The first morning of true winter dawned cold and clear. A foot of fresh, bright snow lay on the ground. Nath nearly gave into the urge to gather some up between his hands to crush together. He busied himself saddling a horse, instead, and watched with envy as a few of Gruffydd’s men threw fistfuls of the stuff at one another. Only a year ago he would have joined in — a prince could throw a few snowballs in good fun. A hunted king could not.

“What’s up your arse this morning?” Gruffydd asked him. They stood together between two mounts, partially hidden from the crowd that formed outside the house as more people made ready to ride out. Aside from a few odd looks, he hadn’t given Nath away to anyone but Owain, Rhys, and Tymon.

Nath tugged the cinch around the horse’s middle. “Trouble sleeping.”

He may try to change course. Eva’s words wore on his mind while the ghost of her hand on his cock tore at his balls. Nath swore as the buckle slipped out of his fingers.

Gruffydd reached past him to straighten the leather and soothed the animal with a hand on its flank. More horses walked between the trees, saddled and ready to ride. A cart loaded with trunks and blankets waited just outside the house for the last of the camp to be packed in. He watched Rhys hand the village girls up onto the back.

“Just five days, Nath. Six or seven if we’ve got to dig out a path for the cart. If we ride alone, you could make it in three,” Gruffydd said.

Nath saw Eva’s golden head appear near the back of the cart. She wore her wolf pelt around her shoulders, and someone had given her one of the blankets to wrap around herself for the ride. Only when she climbed up into the cart beside the village girls did he realize how young they seemed beside her. The witch with the flowers looked like a child.

“You shouldn’t have brought those girls here,” he said to Gruffydd. He grabbed his horse’s lead and nudged it around to face where Tymon had mounted his favorite warhorse to lead them on. “We’ll take no Teeth if we have to worry about women.”

“Who says I’m worried?” Gruffydd strapped a quiver to his mount’s side. The arrows inside were bright as his yew bow and fletched with hawk feathers. Like his folding chairs, Gruffydd preferred his weapons to be both functional and elegant. “They got their coin, their fathers bid them farewell. When we get to their turnoff, they can walk back the rest of the way on their own. Your ladyship should go with them if you’re worried.”

Nath swung onto his horse before guilt could catch up to him. He spurred his animal toward the front of the loose column forming at the rusted gate. When they got to Thornhaven, he knew he couldn’t hide his crown from Eva any longer. Knowing she rode behind him with her eyes on his back made him sit up a little straighter in the saddle.

He rode toward the center of the men. An old road started up a quarter mile from the house, wide enough for three abreast. Owain, astride a spirited barb, circled his mount from the head of the party to the back every few hours to mind the men and guard the rear. With such a small group, Nath felt as though he rode through the woods completely naked. In an odd way, he’d felt safer when he’d been alone with only Eva and a sword.

The first night on the road brought more snow. The next took them to the turnoff where the old road joined a well-worn path lined with stones that ran north to south. Nath recognized a few more lumps of saints’ statues at the crossroads. The misshapen eyes poked out from where the previous night’s snow had started to melt away. If his men were alive somewhere, Nath had to get to them before the next storm. It could come at any time in the month, roaring out of the north where the cold air met the warm, wet current blown in from the sea to the south. Two months at best he thought he had before all the roads from the mountains were buried, and even the girls in their village would need to burrow within their homes like rabbits to stay alive.

Owain reigned up beside Nath, his lone working arm held across his body with the leads wrapped around the forearm for better grip. Frost clung to his eyebrows and beard. He greeted Nath with a short nod of his head.

“A tree blocks the road down to the valley” he reported. “We’ll need a few axes to clear the way for the cart. Could turn off here, toward the village. Or thin out the bush around it and drag the cart through the snow…”

Nath grimaced. He nudged the horse away from Owain to cover his glance over one shoulder. Eva stood a quarter mile back alongside the cart with the three village girls. At the exact moment he looked for her, she turned her head toward him. When their eyes met, he felt again as though he’d jumped from a cliff. The look lasted only a moment but it was long enough for him to imagine what she might say if she’d overheard.

She warned me about this. Nath turned back to Owain, but found Griffy and Tymon had drawn up to him as well. The four of them together on horseback drew the attention of the others. With so many eyes on him, Nath knew he couldn’t hide it any longer. He was the king, and all their lives depended on him. Even the traitor’s who did not want him to come to Thornhaven.

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Nath drew his sword. When he did, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Something shifted high up in the branches of a redwood, as if a hand waved down.

“Down!” Nath shouted.

