“Of course the pup will know its parents,” Kershov replied to Henadin, perhaps too sharply. “Aren’t children old enough to recognize their parents by the time they can ingest flesh?” In his haste to expedite the trading process, the cold-hearted King had slightly misunderstood the poor father’s words. Henadin probably wanted to know if his Abendrot-given child would grow up knowing that Channing and Henadin were more than just the pair of wolves who had sacrificed it to another pack. Obviously the pup would understand that the two Saw Tooth warriors had created it—but having a mother was different than having a mom, as even a creature as frigid as Kershov could somewhat comprehend. At least . . . that is what Kershov dearly hoped Henadin had meant, because otherwise the other male was far more idiotic than the glacial gladiator had first believed. “What point would there be in an alliance that the child has no knowledge of? Abendrot will be transparent with the pup—we will try to make them understand their great roll in this allegiance.”

Channing—who seemed as if she were about to faint from the sheer weight of pain crushing her exhausted shoulders—replied softly in agreement. “You will be given adequate time,” the Alpha decreed.

When Moth spoke, Kershov could feel the heat of her indignant rage festering on her pelt like rot on an old carcass. She hated this whole debacle; her powerlessness in the situation dug its talons into her and pulled her meat in all directions and she could do nothing about it except attempt to provide useless comfort to the family. They were outnumbered and she knew it. There was no shred of mercy or kindness in Kershov’s barren heart that her worthless warmth could appeal to. The arctic monster had to admire her—this was precisely how he expected a fellow Monarch to feel when confronted with this kind of situation, a situation in which one party holds all the cards and is merely stalling for time until they can swoop in on their prize with jaws outstretched. Moth was a true Queen who played the game despite the fact she knew there’d be no easy victory. Kershov resolved to see the family safely out of Abendrot as soon as this nonsense was over; the dove-grey Empress deserved nothing but respect, even if one of her wolves had done something as unforgivably stupid as involving another pack in her birthing.

Of course, respect was not the same thing as friendship. That was fine—Kershov did not require friendship.

Bottomless black rested coolly in the earth-brown gaze of the Saw Tooth Alphess as she stepped forward to address him. She held her body stiff with barely contained anger. The frost in her lyrics was chilled enough to match his own. At first, Ker’s ear perked forward at the prospect of a “mutual” trade. What could Moth mean? Would she actually try to make him uphold his end of the deal? The massive tundra-stalker waited patiently for her demands to come, listening to her with the detached interest one gives to a game they already know the outcome of—but when she reached her conclusion, Kershov felt his world pause. Seconds screeched to a halt. His predatory eyes narrowed into thin black blades sharp enough to draw blood. How did she know about his litter?

Queens had seduced him for the sole purpose of having his children, as a means to protect her pack from any advances from Abendrot. It was an ingenious plan; not only would pups add to Malignant’s ranks, but Kershov would be loathe to eliminate his own flesh and blood from the playing field, no matter how estranged from them he might be. True, the frozen Phantom cared less about the actual personalities and hopes of the two wretches he’d sired than what they represented . . . however, he’d been unwilling to disclose the truth of these Malignant-born secrets to anyone. Abendrot knew—Kershov kept few secrets from his loyal military. But Queens . . . Kershov had thought that his ex-lover was diligently hiding her brood, keeping them far away from prying eyes that might try to deal a double blow to Malignant and Abendrot by permanently severing the living tie between them. He supposed his pups were probably old enough by now to explore the territory on their own . . . perhaps to the point where someone had glimpsed them from a vantage point far outside the borders . . . still. Ker did not appreciate Moth’s intel. It was as if she’d torn a small, intimate piece from the guarded prison of his brain. After the white ghost had gathered his emotions enough to speak, he did so with a valiantly contained growl turning the edges of his words into abrasive corners.

“How can I argue against a mutual trade?” Kershov ground out. He tilted his head, the ravaged side of his muzzle allowing rows of serrated teeth to gleam in the silver moonlight. “A child for a child . . . that is fair. But not entirely. I ask for the pup of one of your underlings, Moth. You ask for one of my heirs.” He fell quiet. Now the accusations poured out of his aura with the aim of unsettling the pearly Alphess. Surely she grasped the weight of her counter-demand? The blood of royalty in exchange for that of peasants? In truth, Kershov was willing to concede to Moth’s demands; he only desired to attack with one more fleeting possibility of doom before bowing out gracefully and closing the deal like the magnificent Czar he was.

At last, Kershov sighed, as if the notion of giving up one of his prized heirs pierced his heart more than it really did. “If you were any other pack, the answer would be obvious,” the alabaster dragon rumbled, basically stating that only Saw Tooth would be given the privilege and trust necessary to keep a royal child. “As long as you treat one of my pups as a member of your pack, as I will treat this child as one of our own, I see no reason why this trade should not proceed smoothly.” He strode up to Moth, as regal and contained as ever. A vague grin flickered across the handsome plane of his mask. “Travel well, Saw Tooth. I look forward to our future together as an allied force.”