To be brutally honest, Kirastasia had not given much thought to which pack she’d dump the two kalaks off at until they’d been travelling for some time. At first, she’d planned on leaving them at the first border they ran into . . . in her mind, one territory was as good as the next—all packs were a load of bureaucratic bullshit anyway with their suffocating rules and pretentious alphas, so what was the big deal? Lilith was a fairytale-pretty, stunningly unique creature, someone males would instinctively protect wherever she ended up; Olya annoyed Kira like a tick in her ear, but the tundra princess felt pretty confident that one sharp word from the right wolf would have the handmaiden pissing herself. Saw Tooth, Malignant, Spring Grounds, Cold Summers . . . her chemically-altered mind sifted through different kingdoms like a child playing in a pile of leaves, examining one before dumping it back to the ground. Who bloody cares? Why am I doing this again? Oh, right . . . because I’m a delightful she-wolf overflowing with kindness. And maybe I wouldn’t mind two ladies owing me a favor.

The gorgeous snowbird had tuned out for most of the trip, tossing out a few words or jokes whenever the mood struck her. To stave off boredom she’d swallowed a mushroom she learned she enjoyed: a fat red thing with white speckling its dome, amanita muscaria. It provided the user a most wonderful, dreamlike feeling in the right doses. In the wrong doses it induced a beserker rage—but of course Kira had experimented enough times to avoid a repeat of that particular unpleasant event. She only needed to rampage through the forest once to realize she never wanted to snap back to consciousness with bloody teeth and sore limbs ever again. Once a strong pack-scent began blowing in with the wind, Kirastasia’s pace quickened and she flashed her travel companions a beautiful beaming smile. “Abendrot is just up ahead, my dears! You’ll like it there—not a popular spot for visitors, so I doubt anyone will be hunting you around its borders.”

She couldn’t quite remember . . . were the two maned wolves concerned about being hunted in the first place? Had they said anything to suggest that? The fishnet punkette snorted softly to herself as Abendrot’s scent grew stronger. Regardless of what either of them had said, they had sure acted as if something were amiss. Especially that uptight handmaiden. “Not sure if there are any kalaks living in the pack, but . . . at least you’ll have a warm bed to stay in while you continue your search.”

They crested a hill, and the rocky packland stretched out before them in all its shadowy glory. Kira’s snowy hackles lifted slightly, remembering that this was where her father used to rule . . . yet no trace of Kershov’s scent lingered along the fence. Satisfied, she plopped easily into sitting position, banner draped lightly over her paws and head dropping back in relaxation, content to wait until a patrol stopped by. They did not have to wait long. A shuffling of paws through grass alerted the faes to someone approaching—a male with ebony-and-ivory fur, his features gravely serious and his posture stiff. Kirastasia blinked at him, holding back a smirk when the mushroom still swimming through her blood caused the brute’s head to expand slightly past its normal size. Don’t laugh, Kira—don’t laugh! Imagine what a terrible first impression THAT would make . . . Soon the warrioress forced herself to bite the inside of her jowls, hard enough to draw blood, because the sight in her warped mind was so hilarious she feared bursting into guffaws at any moment. Oh dear, if only he knew how ridiculous he looked right now!

When Olya of all people spoke the king’s name, Kirastasia sobered immediately. Maple pools sliced toward the cowardly femme, maw dropping open slightly. “You two know each other already?” If the handmaiden had already made friends with someone from a pack, why had Kira busted her tail leading them all the way here?! Stupid, weakling insect. Her interested gaze swept between the fiery slave and the black-caped knight, attempting to discern their relationship. Lilith’s squeaky snarl did finally yank a giggle from Kira’s throat—but she swallowed it quickly, hiding her laughter as a none-too-convincing cough. “Yes, Mister Siku: how can you help them?”