Kershov’s attention—and sanity—had been so wholly dominated by the presence of Scarlet Nights that at first he did not register the entrance of the single wolf he trusted above all others in his army: Enigma. It took his dedicated General literally dropping her kill a yard from his paws for the frigid Emperor to glance up from the porcelain fluff adorning Scarlet’s throat. He blinked as though struggling to wake from a surreal dream, all at once relieved to have found a balm for his insanity and horrified Scarlet Nights might disappear the moment he looked away from her. “Thoughtful as always, fearless Beta.” Kershov bantered back at the masked fae without missing a beat . . . but knew beyond a doubt that Enigma would have caught the shift in his demeanor. After all, she’d nearly clawed his most shameful secret straight out of his chest only a few days ago. Enigma was brilliant, powerful, reliable. She could see through all of Kershov’s bullshit in a way that simultaneously impressed and unnerved him. There was no one else the tundra beast wanted at his right paw . . . and now he quietly hoped the snowy femme kept her maw shut about any “off” attributes she noticed in her Alpha.

As each beat passed, Kershov was better able to uncurl himself from his desperate hold on Scarlet and present his usual aloof control. When a gigantic gladiator he hadn’t seen for some time—Sebastian—arrived, followed closely by the familiar face of Grey Wind, Ker had perfected his emotionless façade.

“Welcome, soldiers.” Each formidable knight earned a short, respectful nod from their King—worlds of approval in such a small movement. Sebastian had been held in high enough regard to spy on Saw Tooth, perhaps one of the few packs in existence equal to Abendrot in terms of cohesive strength. The mission had been a test of sorts; Ker knew that a well of untapped potential rested within the onyx brute’s soul, and had fully intended to exploit it . . . until the pieces of his mind no longer fit together quite as well, and he started letting the duties of his subalterns slip through his claws. Kershov resolved to speak privately with Seb later, if only to see if the cunning monster had gleaned any useful information. Also . . . the frost dragon wondered at the barely restrained flame of rage simmering within Sebastian’s fiery glare. Did something happen? “It is especially good to see you back in the territory, Sebastian. Abendrot has missed having a recruit with obvious strength and intelligence.”

“Good to hear, Grey Wind. It would be a dark day for our army indeed if ever our ranks lacked your teeth.” Grey Wind needed no extra support from the Alpha—Kershov had tried to praise the silver soldier on multiple locations for his outstanding loyalty. When the time came to award ranks, the Czar knew that if anyone deserved his status, it was Grey.

Giving a low sigh, Kershov sat straighter and prepared himself to address his assembled fighters.

“I believe it is safe to say that all of you knew this wasn’t a peaceful pack upon joining. And yet, by the grace of Fate, we have known peace. Abendrot has no active enemies. No current alliances, either. I would be pleased to continue as we are, excepting for the fact that a lack of strife has made us sleep.” This was not meant as a chastisement to his devoted subjects—Kershov was merely stating a fact. Warriors were not built to languish in peace. They were born for war. He suspected that the lack of activity within the kingdom had more to do with the fact that his soldiers were bored. “As your King, I ask you this: what would sate your thirst for action? Blood? War? Aligning ourselves with another pack? Do we attack, or build our network? Shall we scout to swell our ranks, or take new recruits by force? Don’t hold back your voices: if they were worthless, you would not be on this side of the border.”