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Chapter One - Luka

T he snow-capped mountains are blurry white smudges in the distance. Luka Lockehart squints through the carriage’s shutters, his eyes burning against the sun. He shelters his face with a hand and a fur hat, but even with that, the icy capital of Northern Kitera, Akull, is impossible to make out, all jagged mountains and gray sky. A strange cold grips him, and he shudders, trying to shake off the discomfort.

“Well?” Darri asks from Luka’s side. He dodges the sunlight leaking through the window with a scowl. “Can you sense Cathalan?”

Luka resists the urge to look back at the two dozen guards flanking the carriage – at the guard who stands exactly two men down on the right side, who is not actually a guard but a Kiteran soldier forced to masquerade as a Balivartian. Who is actually an impyassus , a man who can turn into a beast.

Who is actually Luka’s mate, Theodori Hunter Wolf-Born. Or to Luka, just Theo.

“Cathalan is in Akull looking for allies under his guise as a noble, so obviously not,” Luka says instead when Darri’s gaze becomes insistent. “I can’t see through mountains.” The guard rolls his eyes, looking pointedly at Luka’s palm. Luka, realizing he has been pressing against the full-moon shaped scar with the curve of his thumbnail, immediately stops.

“I know you’re worried about him,” Luka continues, knowing that Darri will put him on his heels otherwise, “but my marriage bond to him can only feel if he’s in pain. Nothing more.”

“That you know of,” Darri points out with raised brows.

The thought brings Luka little comfort.

His marriage to Cathalan, the newly crowned King of Balivartia, the country south of Luka’s home, was something Luka fought hard for… and regretted immensely. The bond between the First Consort and the King of Balivartia means any injury is shared between them – thus preventing Luka’s mate, Theo, from immediately betraying Cathalan when they arrive at Theo’s home, Akull. That is, if Theo were to learn of the bond’s existence. If Luka were to finally tell him.

But the bond only conveys pain. At least, so far it’s only conveyed pain. It wakes Luka sometimes, in the early hours of the morning: strange pricklings on his skin, a phantom ache around his wrists. He supposes that Cathalan is probably subjected to a similar experience when Luka’s shoulders stiffen from hours of sitting painfully upright in the carriage, relentlessly rocked as the roads only grow stonier, but it’s impossible to know.

A knock rattles the door, and Luka startles from his reverie. Darri shutters the window before glancing through the blinds and says, “What is it?”

“We’re approaching the mountain’s base,” a guard rumbles. “From here, we’ll have to proceed on foot.”

“And the snow?”

Luka follows the guard’s gaze to the pale blue sky – and the distant gray clouds.

“Judging by the clouds,” the guard says, “not far off. If we’re lucky, they’ll hold off until afternoon.”

“We’ll break here then. Pick our weakest two and have them wait at the mountain’s base in case we need well-rested messengers upon our return.” Darri glances at Luka. Luka presses his hands into his sleeves, the cold sinking into his bones despite his furs. Darri says, “Bring us some wineskins.”

Luka closes his eyes and rests against the lumpy headrest. A sudden warmth fills his chest –a feeling not directed toward Darri –not directed toward anyone. He doesn’t have the time to contemplate it before Darri presses a wineskin into his hand and says, “Drink. We have a long road ahead of us.”

Yes – a road winding through the treacherous pass before arriving at the winter capital of the barbarians of the north. The capital of the people who invaded Luka’s homeland not three months before.

And now, Luka and Theo will have to beg them for help… assuming the Kiterans don’t kill them first.

The guard predicted correctly: some few hours later, the first flakes of snow begin to fall.

As the clouds darken with heavier snows, Luka and Darri leave their carriage behind. Darri ignores Luka’s protests as he forces Luka onto a stubborn old mule. They use a second beast to carry their heaviest supplies. Afternoon has only turned the day colder, and the howling wind knifes through Luka’s cloak. In seconds, he’s lost all feeling in his fingers. Darri, tucked beneath a heavy cloak and hood, shoulders a heavy traveling pack. Luka again resists looking behind him to the couple dozen guards, to the second man on the right, as they climb the mountain. Theo must be there; the heavy weight of his gaze rests on the back of Luka’s neck, drawing the fine hairs to salute.

After an hour of ascent, the mule stumbles for the third time. The snow has grown only higher, and even the surefooted beast looks unsteady. Darri sighs as he gestures to a guard. Luka dismounts at Darri’s insistence, grateful to leave behind the mule’s awkward gait. The guard produces a length of wool scarf, mittens, and another hat, and Darri swaddles Luka. Luka attempts to protest, but his guard works quickly, muffling Luka’s cries with fabric.

“You’re already turning blue,” Darri says when Luka shoves the scarf out of his mouth. “Cathalan will have my head if we lose any of your toes along the way. He needs all his toes.”

Luka adjusts the hat, indignant and angry that Darri is right. He rubs his hands together and sensation slowly returns –as does the odd warmth in his chest. “At least let me walk,” he says. “It will keep me warm.”

Darri clearly wants to protest, but Luka’s argument has too much logic. “You will tell me if you grow tired,” he says fiercely, and with no small amount of relief, Luka leaves his mule behind. The odd warmth in his chest flickers again. He ignores the sensation, as it feels nothing like his own, and concentrates on the snow crunching beneath his boots. He had told Darri he couldn’t feel Cathalan from this far away, but was he wrong? By the time he thinks as much, though, the sensation has gone.

