CHAPTER 87

JARRETT'S pov

The walk down the ridge ended far too soon.

Helena’s hand was warm in mine, her fingers laced so tightly with mine it felt like a promise.

The late afternoon sun glittered across the fresh snow, throwing sharp, golden light over the tree line. Every few paces, she’d lean sideways, her shoulder bumping against mine with a quiet, rhythm—a deliberate little touch that pulled me right back to the quiet warmth of the cabin. Back there, we weren't a commander and a Crown-Bearer. We were just us.

I wasn't ready to let that go.

Kael noticed, of course. The old tracker didn't say a word, just took a slow sip from his wooden travel mug and kept a steady two paces ahead of us. It was his subtle, begrudging way of granting us the last few feet of privacy we were likely to get for the rest of the week.

When we crested the final rise, any lingering peace vanished. The shrine grounds were already packed, but not with the usual posturing Council members or whispering guards.

It was full of supply crates. Heavy oak boxes were stacked haphazardly across the snow, half of them pried open, their iron hinges snapped, completely gutted.

Tova stood right in the thick of the chaos, her leather-clad arms crossed tight over her chest.

The jagged scar cutting across her throat caught the flickering red light of the perimeter torches.

Mara and Dren were flanked behind her, their expressions grim, while Silas paced an erratic line through the slush.

“Took you long enough,” Tova barked the second her eyes landed on us. Her sharp gaze immediately dropped to where our hands were joined, her eyebrow twitching up.

I didn't break the hold, but Helena gently slipped her fingers free as she took a half-step ahead. Tova didn't linger on it. “Northern packs are starving. No supply drops in three weeks.”

The shift in Helena was instant, and it hit like a drop in temperature. The soft, quiet girl who had rested her head on my chest in front of the hearth an hour ago evaporated. Her shoulders squared, her spine went rigid, and her chin came up.

The Crown-Bearer had entered the room.

“Explain,” Helena said. Her voice didn't shake. It was pure, controlled iron.

“The supply caravans never actually left Ashen Peak,” Silas interjected, stepping over a shattered crate to shove a thick leather-bound ledger into her hands.

It wasn't the charred one from the archive fire, it was a fresh record, the ink barely dry. “The mountain passes are completely clear. The guard wolves are stationed at the borders. But the grain and salted meat aren't moving an inch.”

Helena flicked open the cover, her eyes scanning the columns of numbers. “Who’s choking the supply line?”

Tova hesitated. It was only for a fraction of a second, but for a woman made entirely of sharp edges and absolute certainty, that brief pause was a blaring alarm.

“Lucian,” Tova muttered.

The name dropped into the cold air like a lead weight.

Kael let out a low, venomous curse under his breath. Behind Silas, Dren’s hand instantly dropped to the horn hilt of his hunting knife.

“He’s alive?” Helena asked. Her tone was terrifyingly flat. Too calm. Too still.

“No,” Tova said quickly, holding up a hand to cut off the rising panic. “Not the man himself. His loyalists.

The splinter faction that broke off when the mountain stronghold fell. They cleared out the subterranean vault storages while everyone was distracted by his execution. Now they’re sitting on three months' worth of northern rations and using it as leverage.”

Helena turned her head slowly, looking up at me.

I saw the change happening deep behind her pupils before anyone else did. That dangerous, incandescent gold light was stirring beneath the dark brown of her irises, threatening to break through. The suffocating weight of an entire realm's survival was settling right back onto her narrow shoulders.

“Where are they hiding?” I asked, stepping up beside her to anchor her.

“The old Frostfang outpost on the north ridge,” Tova answered. “It’s a half-day ride if we push the horses.”

Helena snapped the ledger shut, the heavy leather making a sharp crack in the cold air. “We’re moving out.”

“Absolutely not,” Mara spoke up, stepping forward with her hands raised in protest. “You can’t go out there, Helena. If Lucian’s remnants see the Crown-Bearer riding up to their gates, they’ll—”

“They’ll what?” Helena snapped.

A sudden flare of brilliant gold flickered along her jawline, lighting up her skin. The raw power hummed in the air between us, static rising off her cloak.

“Try to use me again?” she spat, her voice ringing off the stone pillars of the shrine. “They already did that for nineteen years. I am done hiding behind walls while people starve in my name.”

Before I could register the thought, I stepped directly into her line of sight, cutting off her view of Mara and Tova.

“Then we go together,” I said, looking right into those glowing eyes until the frantic heat in them began to cool. “Both of us.”

Helena stared up at me. Slowly, the blinding gold receded, leaving only her familiar, exhausted brown eyes looking back into mine.

“Same team?” she asked, her voice dropping to a quiet whisper that only I was meant to hear.

“Same team,” I promised.

Tova loudly cleared her throat, dramatically rolling her eyes toward the dark sky. “Fascinating. Can we go save a hundred starving wolves now, or do you two need another moment?”