Kershov nodded absently at Winn’s comment, ebony windows focusing at some distant point in the forest as his mind once again reviewed the absolutely ludicrous situation. If he noticed the pointedly demure way Aerten and Winn Dixie conducted themselves around him, the massive dragon gave no indication; if anything, he appreciated their carefulness, the way they tip-toed around their conversation so as not to provoke whatever dregs of simmering anger might lurk within their Leader’s chest. Ker by no means pretended that he saw his pawns as equals, despite the fact his clear position of authority never diminished their value in his eyes. They were his and they were everything to him—but they were possessions in the same way a shepherd possesses his sheep: he would protect them from anything so long as they remained in the fold.

Aerten’s sassy reply to Winn’s candid observation sent a brief half-smile arcing across Ker’s harsh features. His ears flicked forward atop his imperial crown, creating the perfect picture of good humor. “I’d expect nothing less from you, Madame Aerten. What is wrong with other packs, anyway?” he leered, glad for the chance to growl out some good old-fashioned bellyaching with his subjects. “We maintain our borders and focus on our own strength. Why is it that outside kingdoms still tangle themselves in our business?” Neither Winn nor Aerten had been present for the infamous Bright Moon fiasco—something both horrific and hilarious in Abendrot’s history that lived on as a serrated tension between the two powers even to this very day. In times past, Abendrot had taken to . . . picking up loners as a way to strike fear into the other packs, building their numbers while asserting dominance over even those unconnected from pack life. One prisoner had unfortunately been a little snot-nosed Bright Moon ninny. They’d returned her to her family, of course . . . at the cost of Bright Moon forever thinking that Abendrot was nothing more than a giant slave factory.

A long sigh scraped out of Ker’s throat. War had threatened the order of his army before. Would Tamlin attempt to exterminate Abendrot in vain again?

“Is it worth seeking alliances with other packs?” The frosted Monarch directed this question at both Aerten and Winn, black stargazers peering first at the russet-painted lady, then at the dove grey beauty. He honestly wanted to hear their heartfelt opinions. True, the Alpha ruled his territory; however, Kershov understood how dangerous (and unforgivably foolish) it was to continuously make decisions that angered the wolves he lead. “I used to follow a strictly isolationist policy . . . but I cannot help pondering the positive aspects of having friendly neighbors.” By “friendly neighbors,” Ker meant packs willing to support Abendrot in the unlikely event of a war, or simply a pack that would provide a staunch buffer to those hungry for the blood of his soldiers.