Page 10

S now swirled around Calibarra's inner courtyard, gathering in drifts against the ancient stone walls. I watched from the covered walkway as Leif and Torsten charged through the fresh powder, their laughter echoing in the small space. Torsten had fashioned a crude snow fortress, decorated with bits of pine bough and stones. Leif, quieter but no less determined, was carefully forming snowballs with care that would have impressed master craftsmen.

"They have remarkable skill," Katyr said, joining me at the railing. "Look at how Torsten’s designed that snow fort. Strategic mindset, even in play."

I smiled, watching as Torsten executed a flanking maneuver that would indeed have made my commanders proud. "He has good instincts. Better than mine at his age."

"That's because you were too busy trying to live up to Taratheil’s impossible standard," Katyr replied, his voice hardening on our father's name.

My hand found the spot beneath my ribs where Daraith's ritual knife had carved out my death price for Elindir. The phantom pain was always worse in the cold. "Trying and failing."

Below us, Torsten had taken a direct hit from one of Leif's snowballs. Instead of anger, his face lit with delight at his friend's success. He fell backward into the snow with dramatic flair, clutching his chest as though mortally wounded. Leif's quiet laughter floated up to us, a sound still rare enough to feel like victory.

"You're good with them," Katyr observed. "Better than I would have expected."

I raised an eyebrow. "You thought I'd be terrible?"

"I thought you'd delegate." He leaned against the railing, his hands curled around a steaming mug. "Instead, you sit with Torsten at meals, check on Leif after his nightmares. All while managing a war on three fronts."

"I promised Elindir," I said simply.

"Is that all it is? A promise?"

I watched as the boys began constructing a snow figure, their heads bent together in concentration. Just weeks ago, they had been property, their lives worth less than the chains that bound them. Now they played in the courtyard as princes.

"No," I admitted finally. "It's not just the promise."

Katyr waited, his silence a space for my thoughts to fill. Of all my half-siblings, he had always been the most patient, the most willing to listen rather than compete for attention.

"When I look at them," I continued, "I see what could have been. What should have been."

"Your child," he said softly. "With Miya."

The name sent a familiar ache through my chest. Few dared speak of her, the slave whose execution had sparked the D'thallanar riots. Fewer still knew she had been carrying my child when Tarathiel ordered her hanged.

"She never even had the chance to feel it quicken," I said, my voice rough. "Father made sure of that."

Below us, Torsten had climbed onto Leif's shoulders, reaching up to place a pinecone atop their snow creation. They wobbled precariously before tumbling into the soft powder, their laughter bright against the winter silence.

"He was a monster to you," Katyr said quietly. "To all of us, in different ways."

"And yet we carry his blood." I turned to face my brother. "Does that ever frighten you? That some piece of him lives in us?"

Katyr studied me thoughtfully. "Every day. But then I remember what my father–my real father–taught me. That we choose who we become, regardless of whose blood we carry."

Marius Runecleaver had raised Katyr as his own, never betraying that the boy he loved was actually Tarathiel's bastard with his wife. He had died protecting that secret, and Katyr still wore his shorter hair in mourning, a rebellion against Runecleaver traditions.

"Your father was a wise man," I said. "I wish I had known him better."

"He would have liked what you're doing with them," Katyr gestured toward the boys. "He believed children should be cherished, not shaped into weapons."

The words hung between us, heavy with the weight of our shared history. Tarathiel had seen his children as nothing more than extensions of his will, pieces to be moved in his endless games of power. Those who failed to serve his purpose were discarded…Or worse.

"I think about it sometimes," I admitted. "What kind of father I would be? Whether I could break the chain of cruelty that runs through our family line."

Katyr's smile was tinged with sadness. "The fact that you worry about it means you already have."

Below us, the boys had completed their snow figure, a rough approximation of a wolf, its head tilted toward the sky in a silent howl. Torsten proudly circled their creation, making adjustments while Leif watched with quiet satisfaction.

"It’s hard to believe they were treated like property a few months ago," I said. "They’ve changed so much."

"History repeating itself," Katyr observed. "Just like Father. A slave who became king."

