to hum too, matching his rhythm, and felt Veto’s frantic struggling start to ease. Their voices wove together in the darkness, and she found herself acutely aware of Bram’s proximity.
The heat radiating from his body. The way his wet tunic clung to his shoulders. The rain-and-pine scent of him that made her wolf stir with recognition. Then Bram began to sing.
It was a lullaby she didn’t know, the cadence and words simple and old. In Bram’s rough voice, low and sure, it melted the remaining fear from the tent like warmth melting frost. Nezarin joined him on the second verse, their voices blending seamlessly in the darkness, a perfect fusion of bass and soprano. She’d never sung with anyone like this.
Never had her voice fit so naturally with another’s, like two pieces of something that had always been meant to come together. Their eyes caught in the darkness, deep brown meeting gold, and she saw a smile cross his features before he returned his attention to the child. But that brief connection had sent heat racing down her spine. By the time the song ended, both pups had gone limp in their arms, breathing evening out as they slipped toward sleep.
The storm raged outside, but inside everything had gone quiet except for the rain pattering against canvas and the sound of their breathing. Hers and Bram’s, slightly uneven, slightly too fast. Nezarin looked up to find Bram watching her, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Theon was asleep against his chest, tiny paws twitching in dreams.
A lock of wet hair had fallen across Bram’s forehead, and droplets of water still clung to his throat. “Thank you,” Nezarin whispered. “Reckon you were doing all right,” Bram said with a gentle voice. Josie spoke from her pallet, her voice small and guilty.
“I’m sorry. Normally, I can calm them down, but—”
Bram turned to her and squeezed her shoulder supportively. “You stayed with them, kid,” he smiled. “That’s what matters.
”
“But I did nothing,” Josie continued, tears spilling over. “Josie—” Nezarin shifted Veto carefully so she could reach out to her daughter. “Sometimes storms are just too big. That doesn’t mean you failed.
”
Bram nodded in agreement. “One bad storm don’t change how the pups feel about you, love. ”
Josie wiped at her eyes, but she was nodding. “I just want to be good enough,” she murmured.
“You are,” Nezarin and Bram said in unison. Their eyes met over the children’s heads, and for a moment, the careful distance between them dissolved. They were just two people trying to comfort scared children. A unit.
A team. Something that felt dangerously like a family. They shared a smile, and Nezarin felt it all the way to her toes. “Come here.
” Nezarin opened her free arm to Josie. “Let’s all just stay close for a bit. ”
Josie scrambled over and pressed against Nezarin’s side. The twins slept on, exhausted by their terror.
Bram stayed kneeling there, still holding Theon close enough that Nezarin could feel his warmth, could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. Eventually, Josie’s breathing evened out into sleep. Nezarin carefully transferred both pups to their beds, and Bram helped settle blankets over all three children. Their movements synchronized, natural.
His hand brushed hers as they both reached to tuck the same blanket. And the tent suddenly felt very small with just the two of them awake. “I’ll be going then,” Bram said quietly, but he didn’t move toward the entrance. “Stay,” Nezarin asked.
“Please, until the storm passes. ”
Bram looked at her for a long moment, something conflicted crossing his features. “I know you think I’m making a mistake with the peace treaty,” she went on. “But right now—right now, I just need you to stay.
”
His expression softened, and he took a step closer instead of toward the door. In the dim light of the tent, with rain drumming overhead and the children sleeping peacefully nearby, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. “I’m not angry,” he said quietly. “Two weeks of silence isn’t angry?
” Nezarin asked. “I—” Bram sighed. “You’re right. I felt it wiser to keep distance.
”
“Wiser for who? ”
“For the both of us. Being near you—it’s not simple, Nezarin. ”
The admission hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning.
Nezarin’s breath caught. She understood what he meant. Felt it herself. This pull between them that made everything more complicated and yet somehow clearer at the same time.
Outside, thunder rumbled, more distant now. “I’m still going through with the peace treaty,” Nezarin told him. “I don’t like it,” Bram said. “Tristan is likely to treat it as an opportunity to twist it against you.
” He stopped, his jaw working. “Just a thought. You do with it what you will. ”
“So, you’ll respect my decision?
”
“I didn’t say that. ” A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “But I’ll stand by you. That’s different from respecting a decision I think will get you killed.
”
Despite everything, Nezarin felt her own lips twitch. “At least that’s honest,” she said. Bram moved to the tent entrance but didn’t leave. Just stood there looking out at the rain, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the tent opening.
“For what it’s worth, I understand why you’re choosing to do this. ”
Nezarin blinked. “And yet you expect the treaty to be a trap. ”
Bram shrugged.
They stood in silence for a long moment, just listening to the rain and the children’s soft breathing. “Why would you stay? ” Nezarin asked quietly. “If you think I’m wrong.
”
Bram’s eyes found hers in the darkness. “I made a promise,” he said, gesturing to the sleeping children. “Her, Josie, and the twins. I stand by them whatever happens.
” He paused, took a step closer to her. “And whether you like it or not, you’re part of them. ”
“What if I did like it? ” Nezarin whispered.
The question slipped out before she could stop it, and she saw Bram go very still. She didn’t know what she wanted. How could she begin to voice it out loud? But standing here, looking up at him in the dim light, she knew one thing with absolute certainty.
She wanted him to stay. Bram took a step toward her, then another. “If you did like it,” he repeated, his voice dropping lower. “Then I’d count myself lucky.
”
The words sent warmth flooding through Nezarin’s chest, spreading lower, and her wolf stirred, pushing against her consciousness with a certainty that took her breath away. “Lucky,” she repeated softly, the word catching in her throat. She watched his eyes darken. Watched the way his jaw clenched.
“You make it sound simple,” she murmured. “It is simple,” he said. “You’re the complicated part. You tie yourself in knots trying to protect everyone, including me.