The mountains tower before them. Luka cranes his neck back to see the peaks. Behind them, a pair of guards remain with the horses and carriage, making camp on the back of the pale countryside. It’s impossible for Luka to ignore the pang of envy in his chest as he imagines his descent into a worsening cold. He burrows deeper into his cloak, shivering, and automatically lifts his feet when a guard comes to attach snowshoes to his boots.

“We have two, maybe two and a half, days over the mountain!” shouts their Kiteran guide. “The descent will be easier. Akull is waiting for us in the valley on the other side.” The guide isn’t impyassus , but he looks pure Kiteran with his pale skin and eyes and the long beard whipping from his chin. He met Darri and Luka’s carriage two days ago, assessing them both with narrowed eyes.

Luka was nervous until the Kiteran said, “ This is the consort?” looking at Luka like one might a rather stupid child. Darri bristled, but Luka only felt relief: They don’t recognize me .

Their guide, Leif, pulls his fur hood over his head as he looks Darri and the guards over. “It would have been better for us to wait until the storm passed,” he begins.

Darri cuts him off. “You said there was a shelter halfway from the peak, yes?”

When Leif nods with a sharp jerk of his chin, Darri smiles. “The storm will be here any minute. We’re wasting the day’s warmth, aren’t we?”

Leif grumbles and turns, lifting his legs awkwardly as he begins to lead them up the mountain. His mittened hand finds the nearly-buried rope guide, and it is only when Luka squints (it’s almost impossible to see in the thickening storm), that he realizes the mountain’s face has shallow stairs.

When a female guard gestures Luka onwards, he flares his snowshoes the best he can and attempts to follow. He manages two steps before his heel lands on an exposed sheet of ice, and the world falls –

Only for him to land in warm arms.

Luka doesn’t need to look up to know who caught him. He only needs to inhale the scent of woodsmoke and sweat. It’s hard not to linger there, to dream of the things those arms – those hands – could do to him –

He opens his eyes to find Theo staring down at him with a crackling brown gaze. The Kiteran looks at Luka like he wishes to strip away Luka’s furs and taste the skin beneath. Oh, those eyes – any lingering chill in Luka’s bones immediately vanishes beneath their attention.

Darri clears his throat. “Are you alright, Consort?”

Luka jerks away from Theo – and this time, he can’t help the nervous glance he casts toward Leif. Though the other Kiteran lacks the superior senses of an impyassus , it’s surely only a matter of time before he realizes that Theo looks nothing like the other Balivartian guards – heavy furs or no.

It will also only be a matter of time before said Balivartian guards – who now cast measuring looks toward Luka and Theo –realized something is off about their newest member. Luka is, after all, their new First Consort. Luka belongs to Cathalan. Guards shouldn’t be cradling him in their arms. That, and most of the guards here are familiar with each other. Thankfully, they will only have to keep Theo’s identity secret until they arrive at Akull.

Carefully, Luka ignores the pressure of Theo’s eyes as he stands. He bites his tongue in concentration as he follows their Kiteran guide.

“Try to keep your need for humping under control until you have a tent to conceal your… well, tent,” Darri hisses as he slides past.

Luka’s cheeks flame, and he shoots the guard a nasty look. Darri is the only other who knows of Luka and Theo’s… relationship. If another of the guards were to learn… Luka swallows. Darri reminded Luka before they left for Kitera:

“Kings are allowed more consorts, but consorts can only have one king. Until a royal heir is produced, any consort who takes another lover will see their lover executed – usually in creative ways, though that always depended on the king.”

Luka’s mittened hands ball into fists as he resumes the climb. Every inhale scorches his lungs. He focuses on the flaring of his ankles and the burn of exertion in his legs. And on his anger.

After all, Luka can’t forgive Theo yet – not after the Kiteran hid the fact that they are both destined for each other as mates. Theo kept this from him, allowing Luka tortuous months of not understanding why even a whiff of the Kiteran’s scent chased all logic from his head.

Now isn’t the time for Luka to think about Theo’s strong hands on his waist, stroking down his thighs before wrapping around his –

No. Now is a time to focus. To sharpen his anger as Luka travels into the nest of the barbaric enemies of his people.

There is more than just Luka and Theo’s lives on the line, after all.

There will be no room for error. Luka will need to be careful to hide his feelings for Theo. He can’t trust Cathalan to help him – not with the king’s betrayal of binding him and Luka together still so fresh. Even with the years of childhood friendship between them, Luka has found himself hard pressed to forgive the newly crowned Balivartian king. The man cannot help but to lie. Even now, he lies to their potential allies in the north, having gone ahead of them under the guise of a noble for his safety… and to observe the Kiterans without their knowledge of his title.

Luka has no time for forgiveness, anyway.

If he and Theo can’t find allies in Akull, Luka won’t be able to save his brother, Cassian – or his unborn sibling. They’ll need Kiterans that will be sympathetic to their cause. Cassian is likely the same as Luka, an impyassus , a beastly creature in the eyes of their home country of Siacchi. Luka and Theo hope they’ll be able to find supporters – at the very least Theo’s old mentor, Commander Jennison, to help them with the rescue.

Luka and Theo have just over two months until the next spring. Cassian will, undoubtedly, fail the next Bombani Exam.

And if Luka can’t be there to save his brother by then, their mother will kill him.