Something thin and black shot through the air. Nath heard a dull thud when the arrow caught the neck of Gruffydd’s horse. The piebald screamed and flung him. Nath’s own mount reared, but he kept his saddle from years of long practice. His eyes raked the trees, picking out blurs of movement between the trees. Arms and legs wrapped in black dyed sackcloth gave the appearance of shadows darting between trees. From the bursts of motion, little pinpricks of shadow broke off, resolving to arrows when they sunk into flesh and wood. Shouts sprung up from one end of the line to the other while the attack spread.

“The king! The king,” Owain shouted. “Look to your king!”

Nath shot the man a murderous look. His old, thundering voice drew all eyes toward them -- including the archers’. Tymon thrust himself between Nath and the trees and an arrow found his back. Nath was off his horse in another moment and crouched down where it would be harder for an arrow to find him. Only then did he notice Griffy pinned with one leg stuck beneath his dead horse, face tight with pain. Nath darted toward his cousin to shield him. Hooves stomped to either side of them while Tymon fought to keep on his saddle. Owain had a hold of his bridle, trying to keep his erstwhile ally upright.

Nath shoved at Griffy’s mount to get it from his leg. His cousin wriggled out from beneath, dragging his broken knee over the icy ground. Nath yanked him to his feet, and shouted at the trees.

“So it’s not going to be the crescent this time, you bastards? Come and get me, then! Catch me if you fucking can!” Nath heaved Gruffydd up onto the back of his mount. He slapped the beast on the flank and it kicked once before bolting. Nath waved his blade in the air and shouted as loud as he could, “Thornhaven! All loyal men ride for Thornhaven! Your king commands it! The rest of you cowards stay here and die!”

It was not his finest speech as king, but it was obeyed. The two dozen men still mounted kicked forward, taking up the cry. A few had gone into the trees to meet the attack head on. Someone cut the traces of the horse that had pulled the cart and rode past bareback. Nath saw the chestnut tresses of a village girl flying over the shoulder of the knight who’d pulled her into his saddle.

Nath let them all ride past. He could, if he wanted, grab hold of a flying mane and pull himself onto a horse. But he was done running. He planted his feet and fixed his grip on the leather wrapped hilt. When the last horse rode past, it was just him alone on the road with the dead and the wounded.

And Owain.

“Traitorous bastard,” Nath swore at him.

Owain’s eyes never left Nath’s sword. His one good arm still held the reins of Tymon’s fine horse. His missing arm was the arm he’d used to teach Nath his first positions, the four angles of attack against the straw dummies in the castle courtyard. Before he’d lost it to the mages at the Battle of the Battle of the Horn. The old soldier let go of the leather straps and reached for his own sword.

“Lefties. Always backward,” he said.

It was all the confession Nath would get. He was not skilled with words like Emmond and saw no point in arguing with a man who’d decided to kill him. Nath shifted his glare from Owain’s face to the horse’s chest. He wanted to see how the animal tensed. When the muscle by its right shoulder tensed, Nath shifted his left foot, preparing a lunge. Hand-to-horse fights relied on tight, sharp motions. He braced his toe and waited for Owain to charge him. The archers could’ve picked him off right then, but they waited with their bows trained on them. Whatever traitorous notion had seized him, Owain was still a knight of Ammar. He even raised his blade in salute before he charged.

Nath slid to one side with his blade high. He met Owain’s slash just over his head and turned the other man’s blade to glance across his horse’s flank. Nath took a second step to get out of range while the animal kicked its hind legs. Behind him he heard the creak of bows as the archers kept their arrows trained on him. He squared his feet and brought his sword down, ready for the next charge.

Before it could come, he heard a scream from the woods. A wet snap and snarl drew Nath’s gaze to one side where he saw a blur of white-gray fur. Owain’s horse shied and skiddled, its eyes rolling when it caught the scent.

“Wolf! Wolf!”

Nath grinned.

She charged straight for the horse. Nath watched, as he had when she called the bear, with a mixture of awe and terror. Now that he knew Eva was under the skin, he felt as though he could see the shape of her moving beneath the white-gray fur. Her taut, shapely legs moved as the wolf circled to one side of Owain’s mount. The horse screamed and flung him.

Nath heard the snap of bowstrings as a volley of arrows shot toward the wolf. Four shafts sprouted from its back where they hit. Nath’s stomach dropped as if he’d seen Eva wounded — but the wolf never stopped moving. A normal animal would have at least yelped. This wraith she’d summoned merely sank its teeth into Owain’s horse and tore until bright red blood spilled over the ground.

This was his chance. If you’re close enough to get stabbed, you don’t deserve to be king! Tymon’s horse started to blot at the sight of the wolf. Nath lunged for it as it passed him. He grasped the feathery white mane with one foot braced on the stirrup, and swung into the saddle. An arrow whipped past his ear as he gave it his heels. Behind him, he heard Eva snarl and the dying scream of whatever man she lunged for next.

Nath kicked the horse into a dead run.