"And somehow became more cruel than his former masters ever were," I added bitterly. "He led a rebellion in the name of freedom, overthrew a tyrant king, and then became a worse monster himself. I've never understood how someone who broke his own chains could forge new ones for others. How a liberator could become such an oppressor."

"Power without healing becomes tyranny," Katyr said quietly. "He never confronted his pain, only transformed it into cruelty. Started a revolution only to betray its very purpose."

"That's what I fear sometimes," I admitted, watching the boys shape their snow creation. "That I'm carrying the same poison in my blood. That power will corrupt me just as it did him."

"But you're not him," Katyr said firmly. "You've done what he never could."

"And what's that?"

"You've loved someone enough to die for them. To put their freedom above your control." His eyes found mine. "Tarathiel never would have broken Elindir's collar. He certainly wouldn't have made him consort."

The mention of Elindir sent a familiar ache through my chest. "Elindir was a prince before he was a slave, before he became consort to a king," I said. "Another twist in this strange pattern we keep weaving."

"Who became the heart of a kingdom," Katyr finished for me. "Though he'd hate to hear you say it."

A laugh escaped me at that. "He would. He still refuses to sit through most council meetings."

Torsten had spotted us watching and was now waving frantically, shouting for us to come see their creation. Leif stood slightly behind him, his eyes hopeful despite his more reserved demeanor.

"We're being summoned," Katyr said with mock formality. "Shall we, Your Majesty?"

I pushed away from the railing. "You know I hate when you call me that."

"Why do you think I do it?" His smile was quick and mischievous, a glimpse of the boy he must have been before the weight of eight magical taps and a secret lineage fell upon his shoulders.

We descended the stairs to the courtyard, snow crunching beneath our boots. The boys rushed to meet us, Torsten chattering excitedly about their snow wolf while Leif hung back, watching my reaction with cautious eyes. Those eyes had seen too much cruelty. Trust came slowly to him, each smile a victory hard won.

"It's magnificent," I told them, circling the snow creation with exaggerated consideration. "Fit for the hall of kings. Though I think it needs one thing more..."

I removed my cloak and draped it ceremoniously around the snow wolf's shoulders. The rich fabric, emblazoned with the plum blossom of House Starfall, pooled regally in the snow. Torsten clapped his hands in delight while Leif's eyes widened.

"But that's your official cloak," Leif whispered, scandalized. "The one you wear for court."

"And now it honors the finest snow wolf in the realm," I said solemnly. "Every king needs proper attire."

Torsten immediately began adding more details to their creation, emboldened by my approval. Leif remained beside me, his small hand tentatively finding mine. The simple gesture tightened my throat.

"You're getting better at this," Katyr observed quietly. "Being the father they need, not the one Tarathiel was to us." His eyes moved to the boys, then back to me. "The father who sees children as treasures to protect, not possessions or pawns."

I squeezed Leif's hand gently, feeling the fragile bones beneath my fingers. Such a small thing to protect, yet so resilient despite everything. "I'm trying to be the father I needed when I was their age," I admitted. "The one who never came."

Katyr's expression softened. "I think that's exactly what makes you different from him."

"King Ruith!" Torsten called, oblivious to our conversation. "We need to name him. A king wolf needs a proper name."

I knelt beside their creation, bringing myself to their level. Snow immediately soaked through my trousers, but I ignored the discomfort. "What names have you considered?"

Torsten launched into an elaborate explanation of possible names, each more grandiose than the last. Leif listened with the patient expression of someone who had heard these suggestions many times already. Behind them, Katyr watched with a small smile, his golden curls bright against the winter landscape.

"What do you think, Leif?" I asked, deliberately drawing the quieter boy into the conversation. "What name would honor such a magnificent wolf?"

Leif considered the question with the seriousness only a child can bring to such matters. Finally, he said, "Vargulf."

Katyr and I exchanged startled glances. Vargulf, Lord of the Hunt in ancient elvish mythology, was not a name commonly known to human children. More personally, it had been an avatar of Vargulf that I had slain during my ritual king hunt - the massive white wolf whose heart I had cut out to claim my crown. The memory of blood on snow, of transformation and sacrifice, still haunted my dreams sometimes.

