Uyaraut felt bigger than Bright Moon originally had been. Perhaps it was because a dense ancient forest did not cage its horizons, so that one might climb to the highest cliffs and view the entire landscape all at once; maybe the ocean shimmering along one side gave the illusion of endless space, its hypnotic blue waves originating from a place far beyond where the naked eye could reach. When the pack called to one another, their voices rang clear and unhindered across miles of gently dancing grass and dark, jagged stone. For the first time in a long time, Kershov truly felt . . . at home. This kingdom most closely represented the tundra that he grew up in, only without that land’s war and death and harsh cruelty. Uyaraut, as dangerous as it might be to an outsider unfamiliar with its secrets, provided ample places to hide and hunt for its residents. The Ice King was connected intimately to his white sand beaches and his sharp-edged mountains. Though Uyaraut had been ripped into Blossom Forest just as violently and suddenly as every other environment the world now held, it exuded only safety for him. He loved it here . . . and would defend his subjects and their castle until the very last drop of blood spilled from his body.

Because of its enormous size, the ocean territory was impossible to patrol in a single day for one wolf. Kershov had taken to splitting up border duties among his wolves so that each of them covered a section of the invisible wall every day—conserving everyone’s strength while maintaining the strongest boundary markers. It was pure luck that the ivory warrior was the one investigating this sector of Uyaraut when a guest decided to show up. Her fur helped her blend nearly seamlessly into the snowy landscape around her, yet the Alpha captured her scent as easily as if she’d brushed right by his nose. His pace instantly increased, strides eating up the ground beneath him and equally pallid fur rippling along the monstrous musculature of his silhouette. He slowed to a stop mere yards from where the she-wolf sat, his ears thrown forward and his banner flying high over his spine to denote his rank.

“Were you planning on calling while you waited here?” The tone of his voice was devoid of accusation or mockery; Kershov asked the question honestly, for he saw the chilled seriousness in the damsel’s gaze. She seemed, upon first impression, someone who would have no issue waiting in perfect stillness until an audience reached her. Had her perfume not tasted so fresh on the air, Ker wouldn’t have felt surprised if she had committed to reposing for hours. That sort of patience was difficult to find. His own warriors, experienced as they were, still would prefer to call for somebody rather than restlessly waste time. Curious onyx portals glanced down at the vole at her paws. An offering? “Please state your name and reason for coming here. Though you appear to be a varg who does not mind the slow passage of time, I unfortunately have other duties to attend to.”