Her grace did not surprise him—but it did enchant him, her muscles moving with the lithe liquid grace of a serpent uncoiling, strong tendons pulling bones under rippling fur without clumsy resistance or the stiff ache of fatigue. Stretched, limber, and ready. And Kershov knew that Athene had already dipped into her undoubtedly impressive reserves of energy before he’d even opened his eyes this morning, for an aura of heat enrobed her body like the glow of the sun behind a cloud. What had kept her active for so many hours? Had the she-gladiator been exploring her new home, learning its layout as Kershov planned to do? Had she been training, sparring with shadows amidst this garden of boulders? Perhaps both . . . one warrior recognized another, and although they’d been trained by different schools, the Ice King understood that a soldier’s loyalty was merely a single aspect to the diamond that was Athene. A thrill coursed through him when she smirked, playful and proud. Warlord instincts roared to life, the desire to learn all he could about this wondrous tool that entrusted herself to his rule.

She is a master of her craft. The thought presented itself with absolutely certainty at the forefront of his brain, a decision reached when Athene met his gaze with unwavering oceans of honey. No doubt or weakness lurked in her intelligent portals—she possessed full confidence in herself, her strengths, the king she’d allied herself with. And Kershov silently rejoiced in the comradery this wolfess had given him without realizing it. Instantly, deeply, he concluded that if he could entrust anyone with his life or his secrets, it was this fearless female soldier.

She held his stare for a heartbeat—lingering on the edge of conversation—until without a sound she charged past him, close enough for her brindled pelt to slip against the ivory plane of his ribs.

Kershov did not make her wait. He pivoted on his paws, galloping after her in great long strides that devoured the earth, claws gauging trenches with each heavy step. The air he inhaled was still heavy with evaporated dew, sweet and thick as sap in his lungs. Athene must have felt worn from whatever exercises she’d endured before dawn, yet she used the warmth to keep her motion supple and unhindered—soaring over obstacles with breathtaking swiftness. Soon the massive Czar had caught up to her, sprinting so that his muzzle hovered in line with her pallid flanks. Their pace synchronized, a rhythm established, and for a moment it sounded as if they were a single powerful entity rather than two separate vargs reveling in their freedom.

He herded her toward the southern walls with a light buffet of his skull against her side, daring to nip at that silver-streaked fur to watch her reaction. Athene wasn’t Frekari—and in fact he’d bet his tail she would rip the skin off any who’d make such a comparison—but that wouldn’t stop her Alpha from testing her in any delicious way he saw fit. “Shall we make this interesting?” he called between gulping in breaths, obsidian windows glinting with dark humor. “First one to that oak over yonder is the drill sergeant. He may challenge his underling to any task he sees fit, until the next checkpoint. Agreed?” Then—no warning—Kershov aimed a mock-bite at Athene’s tail, hoping to surprise her just enough to surge forward.