”
“Is that so wrong? ” Nezarin murmured. “No. ” He shook his head slightly.
“But I don’t need protecting, Nezarin. I just need—” He trailed off. But his eyes said what his words didn’t. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then back up, and she felt it like a physical touch.
“Need what? ” she breathed. Bram’s hand came up slowly, giving her time to pull away. His fingers brushed her jaw, rough calluses against soft skin.
Just the lightest touch, but it sent heat racing through her entire body. “You,” he breathed. She started to lean in. Didn’t even realize she was doing it until she saw his eyes darken further.
Saw him beginning to lower his head toward hers. Then the tent flap burst open. “Your Majesty. ” A soldier stood there, soaked.
“Urgent news. ”
Nezarin and Bram sprang apart like they’d been burned. The soldier, oblivious to what he’d interrupted, continued. “The envoy has returned from the south.
She requests an immediate audience. ”
Nezarin’s heart lurched. “In the middle of the night? ”
The soldier nodded.
“She says King Tristan has sent his response. ”
Nezarin glanced at Bram, whose expression had shuttered back into warrior mode. “What does it say? ” Nezarin asked the soldier.
“Has he agreed to negotiate? ”
The soldier hesitated, his eyes darting between her and Bram. “King Tristan is willing to consider peace terms. He will negotiate territory division, trade agreements, and Paula’s release.
”
Relief and disbelief flooded through Nezarin so powerfully she had to force herself not to grip the edge of the nearest surface to steady herself. He agreed. That’s wonderful news. “On one condition, Your Majesty.
” The soldier grimaced. “He requires that you personally come to the palace, in person, for a formal treaty signing ceremony. He says it must be public, witnessed by both kingdoms, to legitimize the peace. ”
Nezarin felt the blood drain from her face.
“The palace,” she whispered. And just like that, the warmth from moments ago vanished, replaced by cold dread. Twelve years of captivity came flooding back. The cell.
The chains. The iron ring. Tristan’s cold eyes watching her break. He wants me to go back.
The field was still soaked from the night storm. Water pooled in the grass, turning the ground soft beneath Nezarin’s boots. Nezarin had chosen this location deliberately. An open stretch of land far from any tent or structure where voices might carry, where no servant or soldier could overhear their discussion.
Her senior council stood in a loose circle around her, their boots sinking slightly into the muddy earth. General Ko, Veric, Tyra, and two of her other most trusted advisers. Bram stood apart from the others, his arms crossed and his expression already dark. Just the sight of him made her pulse quicken.
A reaction she was still learning to navigate. “You’ve had time to consider Tristan’s terms,” General Ko opened up. Nezarin took the time to study each face. “I will journey to the palace as Tristan requested,” she said.
“I think it might be our only chance to get Paula back. ”
A nearby crow cawed loudly in the ensuing silence. Her advisers glanced at each other anxiously. Veric was the first to react.
“It’s obviously a trap, Your Majesty. ”
“Obviously. ” Bram’s voice cut through, flat and certain. Nezarin flinched.
After last night’s tenderness, after the way he’d held Theon and sung to her children, the harsh certainty in his tone felt like a door slamming shut. “We don’t know that,” she countered. Though her voice lacked conviction. Bram stepped forward, and despite everything, despite the disagreement brewing between them, her body responded to his proximity with an awareness that made her breath catch.
“Tristan waits till you’ve disbanded half your army, then demands a ceremony that forces you onto his turf. ” He cocked a bushy eyebrow. “Sounds like a trap to me. ”
“The timing is convenient,” Ko agreed.
“We’ve been negotiating for weeks, and suddenly, the moment we’re at our weakest, Tristan agrees to everything. ” He shook his head. “What if he genuinely wants peace? ” Nezarin reasoned.
“If we withdraw our forces, he retains his kingdom without a struggle. We allow him to return to do as he wishes in his lands unchallenged. ”
“You have his boys,” Bram said immediately. “An alpha like that don’t forgive too easy.
And you’ve taken a lot more than his boys from under his nose. His pride. ”
Ko backed him up, nodding. “You humiliated him.
Escaped his clutches. Made him look weak before his entire kingdom. ”
“Reckon he’ll be wanting his heirs back,” Bram added. The cold wind cut across the field, making Nezarin pull her cloak tighter.
“So what? ” she asked, her voice hardening. “We storm the palace and start the war I’ve been trying desperately to avoid? ”
“Better than blundering into a trap with open arms,” Veric said bluntly.
“A war would cost hundreds of lives,” Nezarin snapped. “If you get caught and used as some bargaining chip,” Bram shot back, “it’ll cost heaps more. ”
The words hung heavy in the damp air. Nezarin wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite her cloak.
She could feel Bram’s eyes on her, could sense his frustration radiating across the space between them. Last night, he’d touched her face with such gentleness. Had almost kissed her. And now they were here again, on opposite sides of an impossible decision.
“I can’t abandon Paula,” she said quietly. “She saved Josie. ”
“Your Majesty, we understand the debt you feel,” said Ko. “But delivering yourself to Tristan won’t repay it.
”
Tyra stepped closer. “If I may speak plainly, Your Majesty. This feels less like strategy and more like guilt. ”
“That’s not—” Nezarin started.
“I reckon it is,” Bram interrupted. His voice had lost its edge, replaced by something gentler but no less firm. “Getting yourself killed will just create new guilt for everyone you leave behind. ”
Nezarin looked away, her gaze traveling across the soggy field to where the camp lay in the distance.
Somewhere in those tents, her children were waking up. They’d already lost her once. The cold was seeping into Nezarin’s bones now. “So, you’re all saying I should refuse?
” she said flatly. “Abandon the woman who saved my daughter. ”
“We’re saying you should live,” Ko said firmly. “Find another path.
