Fallacy entered the clearing like an owl alighting on a branch: soundless and with a dark aura of danger draped about her slender frame like a cloak. She exuded calm and death, eyes as brown as grave dirt and just as hopeless as she caught Kershov’s obsidian stare and offered him a curt nod. Ker nodded politely back at his Novacula; the pallid bird didn’t need his pleasantries, of course, but it would always be impossible for the snowy dragon to ever consider Fallacy as anything less than a wolf. She was a tool, yes—a pawn of the highest form of perfection—yet she lived and breathed and had sworn her loyalty to Abendrot, and therefore unknowingly promoted herself into the highest of her King’s graces. Kershov extended some semblance of respect to those he trusted. Fallacy could cease speaking and transform fully into the soulless doll she was in essence and Ker would still greet her when she came. She deserved it. Always. “Glad to see you are still around, Novacula. I feared your silence equated desertion.” Ker spoke ironically; he seriously doubted that Fallacy would simply decide to leave the territory for no good reason. Did she ever explore the lands outside these walls? Did she need to? For all the cold Czar knew, Fallacy probably tucked herself away in a dark little cave when not in use—a knife slipping back into its sheath. “I have a very important mission for you . . .”

Just then, a chocolate wolfess trotted through the tree line. Truffle flounced adorably up to her Ruler—though not quite as adorably as she had in years past—and treated him to a small half-bow. Kershov was floored. He nearly allowed his maw to open in shock. Since their last conversation, the ivory warrior had known that the rambunctious pup that once called herself “Cocoa” had fundamentally changed; she was no longer that innocent and frankly obnoxious creature that used to drive him toward the brink of madness. Still . . . it was quite difficult for Kershov’s mind to wrap around the concept of a serious Truffle. As soon as he reined in his astonishment, Ker inclined his regal head in acknowledgement. “There is nothing I would like more, Miss Truffle. We were conversing on the subject of troublesome prisoners before, were we not?” A short laugh chuffed from between his bloodied teeth as his black eyes sliced toward serene Fallacy. “Perfect. My intentions for Abendrot’s Novacula will align with your plans, I think.”

Stiffening slightly from the fresh pain grinding into his shoulders, Kershov lowered himself carefully into seated position. Fallacy’s missions weren’t meant to be kept secret from the rest of the army, but the supreme Commander saw no need to wait for other wolves before he gave his weapon her orders. “As you two may have noticed, Abendrot’s Queen has been slightly . . . absent. I would hate for this fact to jeopardize our pack’s safety and reputation—and I refuse to make the same mistake of entrusting another stranger with Alpha status again. Any pack not living in a hole knows that Abendrot boasts two Monarchs. I wish to keep it that way with the addition of a puppet.” The massive moon-white monster paused, ears perked alertly for any sign of confusion or unease. “Fallacy: you are to scout for a replacement ‘queen’ among the wolves of the freelands. Take a patrol with you, if you wish—I will ensure that anyone you desire is at your disposal. I need her to be moldable, but capable of putting up a fierce front. She will, in essence, be nothing more than a prisoner, which is where you come in dearest Truffle. I shall rely on you to remind our future puppet of her place in this army.” A predatory grin teased the corners of Ker’s ravaged maw. “Any questions?”