"Where did you hear that name?" I asked carefully, trying to keep my voice neutral.

"In the stories," Leif replied, gaining confidence. "Master Gracin tells us stories while he works. He said Vargulf protects those who are hunted, that he teaches them to become hunters instead." His eyes met mine with innocent earnestness. "Like us. We were hunted, but now we're learning to be strong."

I felt Katyr's gaze on me, knowing he understood the weight of that name, the blood price I had paid to the ancient god of hunters and prey. It was fitting for these former slave children to choose that particular deity as their protector.

The blacksmith who removed slave collars had apparently been sharing more than just his metalworking skills. I made a mental note to thank him, and perhaps encourage these history lessons.

"Vargulf is a powerful name," I told him. "A worthy choice."

Leif's slight smile was like sunlight breaking through clouds. Beside him, Torsten was already weaving an elaborate tale about their snow wolf's adventures, complete with dramatic gestures that threatened to topple their creation.

Katyr knelt beside me in the snow, his voice pitched for my ears alone. "You know, for someone who worries about being a father, you're showing remarkable natural talent."

"They're not mine," I reminded him.

"Aren't they?" He nodded toward Leif, who was now carefully adjusting the cloak around Vargulf's shoulders. "Elindir claimed them as his wards, and you claimed Elindir. Family isn't always about blood. You taught me that."

"Speaking of family," I said, changing the subject, "any word from your sources about Vinolia?"

A shadow crossed Katyr's face at the mention of his grandmother. His relationship with the Runecleaver matriarch was even more complicated than mine with Tarathiel.

"Her forces haven't moved," Katyr replied, his expression closing slightly. "But my informants report increased activity. More battle mages arriving, supplies being stockpiled. She's preparing for something."

I nodded, turning this information over in my mind. With Elindir and Niro sailing to Homeshore, with Aryn and Daraith headed to D'thallanar, our defensive positions were more vulnerable than I cared to admit.

The shift in Katyr's expression brought me back to the reality of our situation. While I enjoyed these moments with the boys, the dangers gathering at our borders couldn't be ignored.

"How many battle mages?" I asked, keeping my voice low so the children wouldn't hear.

"At least eight hundred confirmed," Katyr replied. "Plus the Wolfhearts with them."

I let out a slow breath, watching it cloud in the cold air. "And our own forces?"

"Stretched thin," he admitted. "With the Broken Blades contingent gone with Elindir, we're relying heavily on my apprentices. They're talented but inexperienced."

Before I could respond, a messenger appeared at the edge of the courtyard, snow clinging to his cloak. His hesitation told me he was reluctant to interrupt, but the sealed message in his hand meant the matter couldn't wait.

"Your Majesty," he called, bowing slightly. "Urgent reports from the northern outposts."

"Duty calls," I said to Katyr, squeezing Leif's shoulder gently before standing. "Keep an eye on them for me?"

"Go," Katyr nodded. "I'll make sure they don't construct an entire snow army while you're gone."

Torsten looked up as I moved away. "Are you leaving?"

"Just for a little while," I assured him, bending to meet his eyes. "When I return, perhaps we can add some more details to Vargulf. A proper wolf king needs attendants, doesn't he?"

His face brightened. "A whole pack! We'll make them while you're gone!"

I smiled, ruffling his dark curls before crossing to the messenger. As I took the sealed report, I cast one last glance at the scene behind me. Katyr knelt in the snow beside the boys, his head bent close to Leif's as they discussed their next creation. Something in my chest tightened at the sight. In another life, this might have been normal, just another family enjoying a winter's day, untroubled by war and politics.

The afternoon dissolved into a blur of parchment and ink. There were reports to read, orders to sign, messages to dictate. Northern borders, supply routes, defensive preparations… Endless details required my attention. Each document represented lives hanging in the balance, decisions that would determine whether families survived the winter, whether soldiers lived or died. I signed my name so many times my fingers cramped, the letters blurring before my eyes as afternoon faded toward evening.