Any other path that doesn’t involve walking back into Tristan’s hands. ”
Nezarin’s throat was tight. “And if there is no other path? I don’t see you suggesting a brilliant solution.
”
Silence fell across the circle. The wind picked up, sending water droplets flying from tree branches. “If you go,” Bram said quietly. “Then I’ll be coming with you.
”
Nezarin’s heart lurched. He meant it. She knew as soon as her eyes found his. After everything, after knowing it was a trap, he would walk into danger with her.
For her. “No,” she started, but the word came out weak. “You don’t walk into that palace alone,” Bram said. The protectiveness in his tone sent warmth flooding through her despite the cold.
“Bram, if it is a trap, I won’t have you caught in it, too. ”
“Then don’t go,” he said simply. Suddenly, he was there, close enough that she could see the worry etched in the lines around his eyes. Could smell pine and leather despite the rain-washed air.
His hand came up to cup her elbow, a gentle touch, grounding, steady. “Stay here. Stay safe,” he murmured. His thumb brushed against the inside of her elbow, and even through her sleeve, she felt it like a brand.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t abandon her. ”
Something in Bram’s expression cracked. Not anger, but something rawer.
Fear, maybe. “What of your children? They just got you back, and you’re already talking about throwing yourself into the lion’s jaws,” he argued. “I’m trying to end this,” Nezarin argued.
“We need peace. ”
“There is no peace in him,” Bram shouted. “We’ll just be giving him what he wants. ”
The raw honesty in his voice silenced Nezarin.
She stared up at him, seeing the fear beneath the anger around them. The other council members had gone quiet, watching the confrontation with careful eyes. “You don’t have to prove anything,” Bram said more softly. “Not to me.
Not to anyone. ” The words settled over Nezarin like a weight, and suddenly she understood what he was really saying. “You’re enough. You’re doing enough.
”
Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “I need to talk to my children,” she said, her voice hollow. “They deserve to know what’s happening. ”
Bram’s hand fell away from her face, and she immediately felt the loss of his warmth.
“Then talk to them. But if you decide to go, I’m coming. That’s not a request or a suggestion. It’s what’s happening.
”
Nezarin nodded once, not trusting her voice. The words shouldn’t have affected her like this. Shouldn’t have sent heat pooling low in her belly or made her chest feel tight. Twelve years in captivity had taught her to associate that kind of declaration with control, with possession.
But Bram’s certainty hadn’t felt like that. It had felt like protection, like partnership. And her body, her traitorous, long-dormant body, had responded with a rush of want so sudden it had stolen her breath. She turned from him quickly before he could see the flush at her throat, and addressed the rest of her counsel with forced composure.
“Thank you for your counsel. We shall reconvene when I have thought on this. ”
They bowed and dispersed, boots squelching through mud as they headed back toward camp. Only Bram remained.
“Nezarin,” he said quietly. She stopped but didn’t turn back. “Whatever you decide,” he continued. “I meant what I said.
You don’t walk into that palace alone. ”
She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the urge to turn back, to close the distance between them. “And if we both get captured? ” she asked, her voice barely audible.
A pause. “Then I reckon at least we’re together. ”
The words hung in the cold morning air, and Nezarin felt her chest tighten. She wanted to turn around.
Wanted to tell him that his words mattered. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not when she didn’t know what she was going to decide.
Nezarin closed her eyes, feeling the weight of impossible choices pressing down on her. Behind her, she felt Bram’s gaze following her every step, refusing to leave, refusing to look away. And gods help her, she didn’t want him to. In the small hours before departure, she lay in her tent, memorizing the sound of her children’s breathing.
When she dozed off, her dream of the golden meadows assailed her again. The one where Tristan appeared, took everything she held dear, and tossed her in the dungeon all over again. Eventually, she threw off her blankets and slipped outside. The camp was quiet except for the night watch.
She found herself staring south. A day’s ride. That’s all that separated her from the palace that still haunted her dreams. Nezarin thought of her children’s reactions to the news.
Worse than expected. She had gathered them in her tent that afternoon, settling on the floor with the twins in her lap and Josie beside her. “The king, your father, has agreed to make peace. But he wants me to come to the palace to sign the treaty.
”
The silence that followed was deafening. Then Josie’s face crumbled. “No. Josie, no.
” Her daughter scrambled to her feet, shaking. “You can’t go back there. You promised you wouldn’t leave us again. ”
The twins picked up on her distress immediately.
Veto started to whimper. Theon pressed harder against Nezarin’s chest, his small hands fisting in her tunic. “It’s just for the ceremony,” Nezarin said, trying to keep her voice calm. “A few days at most.
And when I come back, Paula will be with me. The war will be over. ”
“What if it’s a trick? ” Josie’s voice wavered.
“What if you don’t come back? ”
Nezarin reached for her daughter, but Josie pulled away, tears streaming down her face. Her heart was breaking. She pulled the twins close, feeling their tears soak into her clothes.
“Of course, I’m coming back. I swear it. ”
“You can’t promise that,” Josie whispered. And she was right.
Nezarin couldn’t. Because if this was the trap they all believed it to be, Tristan would ensure that it was foolproof. But she had to believe. There had been enough bloodshed and tears.
She held them tightly, rocked them gently. “Bram will keep me safe,” she said quietly. Josie pulled back slightly, her eyes red and swollen. “How do you know?
”
Because of the way he’d looked at her in that muddy field. Because he’d said, “Then I reckon at least we’re together. ” Like being captured alongside her was preferable to safety without her. “I just know,” Nezarin said.
She stayed with them until they’d cried themselves into exhaustion. The twins fell asleep in her lap, and Josie’s breathing evened out against her shoulder. Only then did she carefully extract herself and slip outside. The horizon was doused with indigo, the promise of dawn.
Soon she would ride south. Soon she would see Tristan again. She gathered her arms around her shoulders and tried to chase away the chills. “You should be resting.
