Kershov stood quietly while the Head Soldier calmly explained his plans The idea was utterly sound; those that had a better chance of proving themselves anyway would get their duels over with quickly, and healers would attend as spectators and medics should anything unfortunate occur. His attention was only diverted from Marx’s serious face when Enigma entered the scene. Ker had to hold back a grin at the tension that suddenly strung itself between the silver male and the porcelain femme like arcs of lightning; nobody but Enigma and Marx knew what was going on between them, yet it wasn’t hard for perceptive outside parties to detect that odd strained chemistry simmering just behind their eyes. Strange that Kershov—known for his possessiveness of packmates—would feel absolutely no jealousy when it came to the dynamic shared by his General and his Head Soldier . . . they were far too adorable to watch and Ker would never intervene with something so entertaining. As long as they succeeded in doing their jobs well, where was the harm?

“You hardly need to prove yourself, Enigma, but I suppose I can hardly stop you if practice if for the good of the pack.” The alabaster Alpha’s voice remained serious, businesslike, his involvement with Enigma’s sassy humor betrayed slightly by the dark glitter of his ebony gaze. “In fact, perhaps you and Marx should spar. The best against the best, if you will.”

Ker used Key’s arrival to conveniently pull focus away from any awkwardness that may have arisen at his sly comment. Key was . . . well, “unsettling” went too far, but there was definitely something different about the quiet, uniquely serene male. His pale eyes judged those around him with the same intensity of Kershov, but without any malice, lending him an alien quality. How had Vladya dealt with Key? Abrasive vs. gentle? The ivory warrior turned over those hilarious notions—until Key spoke.

The King turned his skull, appalled, obsidian glare narrowing in suspicion. Was Key . . . threatening them? Threatening Kershov and those he owned? Ker could not even begin to snarl; his ravage face remained impassive and cold, waiting for the icy Healer to finish. “You ask me to promise.” Hackles lay flat, muzzle stayed impassive, but an aura of danger unfurled from his person like coils of fatal smoke. “It almost sounds as if you’re trying to threaten me. I would never put you in an impossible position, Key. You should know that I of all wolves would understand when someone cannot be saved.” Abruptly, a shark’s smirk warped Kershov’s features. “I haven’t checked on Vladya in a while. Are you insinuating that he’s dead? Don’t worry—I won’t hold it against you.”

The arctic dragon laughed, a frosty and mirthless noise. “Don’t give me reasons to mistrust you, Key. The greatest token I can give to you for your obedience is your continued existence.”

Then, inclining his royal head toward Marx and Enigma: “We’ll call a conference of soldiers immediately. Those who show up will duel, and we’ll move on from there. Fair?”