Chapter 3: The Cold King Arrives

“Everyone to the great hall! Now!” Alpha Brannock bellowed. “The King arrives in two hours!”

The pack exploded into noise. Warriors ran for their armor. Women dragged out silver banners. Children screamed with joy.

Lyra stood in the kitchen doorway, holding a mop, and watched the chaos with cool interest.

Everyone panics at once, she thought. Good. Panic hides a lot of things.

Lyra, said Ember. Why are you smiling?

Because I just found my opening.

Mara grabbed her sleeve. “Did you hear what the scout said? Fated mate! The Cold King is hunting for his fated mate!”

“I heard.”

“Do you know how rare that is? He is twenty-seven years old and has never found her! Some say he cannot.” Mara’s eyes shone. “Every unmated girl in the north is going to throw herself at his feet.”

“Including Celeste.”

“Especially Celeste.”

Lyra leaned the mop against the wall. Ember. How does a fated mate work?

A wolf meets the one the Moon chose for them, said Ember. They feel it at once. The bond burns. It cannot be faked.

Can it be ignored?

Never.

Wonderful. Lyra’s gaze sharpened. Then there is a man coming here who is destined to want one woman. And he will not know which.

That sounds dangerous for the woman.

Or very profitable.

Ember made an odd noise. You cannot be thinking—

I am thinking about leverage.

Before Ember could answer, Cook stormed in with her wooden spoon raised.

“Lyra! Mara! Two hundred plates. Fifty roast birds. Move!”

“Yes, Cook.”

“And Lyra.” Cook paused. Her sharp eyes softened for half a second. “Keep your head down tonight. The Alpha’s daughter was in a very bad mood this morning.”

“Why?”

“Someone’s maid ran off crying.” Cook gave her a long look. “Nobody told me why. I did not ask. I am too old to ask.”

She stomped away. Lyra and Mara looked at each other.

“She knows,” Mara whispered.

“Cook does not miss much.”

“Do you think she is on our side?”

“I think,” said Lyra, “that Cook is on the side of whoever keeps the kitchen running. That is a very useful side to be on.”

They hauled platters for an hour. Lyra scrubbed. She carried. She counted the supplies that arrived and noticed, once again, that the numbers were wrong. The pack had ordered forty barrels of flour. Twenty-five were delivered.

Someone is stealing, she thought. Not today. Later.

She filed it away like a general filing a map.

When the horns blew, the whole pack rushed to the courtyard. Lyra and Mara stood at the back with their trays. Hundreds of wolves lined the stone walls. Even the children went quiet.

Celeste stood at the front in a silver gown, golden hair pinned with pearls. She looked radiant. She also looked like a girl who had not slept.

Her eyes found Lyra across the crowd.

She smiled.

It was the smile of a snake who has been told the mouse is still alive and has decided to be patient.

She knows the poison failed, said Ember.

She knows I know, said Lyra. Good. Now she is afraid.

How can you tell?

She is smiling too much.

Brannock climbed the steps to the hall. He wore his best furs. His beard had been combed.

“Silverfang!” he shouted. “Today we welcome His Royal Majesty, King Kael Draven of Aurelan, Alpha of Alphas! Kneel when he enters! Lower your eyes! And pray he is in a good mood!”

A shiver went through the crowd.

Mara whispered, “They say he once killed a rebel Alpha with his bare hands. At a dinner.”

“What did the Alpha do?”

“Insulted the soup.”

Lyra bit her lip. “I like him already.”

“Lyra!”

“What? I am a tough critic of soup.”

Mara swatted her arm, giggling. It was an odd feeling. Lyra had not laughed with a friend in years. Seraphina had always laughed with Claire.

Her smile faded.

Do not think about it, said Ember softly.

I am not thinking about it.

You are.

Then stop reading my mind.

I am your wolf. It is my entire job.

A deep horn sounded at the gate. Then another. The iron gates swung open with a groan.

Twenty royal guards rode in. Black armor. Black cloaks. They moved like one animal.

Behind them came a tall gray warhorse. On its back sat a man in a long dark coat.

Lyra’s pulse stuttered.

She told herself it was nerves.

The whole courtyard sank to its knees. Hundreds of wolves, bowing at once. The sound was like a wave breaking.

Lyra and Mara knelt with them. Lyra kept her eyes on the stones. Her heart was beating in her throat, which was ridiculous. She had faced down board members who wanted her fired. She had signed contracts worth more than this entire pack’s lands.

But something was happening to her.

A warmth was spreading through her chest. It was slow and golden, like honey poured over her ribs.

Ember? she said, alarmed.

Ember did not answer.

Ember! What is that?

The warmth grew hotter. Her fingers tingled. Her skin buzzed as if lightning were walking up her arms.

Somewhere in the crowd, a child whimpered. A few older wolves lifted their heads and frowned, sniffing the air.

The horse stopped. Boots touched stone.

“Rise,” said a low, cold voice.

Lyra’s whole body went still.

She knew that voice. She had never heard it before. But some deep, ancient part of her knew it the way you know your own name.

And inside her, behind the wall that had held her for nineteen years, something woke.

Something old and silver and enormous.

Ember, Lyra whispered. What is happening to me?

Lyra, said Ember, and her voice was shaking. My wall is cracking. Do not look up. Do not look at him. Do not—

Too late.

Lyra raised her eyes.

The Alpha King stood twenty feet away, six foot four of black coat and silver eyes, and the moment those eyes touched hers, the wolf inside her, silent for nineteen years, threw back her head and howled his name.