”
She turned to find Bram approaching in the darkness. He looked as tired as she felt, shadows under his eyes. He came to stand beside her, close enough that their arms nearly touched. The air felt so charged that Nezarin was amazed their proximity didn’t spark.
“The twins cried for an hour after you told them,” Bram said quietly. “Josie longer. ”
Guilt twisted in Nezarin’s chest. “You heard?
”
“They’re afraid,” Bram said. “They don’t get why you’d want to go back there. ”
“It’s for their good,” Nezarin whispered. “They don’t know that, though.
” Bram was quiet for a moment. “It’s not too late to change your mind. ”
Nezarin wrapped her arms around herself. “We ride at dawn.
”
“Then we need to talk about what happens when things go wrong,” he said flatly. Nezarin turned to him sharply. “If things go wrong,” she argued, lifting her chin. “When,” he corrected, his voice firm.
“We’ll need a plan for getting you out. ”
Despite the fear coiling in her stomach, Nezarin felt reassured by the fact that he wasn’t trying to talk her out of going anymore. Just planning for the future. “Whatever happens,” Bram said.
“If I say run, you run. Don’t wait. You just go. ”
Nezarin’s jaw clenched, annoyance flaring hot in her chest.
“I’m not leaving you,” she said, her voice sharp. “Because if it comes down to getting you out or both of us dying,” Bram snapped. “I’m choosing you every time. You are my queen.
”
They faced each other in the darkness, and Nezarin saw the absolute conviction in his gold-flecked eyes. Her breath caught. The way he said “my queen,” fierce and possessive and protective all at once, sent heat racing down her spine despite her anger. “I won’t leave you,” she said quietly.
Bram stepped closer. “Nezarin, promise me. ” His hand came up to rest on her shoulder, warm and solid through the fabric of her cloak. “Only if you promise the same,” she countered, reaching up to wrap her fingers around his wrist.
Bram frowned. “That’s not—”
“Then we have a problem. ” Nezarin lifted her chin. “Because I’m not promising to abandon you any more than you’d abandon me.
”
Something flickered in his expression, frustration melting into something softer, something that looked almost like wonder. His other hand came up slowly, his fingers brushing her jaw just like they had after the storm. “You’re impossible,” he whispered. “So are you,” she replied, her voice barely audible.
Her hand was still wrapped around his wrist. Their breath melded together in the night air, and Nezarin was acutely aware of every inch between them. Too much space and not enough all at once. She could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he wanted to argue with her and kiss her in equal measure.
“Your Majesty,” a voice called from the camp. “It’s time to go. ”
Nezarin’s heart was still racing, but she forced her voice steady. “We’ll be right there.
”
The soldier bowed and retreated. Alone again, Nezarin and Bram stood in charged silence. Neither of them had moved. His hand still cupped her jaw.
“We should—” Nezarin started, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to step away. “Sure,” Bram agreed. Neither of them moved for a long moment, just looking at each other in the darkness like they were trying to memorize each other’s faces. Later, Nezarin stood at the edge of camp, watching her small honor guard assemble.
Eight warriors chosen for skill and loyalty. Bram at their head, his face set in grim determination. Eight against an entire palace. Her children stood nearby, the twins as wolf pups clinging to Josie’s legs.
Her daughter’s face was pale but set with determination. “I love you,” Nezarin whispered, pressing kisses to each of their heads. “I love you so much. ”
“Please be careful,” Josie managed, her voice breaking.
Nezarin held them until Bram cleared his throat gently. She had only just got them back, and now she was leaving them again. To ride directly into the lion’s den. But peace always came at a high price.
She felt Josie’s eyes on her as she rode out of camp, Bram beside her, close enough that their knees occasionally brushed. Neither spoke. She was glad he was there. Her wolf was calm with Bram at her side.
The camp disappeared over the hill, and ahead, somewhere beyond the forest and the plains, the palace waited. They rode through the day in tense silence. The landscape changed gradually. The wild northern territories giving way to cultivated fields and maintained roads.
Signs of Tristan’s kingdom. By late afternoon, the palace appeared on the horizon. Nezarin’s breath caught. No matter how many months or years she put between herself and Tristan’s palace, it would never be enough.
Her hands tightened on the reins. “Breathe. ” Bram’s voice was solid. She realized she was holding her breath.
“You survived twelve years in there,” Bram said. “Reckon you can survive a few days? ”
She nodded. The palace loomed larger as they approached, more real, more impossible to escape.
Nezarin could smell the scent of stone and damp of her captivity. Had she made a mistake in coming here? Her vision started to blur. “Nezarin, look at me.
” Bram’s voice cut through the panic. She turned her head. “You aren’t alone,” he said firmly. “I’m right here.
”
The words steadied her. Just enough. They rode through the outer gates. The spikes of the portcullis slid by overhead.
Palace guards lined the courtyard, watching emotionlessly. Nezarin wondered if they remembered the queen they’d helped imprison. The great doors opened, and there he was at the top of the steps. Tristan.
He looked exactly as Nezarin remembered. Tall, handsome, every inch the powerful Alpha King. Golden hair, strong jaw. The kind of man who looked like he was born to wear the crown.
He smiled as they approached, warm and welcoming. But when his eyes met Nezarin’s, they were empty. “Queen Nezarin,” he said, his voice carrying across the courtyard, his tongue lingering on the word “queen. ” “Welcome home.
”
The word “home” stabbed between Nezarin’s ribs. She dismounted on shaking legs, feeling Bram immediately at her side. Tristan descended the steps with measured grace. He lifted Nezarin’s hand in formal greeting, bowing over it like a courtier.
His touch made her skin crawl. “We are honored by your presence. ” Tristan gestured lavishly. “Please, come inside.