When I finally emerged from my study, shadows had lengthened across the fortress. My mind still churned with troop movements and supply calculations, but my chest ached with a different, simpler need—to see how the boys' snow pack had turned out. To return to that moment of normalcy I'd been forced to abandon.

I found them not in the courtyard but in the great hall, already seated for the evening meal. Katyr sat beside them, watching Torsten struggle with his portion. Leif sat quietly on the other side, pushing food around his plate without actually eating.

I crossed the hall, nodding acknowledgments to warriors and servants who bowed as I passed. Conversation quieted briefly, then resumed as I slid onto the bench across from the boys. Without hesitation, I reached for Torsten's plate.

"Here, let me help with that," I said, taking his knife and cutting the meat into smaller, more manageable pieces. The simple act felt right, necessary. Something no servant could do as meaningfully as I could myself.

Torsten's eyes widened. "Kings cut food too?"

"This one does," I replied, moving to do the same for Leif's portion, though he'd barely touched it.

"You missed it!" Torsten exclaimed, his eyes brightening when he spotted me. "We made a whole wolf pack! Seven wolves, all with stick legs, so they stood up proper. And Leif made one with only three legs that looked so real Master Gracin came to see!"

"A clever design," I said, turning my attention to the quieter boy. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to see it."

Leif shrugged one thin shoulder, his eyes fixed on his plate. "It's all right. Kings have important things to do."

"Nothing more important than seeing a masterfully crafted three-legged snow wolf," I countered, keeping my tone light despite the ache his words caused. "Perhaps you could draw me a picture tomorrow?"

A small smile flickered across his face. "Sounds good. We won’t be able to play outside tomorrow, anyway. Katyr says a storm's coming."

I glanced at his still-full plate. "You should eat your pheasant, Leif. The cooks worked very hard to make it for you."

“Don’t like pheasant,” he muttered, pushing it around.

“And what don’t you like about it?”

“Too spicy,” he complained.

I pursed my lips and studied the boy. It was pretty far from spicy. If anything, I’d have called it bland. But perhaps when he said spicy, he meant something else. Perhaps it was too rich for someone used to simpler foods.

I gestured for one of the servants to come forward. “Can you have the kitchen send up some gravy and bread for Leif?”

The servant bowed and rushed away.

I smiled and winked at the boy. “Gravy makes everything better.”

"When is Elindir coming back?" Leif asked suddenly. His eyes seemed almost too round for his face, too big and innocent.

"Soon," I promised, trying to keep my voice steady. "He's doing important work, but he'll return as quickly as he can. He made me promise to look after you both while he's away."

Leif watched me curiously. "Did you have a mother?”

The question caught me off guard, but I answered gently. "I did. Everyone does.”

“Not us,” Leif said, turning back to his plate.

I set down my utensils, giving him my full attention. "What do you mean by that, Leif?" I asked gently.

He shrugged one thin shoulder, eyes still fixed on his plate. "Just that we don't have parents. We're orphans."

But there was something in his voice that suggested deeper thoughts. The servant returned with a small pitcher of gravy and fresh bread. I took them with a nod of thanks, carefully pouring a thin stream of gravy over Leif's food.

"Family isn't just about the parents you were born to," I said carefully. "It's about who cares for you, who makes you feel safe."

Torsten, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly piped up. "But we do have a family now! We have Elindir and King Ruith. That's like having two fathers instead of a mother and father."

The simple declaration caught me off guard. I looked to Katyr, who smiled faintly, clearly approving of Torsten's assessment.

Leif frowned at his plate. "They're not really our fathers though," he said quietly. "We're just wards. That's what the servants call us. 'The consort's wards.'"

Something shifted in my chest at his words. These boys had become more than just Elindir's rescued slaves, more than political symbols of our commitment to ending slavery. They had somehow, in the space of weeks, become something I'd never expected to have.

"Would you want that?" I asked, surprising myself with the question. "To have Elindir and me as your fathers, not just your guardians?"

Leif's eyes widened, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. "Can elvish kings even adopt human children?"