Refreshments have been prepared while we discuss the treaty terms. ”
His hand remained on hers. Nezarin pulled it away, unable to stand the callous hands any longer. Was that a glint in his eyes, or her imagination?
Tristan gestured toward the doors. Nezarin’s feet wouldn’t move. She stood frozen, staring up at the entrance that had swallowed her whole before. Bram’s hand pressed against her lower back.
Gentle but firm. I’m here. She forced herself to walk through the doors into the entrance hall, where nobles in fine dress watched with avid curiosity, into the palace that had been her prison. The doors closed behind them with a sound like thunder.
A ceremonial table had been set up at the center of the throne room with two ornate chairs and the treaty document laid out between them. Trust in the process. It wasn’t a trap. This was a peace negotiation.
“Be seated,” Tristan said, gesturing to one of the chairs with perfect courtesy. Bram and her honor guard had followed them in but were directed to stand along the wall with Tristan’s own guards, separated from her by twenty feet of open floor. Nezarin caught Bram’s eye, saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand clasped the pommel of his sword. She sat.
Tristan took the chair across from her, and a court official began reading the treaty terms aloud in a droning voice. “Territory divisions, trade agreements, recognition of sovereignty, and the immediate release of the prisoner Paula—currently held in His Majesty’s custody. ”
Nezarin relaxed. It was all here in writing, witnessed by dozens.
The official continued to the end, then looked to both of them. “Your Majesties, do you accept these terms as binding? ”
Nezarin nodded firmly. “I do,” she said, her voice steady despite her shaking hands.
Every eye turned to Tristan. He was silent for a long, terrible moment, just looking at Nezarin with those cold, empty eyes. Then his mouth curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “No,” he said pleasantly.
“I don’t think I do. ”
Nezarin’s blood turned to ice. Tristan stood slowly, and his entire demeanor changed. “Did you really think I would allow you to leave again?
” he asked. Nezarin surged to her feet, but guards were already grabbing her arms, yanking her away from the table. “You gave your word—”
Tristan laughed and upended a flagon of wine over the treaty on the table. “Let it be known that the false Queen Nezarin came here under false pretenses, seeking to undermine the rightful crown.
She has been taken into custody for treason. ”
The nobles didn’t protest. They just watched. Some of them were smiling.
Tristan clicked his fingers, and guards flooded into the room from every entrance. Dozens of them, armed and ready. And Nezarin realized with sickening clarity that they knew. They’d known all along.
This entire ceremony had been theater. Bram had been right. “Nezarin! ” Bram’s shout cut across the room.
She turned to see him fighting through Tristan’s guards, cutting a path toward her with desperate strength. But there were too many. “Run! ” Bram shouted at her.
“Nezarin, run! ”
But she was held fast by four guards, helpless, as a guard slammed the pommel of his sword into his head before he could shift. Bram staggered but stayed on his feet. “No.
” Nezarin struggled violently against her captors. “Let him go! ”
Tristan moved to stand in front of her, his expression almost pleasant. “My thanks for the gift.
The vagabond rogue who helped you and my heirs escape. ” His voice turned to ice. “He’ll pay for that. ”
Nezarin’s heart was breaking.
“Please, Tristan. Be reasonable—”
“You are in no position to bargain. ” Tristan’s hand shot out, gripping her jaw with cruel fingers. “You humiliated me.
Took my sons. Did you think I would forgive that? That I would let you live happily in your northern territories with my children? ”
Nezarin tried to pull away, but his grip was iron.
“You’ll be executed tomorrow morning,” Tristan continued conversationally. “Publicly, in the courtyard where you used to walk as my obedient mate. ” He smiled. “And your death will serve as a reminder to your people that if they don’t return my sons within the week, I’ll march north and burn every village between here and there until nothing remains but ash.
”
Nezarin closed her eyes. He’d never wanted peace. Never intended to negotiate. This had always been about breaking her, about reclaiming control, about winning.
She should have seen it coming. “They are my sons,” Tristan said, his voice dropping lower. “My heirs. Proof of my bloodline.
And you—” His eyes were cold. “You will die knowing that they will never remember you. ”
Across the room, Bram was still struggling despite being pinned by six guards. His eyes found Nezarin’s, and in them she saw fury and fear and something that looked like anguish.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed to him. “I’m so sorry. ”
Tristan released her jaw and stepped back with a smirk. “Take her to the dungeons.
”
Guards dragged Nezarin toward a side entrance. She fought every step, but they were too strong, too many. The last thing she saw before the door closed was Bram, bloodied and beaten, being hauled in the opposite direction. And Tristan standing in the center of the throne room, victorious.
Down, down, down to the dungeons. To the cell. They tossed her inside, and she hit the floor hard, her hands scraping against rough stone. The door clanged shut with a sound that echoed in her bones.
Nezarin pushed herself up slowly and looked around. Every corner, every crack in the walls—she knew them intimately. The damp spot where moisture collected. The scratch marks near the door where she’d clawed until her fingers bled.
The iron ring set into the wall where they’d chained her during her pregnancies. Twelve years. And now she was back. She touched the bloodstains on the floor, greedily sucked up by the cell from her first miscarriage.
Healers had worked frantically while Tristan watched with detached disappointment. “Try again,” he’d said, like she was a broodmare that had failed to deliver. She found the darker stains of the second one. Worse than the first.
She’d nearly died from internal bleeding. The third. The grief had been crushing that time, because she’d wanted that baby, had whispered to it in the darkness, promised it love, protection, everything she could give. And then it was gone.
Tristan’s visits had grown more infrequent. “Give me sons, damn you,” he’d ordered her, as if he could control that, too. Then came the twins. The only pregnancy that took.
She’d been chained to the iron ring for the last trimester. Couldn’t shift. Couldn’t move more than a few feet. Couldn’t do anything but wait.
Labor had been agonizing and lonely. Just her and a midwife who wouldn’t meet her eyes. She’d held them for one precious hour. Then Tristan had taken them away.
He’d never let her see them. Not once in those first terrible months. She’d felt them crying, screaming floors above while she was trapped below, helpless and going slowly mad. It would have destroyed her if she hadn’t clung to the hope that one day, somehow, she’d escape with them.
Nezarin curled onto her side on the stone floor, the exact spot where she used to sleep, and let the sobs come. She’d walked right into it. Despite every warning, despite Bram’s certainty, despite her own instinct screaming that this was a trap, she’d wanted it to be all right. She hadn’t wanted to fight anymore.
But wanting something does not necessarily make it true, no matter how hard you want. And now she was going to die here. And her children were once again motherless. Somewhere in the distance, muffled by stone and iron, she heard Bram shouting her name.
Heard the sound of fists hitting flesh. Heard his voice go raw with desperation before being cut off suddenly. The sound of impact. Then silence.
The silence was worse than the shouting. Nezarin pressed her hands over her mouth to muffle her sobs. Bram was hurt, maybe dying. And it was her fault.
She’d brought him here. She’d insisted on coming despite everyone telling her it was suicide. And now they were both trapped. Hours passed, or maybe minutes.
Time felt strange in the darkness. Nezarin lay on the cold stone and tried not to think about her children. About the twins clinging to Josie. About Josie’s pale, determined face as she’d promised to be careful.
I’m coming back. She had promised. Another lie. Another broken promise to add to all the others.
She thought about Bram standing at the eastern edge of camp, his fingers brushing her jaw, his eyes dark with want. That full mouth that had never settled upon hers. All the things they’d never said to each other. All the things they’d never get to say now.
The despair was suffocating. She’d survived twelve years in this cell before. But that had been different. Then she’d had hope.
The belief that someday she’d escape, that she’d see her children again. Now she knew exactly how this ended. With her execution in the courtyard. With Tristan marching north to burn villages and slaughter civilians, to reclaim her children.
With Bram dead in some other cell. She’d failed everyone who’d ever mattered to her. Nezarin closed her eyes against the darkness and felt herself slipping toward the edge of something worse than despair. Felt the particular kind of madness that came from having nothing left to hope for.
This is how it ends, she thought. This is how I break. She squeezed her eyes tightly. And in that darkness, she saw Bram’s face.
Just Bram, as he’d been that night after the storm, holding Theon with infinite gentleness. The memory didn’t change anything about her situation. But somehow it did. Because Bram believed in her.
Still thought she was worth protecting, worth following into danger. And if he’d been willing to walk into this trap alongside her because he thought she was worth it, then maybe she owed it to him to not give up. Nezarin pushed herself to sitting, her hands shaking. The cell’s walls pushed in on her, smothering her thoughts.
But something had shifted inside her. She wasn’t the same woman who’d been imprisoned here twelve years ago. That woman had been alone, with nothing but grief to sustain her. But this woman had three freed children waiting for her.
Had a daughter who believed in her strength. Had two little boys who needed their mother. And had a golden-eyed rogue who’d promised to stand by her. “I love him,” she realized.
She loved Bram. His gruff honesty and his fierce protectiveness. The way he handled her children and treated her—not like delicate porcelain liable to shatter under pressure, but as herself. And gods, she wanted to live to tell him.
Wanted to feel his lips on hers instead of just his breath. Comfortable mornings waking beside him. Languid nights falling asleep in his arms. The wanting cut fiercely through her mounting despair.
Nezarin stood on shaking legs. She was getting out of here. Somehow. And she was taking Bram with her.
Because if there was even the smallest chance of survival, of making it back to her children, back to the life she wanted, she had to take it. Nezarin began to pace the small cell, her mind working. She had until dawn. Tristan had said the execution would be at dawn.
That gave her maybe six hours. Six hours to find a way out. To get to Bram. To escape this nightmare.
It wasn’t much. Her escort were all imprisoned, as was Bram. She needed someone who might know the palace better than anyone. Paula.
Paula knew this palace better than anyone. If Nezarin could get to Paula, they might have a chance. But how? The cell was locked.
Nezarin’s eyes fell on the iron ring in the wall. She’d never been able to shift while chained to it. The iron had kept her wolf locked away, kept her weak and helpless. But she wasn’t chained now.
So Nezarin undressed. Then she closed her eyes and reached for her wolf. That part of herself that had been dormant for so long under the weight of trauma and captivity. For a moment, nothing happened.
The wolf felt distant, unreachable. Then she thought of Bram. Of the way her wolf had stirred in his presence. Of how desperately she wanted to survive this.
Her wolf rose. The shift took her like a wave, bones reshaping, muscles reforming. Within seconds, she stood on four legs instead of two. Her senses sharper.
Her body stronger. Powerful. Nezarin’s wolf gripped the iron ring in her jaws and pulled. The metal groaned.
The stone around it cracked. She braced her hind legs against the wall and pulled harder. Her wolf’s strength far beyond what her human form could manage. The ring shifted.
The cracks in the stone widened. Nezarin pulled with everything she had. Thinking of her children. Of Bram.
Of Paula. Of everyone she needed to save. The ring tore from the wall with a sound like breaking teeth. She shifted back to human form, breathing hard, and clutched the iron ring in her hands.
It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was something. And more importantly, she could shift again. After twelve years of that ability being locked away in this cell, she had her wolf back. She had her strength back.
She dressed hurriedly. Then she moved to the door and listened. Footsteps in the corridor outside. Guards changing shifts, maybe, or making rounds.
She waited until the footsteps faded, then called out, “Please, I need help. I’m hurt. ” She made her voice weak. Frightened.
The voice of a broken prisoner, not someone planning escape. The footsteps returned, stopped outside her door. “What’s wrong? ” A guard’s voice.