I straightened, a hint of my royal authority entering my voice. "I am the king. I can do as I please." Then I softened, offering him a smile. "And what would please me most is to give you both a real family."

Katyr chuckled, leaning forward. "There's historical precedent too," he added thoughtfully. "Unusual, certainly, but then, breaking with tradition isn’t always a bad thing."

"We could be princes!" Torsten exclaimed, bouncing on his bench with sudden excitement. "Prince Torsten and Prince Leif of... of..."

"Clan Starfall," I supplied, the idea taking deeper root with each passing moment. "Though we'd need to discuss it with Elindir when he returns."

Leif studied me with that careful, assessing gaze that seemed too old for his small face. "You'd really want us? Forever?"

The vulnerability in the question made my throat tighten. I moved to kneel beside his bench, putting us at eye level.

"Leif," I said gently, "you and Torsten have already become part of our family. The only question is whether you want to make it official."

He didn't answer immediately, his expression thoughtful as he considered my words. Finally, a small, tentative smile appeared—the most genuine I'd ever seen from him.

"I think I'd like that," he said quietly. "To belong somewhere. To belong to someone."

"Me too!" Torsten exclaimed, nearly knocking over his cup in excitement. "Can we start now? Do we get crowns?"

I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to calm his bouncing. "We need to wait until Elindir returns," I explained. "This is a decision we should make together, all four of us. He cares for you both deeply, and he should be part of this moment."

Torsten's face fell slightly, but he nodded with surprising understanding. "Because he's our other father. We need both of you."

"Exactly," I said, feeling a surge of warmth at hearing the word 'father' applied to us so naturally. "But that doesn't mean we can't start preparing. Perhaps new quarters closer to mine and Elindir's, and new clothes would be appropriate in the meantime."

"And training?" Leif asked, perking up. "Like the warrior apprentices have?"

"If that's what you want," I agreed. "Though we'll need to find appropriately sized training swords."

"I can help with that," Katyr offered. "I was smaller than most at their age. My first training weapons might suit them."

Torsten's eyes grew round. "Real prince weapons? From when you were little?"

Katyr nodded solemnly, though I caught the hint of amusement in his eyes. "Properly sized for young warriors in training."

Leif tentatively tried a piece of meat soaked in gravy, then took another bite with more enthusiasm. “I think I’d like an ax,” he said.

The unexpected declaration made me pause. "An ax? That's a rather serious weapon for someone your size."

"I'm strong," Leif insisted, sitting up straighter. "Master Gracin says I have good arms for smithing. He lets me help with the small hammers sometimes."

I couldn't help smiling at his earnestness. "Perhaps we can start with something a bit less... lethal. Wooden practice weapons first, then we'll see about steel when you're ready."

A sudden commotion near the hall windows drew everyone's attention. Warriors and servants alike were gathering to peer outside, their expressions a mixture of awe and concern.

"It's starting," Katyr said, rising from his seat. "The storm I sensed earlier. It's arriving faster than I expected."

We moved to the nearest window, the boys hurrying alongside us. Outside, the world was transforming. What had begun as a gentle snowfall was rapidly becoming something more dramatic. Great swirling curtains of white obscured the distant mountains, while closer at hand, wind-driven snow danced in intricate patterns around Calibarra's towers.

"Will it be bad?" Leif asked, pressing his face to the glass.

"Probably the worst storm we've seen this winter," Katyr replied, his expression thoughtful as he studied the darkening sky. "But we're safe here. Calibarra has weathered countless winters."

"That means we'll be snowed in tomorrow," Torsten said, his face brightening with the universal joy of children granted unexpected freedom. "No lessons and no training in the yard!"

"But plenty of other things to do," I added, placing a hand on each boy's shoulder. "A king’s work is never done. The same can be said for princes."

As we stood watching the gathering storm, Leif's small hand found mine. He didn't speak, but when I glanced down, I caught a glimpse of something I'd rarely seen on his serious face: a smile.

Outside, the wind howled and snow swirled, nature's fury building to its crescendo. But here, within these ancient walls, something else was building too—something warm and precious and entirely unexpected. A family, forged not by blood but by choice and strange circumstance.