Young, maybe new. “I’m bleeding,” Nezarin gasped. “Please, I need help. ” She let out a convincing moan of pain.
“Back to the far wall,” the guard ordered. Nezarin had been expecting this. She stepped back until one heel touched the stone wall opposite the door. Then she lifted the iron ring in both hands to the side.
She’d only get one shot. Keys jangled. The lock turned. The door opened.
The guard stepped inside, a torch in one hand, and Nezarin swung—threw the iron ring with all her strength. It connected with his temple with a sickening crack. The guard dropped like a stone. Nezarin stood over him, breathing hard, her hands shaking.
She grabbed his keys, his torch. Checked the corridor. Empty. Then she ran.
The palace dungeons were a maze of corridors and cells. Nezarin moved as quickly as she dared, listening for guards. She checked cell after cell. Empty.
Empty. A prisoner she didn’t recognize. Then—
“Your Majesty. ”
Paula’s voice.
Weak but unmistakable. Nezarin fumbled with the keys, her bleeding hands making it difficult. Finally, one turned. The door swung open.
Paula sat against the far wall, thin and bruised, but alive. Her eyes went wide when she saw Nezarin. “How did you—”
“No time. ” Nezarin knelt beside Paula, taking in the damage.
Paula was in bad shape. Her face was swollen, one eye nearly shut. Dark bruises mottled her arms and neck. When Nezarin tried to help her stand, Paula let out a gasp of pain and nearly collapsed.
“Easy,” Nezarin whispered, catching her. Paula’s voice was thin, ragged. “Ribs. I think they’re broken.
”
Nezarin’s jaw clenched. Tristan had done this. Punishment for helping them escape. “We have to find Bram and the others and get out of here,” Nezarin said firmly.
“Can you walk? Do you know where he might be? ”
Paula’s good eye focused on Nezarin with difficulty. She nodded, the movement clearly painful.
“Low-value prisoners. They’ll be in the upper levels. I can show you. ”
She tried to stand, and her legs buckled.
Nezarin caught her, taking most of her weight. “Lean on me,” Nezarin said. They moved through the corridors, Paula’s directions coming in gasps between pained breaths. She knew these passages intimately from years of service.
But every step clearly cost her. She trembled against Nezarin’s side, her breathing shallow and labored. “Almost there,” Paula wheezed. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
Internal injuries, probably. Nezarin felt rage building in her chest alongside the fear. But Paula kept going, kept leading her through the maze of corridors despite the obvious agony. They found Bram two levels up.
He was chained to the wall of his cell, his head hanging forward, blood matting his hair. For one terrible moment, Nezarin thought he was dead. Then his head lifted slightly. “Nezarin?
” His voice was hoarse. Disbelieving. “I’m here. ” She was already working on the lock with shaking hands.
“I’m getting you out. ”
The lock clicked. Nezarin rushed inside and began working on the chains binding Bram to the wall. “The others,” Bram started.
“He just killed the others. ”
“Later,” Nezarin said, even though her heart sunk heavily at the news. The chains fell away, and Bram nearly collapsed. Nezarin caught him, taking his weight.
“Can you walk? ”
“Just about. ” Bram’s arm came around her shoulders, steadying himself. His eyes found Paula, taking in her battered state.
“Paula. Gods, what did he do to you? ”
Paula managed a pained smile despite her swollen face. “Nothing I haven’t survived before.
” Her good eye studied him. “You look worse than when I last saw you in camp. ”
“I feel worse, too,” Bram admitted grimly. They moved through the dungeons, Bram leaning heavily on Nezarin, Paula navigating with the confidence of someone who’d walked these paths a thousand times.
Nezarin could feel every labored breath Bram took, feel him fighting to stay upright despite his injuries. Blood from the wound on his head dripped onto her shoulder. His ribs must be broken from the beating. She could tell by the way he held himself, the careful, shallow breaths.
This was her fault. She’d brought him here. She’d insisted on coming despite his warnings. And now he was barely able to walk.
The guilt was crushing, but she pushed it aside. There would be time for guilt later, if they survived. Right now, she needed to focus on getting him out. On getting all of them out.
She tightened her grip on Bram’s waist, taking more of his weight. He didn’t protest, which told her how badly he was hurt. Bram would never accept help unless he absolutely needed it. Behind them, somewhere in the distance, a bell began to ring.
The alarm. Someone had found the guard. “Faster,” Paula urged. They climbed stairs Nezarin didn’t recognize, pushed through a door into a guard room.
Three guards looked up from their card game, shock crossing their faces. Bram moved despite his injuries, grabbing a sword from the wall and engaging the first guard before the man could draw his weapon. Paula grabbed Nezarin’s arm and pulled her toward a side corridor. But not before Nezarin heard voices from inside the guard room.
Male voices. Familiar voices. Tristan’s voice. She froze, straining to hear.
“March north in three days,” Tristan was saying. “I want every able-bodied soldier ready. ”
A general’s voice. “And the Northern Territories, Your Majesty?
”
“Burn every village between here and there. Slaughter anyone who resists. ”
Tristan’s voice was cold, clinical. “Women.
Children. Everyone. No mercy. They’ll surrender the twins, or they’ll have nothing left to surrender with.
”
Horror washed over Nezarin. Three days. He was giving them three days before he massacred her people. Paula tugged her arm urgently.
Behind them, Bram had disabled the guards and was limping toward them. Even injured, he was more than a match for them. Her heart swelled with pride. They ran through servant passages.
Paula navigated with practiced ease, past storage rooms and wine cellars, upstairs and through corridors until finally—fresh air. A hidden door opening onto the palace grounds. Dawn was breaking, painting the sky in shades of gray and pink. They were out.
Paula led them to the stables, where horses waited. Within minutes, they were mounted and riding hard toward the gates. Guards shouted behind them. The alarm bells rang louder.
But they were through the gates and into the forest before pursuit could organize. Nezarin looked back once at the palace disappearing into the distance. They’d escaped. Against all odds, they’d actually escaped.
Bram rode close beside her, his face pale with blood loss, but his eyes steady on hers. “You came for me,” he said quietly. “Where else would I go? ” Nezarin echoed his words back to him.
Something passed between them. Everything from that cell. Everything waiting to be said. But there was no time now.
Not with Tristan’s army preparing to march. Not with three days to warn her people. They rode north through the dawn. Three escaped prisoners racing against time.
And Nezarin held tight to two thoughts. She’d survived. She’d gotten out. And she had three days to stop a massacre.
They rode hard through the morning, pushing the horses as fast as they dared with two injured riders. Nezarin kept glancing at Bram, at the blood matting his hair, the careful way he held himself in the saddle to avoid aggravating his broken ribs. The gray pallor beneath his tan. Her fault.
All of it. But underneath the guilt burned something else. I love him. The realization hadn’t faded with escape.
If anything, it had grown stronger, more urgent. She needed him to know that in her darkest moment, thinking of him had pulled her back from the edge. That she loved his gruff honesty and fierce protectiveness. That somewhere along the way, he’d become essential.
She needed to apologize for bringing him here. For not listening. For nearly getting him killed. And she needed—gods—she needed to finish what they’d started that night before departure.
Needed to kiss him properly instead of in desperate stolen moments. Needed to tell him everything burning inside her chest. But not now. Not while they were fleeing.
Not with Paula barely conscious and pursuit possibly behind them. Soon, though. As soon as they stopped. As soon as they were alone.
The thought brought a tentative hope to her chest despite their situation. The cabin appeared through the trees. Small, abandoned, blessedly shelter. Nezarin helped Bram dismount.
He nearly collapsed, his legs giving out. She caught him, taking his weight. “Just need a minute,” he muttered. “You need more than a minute.
” Her heart ached, looking at him. “Come on. ”
She half-carried him inside and got him onto the cot. He immediately tried to sit up.
“Lie down,” she ordered. “Need to keep watch. Just in case—”
“I’ll do the watching. You do the lying down,” Nezarin scolded.
“What are you going to do if Tristan turns up? Bleed all over him? ”
For once, Bram didn’t argue, which told her exactly how much pain he was in. Paula stumbled through the door, and Nezarin rushed to help her.
Her breathing was wet and rattling, blood trickling from her mouth. Nezarin settled her near the cot. Paula’s good eye focused on her with difficulty. “I’ll find herbs—for the wounds.
Yarrow and comfrey. Near water. ”
“No. ” Nezarin’s voice was firm.
“You’re not going anywhere either. Just tell me what to look for—”
“And risk you gathering moonrose instead of turmeric? ” Paula was already trying to push herself up, her face contorting with pain. “You stay.
Tend his wounds. I’ll be faster. ”
“Paula—”
“Let me help. ”
Something in her tone made Nezarin relent.
Paula needed to feel like she was contributing, instead of just being another burden. “All right,” Nezarin said quietly. “But don’t go far. They could be on our tail.
”
Paula nodded and limped toward the door, each step clearly agony. The door closed behind her, and suddenly Nezarin was alone with Bram. Her heart started racing. Now she could tell him everything.
That thinking of him had saved her in that cell. That she was sorry for not listening. That she deeply, profoundly loved him. “Bram, there’s something I need to tell you—”
“You walked right into the trap.
”
His voice wasn’t cold, exactly. Just tired. Heavy with something that made Nezarin’s stomach clench. “I know.
” She sighed. “I’m so sorry. That’s what I wanted to tell—”
“We all warned you it was suicide. ” Bram’s eyes were still closed, his jaw tight.
“And yet you just charged in without thinking. ”
“I thought that you could level with the man—”
Bram’s voice was flat. “That peace was possible with a monster who kept you under lock and key for twelve years. Who kidnapped your children.
Who—” He stopped, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Tears burned in Nezarin’s eyes. “Bram, I’m sorry. You were right about everything.
I should have listened. ”
“That you should have. ” His eyes finally opened, and the pain in them stole her breath. Not anger, exactly.
Something deeper. “Eight good people are dead because they trusted your judgment. ”
“I know,” Nezarin whispered. “I understand why you made the choice.
” His voice softened. “But right now, understanding doesn’t make the consequences any better. ”
The silence that followed was crushing. Nezarin sank down onto the floor beside the cot, her legs giving out.
“I’m sorry,” Bram apologized. “That was a tad harsh. ”
She looked up at him through her tears. Bram was struggling to sit up despite the obvious pain.
“Come here. ”
“You should be lying down—”
“Come here,” he repeated more firmly. Nezarin stood on shaking legs and moved closer to the cot. Bram reached out and pulled her down to sit beside him.
Then, moving carefully despite his injuries, he wrapped his arms around her. Nezarin broke. All the fear and guilt and terror she’d been holding back came pouring out in racking sobs against his chest. Bram held her through it, one hand stroking her hair, the other holding her steady against him.
“I thought I was going to die,” she gasped between sobs. “I thought he was going to kill me, and I’d never see the children again, and I’d never get to tell you—”
“I know,” Bram said quietly. “And then I heard you screaming, and I thought you were dead. ”
“I’m here.
” His arms tightened around her. “We’re both here. We survived. ”
Nezarin pressed her face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him.
Pine and leather and blood, and something uniquely Bram. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him. About her epiphany in the cell. But at that moment, Paula returned.
As Paula worked on their injuries, Nezarin watched Bram’s face. Watched the way his jaw clenched against the pain. Watched the careful way he breathed to avoid aggravating his ribs. He’d followed her into a trap.
Had nearly died because of her choices. He deserved to know how she felt. What he had risked himself for. There would be time, she told herself.
There would be time.
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