It was an especially frigid night. She had on a thick dress and had wrapped herself in furs, but she could still feel the cold biting at her skin. It was the wind, of course. The cold was tolerable, but once the wind picked up, there was little that could be done to protect oneself from it. She clung tighter as another particularly strong gust buffeted the side of the palace and swept through the balcony she looked out from. She turned her face from taking a full blast of it but then looked back out again at the thick forest that surrounded her home. The moon was out, casting everything in its opalescent glow, as the purples of the night sky reflected onto the snow, the trees, and everything below it. It was all too still, though. Other than the bats that took turns flying their patrols overhead, everything was quiet in the forest and it put a tight anxiety in her chest.

They should have been home by now, she thought, worriedly.

Alayne had welcomed the army back when they arrived, playing her part as their queen to ensure they were taken care of and felt the gratitude they deserved on their arrival home. Even when she'd been met with the news her eldest son had been lost in the blizzard that had swept through the countryside and her husband was still out looking for him, she'd put on her strong face to see to it that the men were well cared for.

It had been longer than a night since the soldiers had come back, though, and Alayne could do little but watch the forest trail that led to the grounds of their palace for the safe return of her husband and son. She was certain that Demetri would do everything he could to find their eldest. He was a hard man, ruthless by every definition of the word, but he'd go to great lengths for their family. Even when he was tough on their boys, she knew the world they lived in was tougher, and he was only preparing them to be leaders in it.

Erik hadn't yet begun to receive the full brunt of training Riccardo had, though. He was still just a child, head barely reaching Alayne's elbow when he was by her side, where he spent less and less time as his independence grew. Demetri was proud of the spirit Erik showed; Erik reminded him of himself at that age. Full of adventure, willful, and strong: he had the traits a young military commander should. It frightened and thrilled her to think of what her youngest son would become, how important he'd be in their world. She could see him riding off with his father, a force to be reckoned with as they conquered the surrounding lands, and the ever-growing threat the werewolves posed to them.

Riccardo had been nothing like that at that age. Alayne couldn't help but wonder what blame she had for it all. It had taken her so long to carry a child to full term. During that first century of her and Demetri's marriage, Alayne had lost many of the children that had taken root in her belly. It wasn't uncommon for their kind to have some trouble conceiving. Their birth rates were not so prolific as humans - who seemed to breed like rabbits. However, most vampires who felt in the family way could produce at least two children in a century. When she'd finally given birth to Riccardo, he'd also come to them ill and weak. He'd spent so much of his childhood bedridden with her and the doctor tending to him to see him through every illness. He'd started training to be a soldier and a leader later in life than her husband had wanted.

And now her firstborn, that sickly boy she'd coddled through every illness as a child had been lost in a storm. She could only hope that gryphon he was so fond of remained loyally at his side wherever he was.

"Mother!"

The shrill voice with the wooden doors opening to her balcony made her turn in time to see her youngest stepping out to greet her. Erik was still, in every way, a child. He was still years away from reaching adolescence and his voice was still high and baby in its delivery. His cheeks still had adorable chub to them. But despite these babyish features about him, Erik had the sharp, dark eyes of her husband that Riccardo had inherited as well rather than the rich red of her own. Erik's black hair was deep, raven black just as Demetri's and Riccardo's as well. Her husband's genes were strong and it was never more apparent than when she gazed at her sons and the features they shared with their father.

Erik already had all the command a prince of his age could, too, and wasn't shy about stepping up beside her, and putting his hands on the ledge of the stone balcony railing to look out over the snow-covered world. "Where are they?"

"I don't know, Erik," Alayne said with a sigh. "But your father won't return home without Riccardo, so he must still be looking out there somewhere."

Erik huffed his displeasure. "I could take a gryphon out to help look," he offered. "I was telling Finley at the aviary that I could. I'm getting good with my sword and if I stayed up high, werewolves wouldn't get me."

"You're still so little a strong wind would pick you up and blow you away," Alayne said amusedly. "And what would you do then?"

"I'm not *that* little," Erik said, defiantly. His ears turned flatly backward against the sides of his head. "Besides, I know Riccardo's secret whistles for Taizong. So I could find them easier than Father could."

"Your father has all of his generals out there," Alayne said. "Ivan and Luka and Ruben and Valentin. They'll find Riccardo even without his secret whistles." She put a hand on the boy and walked them back inside the palace, two servants opening and closing the doors as they stepped inside.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"I could help, though," Erik tried again.

"You will help by staying here where no one has to worry about where you are," Alayne scolded lightly.

Erik made a face at that. "I can do more," he grumbled. "One night you'll see. I'm going to be the fiercest warrior Father's ever had. I'll be even better than Riccardo."

"Well, fierce, little warrior, have you practiced tonight?"

"... No," Erik admitted.

Alayne laughed lightly much to her son's embarrassment. "Then you need to if you're ever going to fulfill these lofty dreams of yours."

"Will you watch me," Erik asked brightly.

"Yes. I'll watch," Alayne agreed. It would be a welcome distraction to her worry. "Go get changed and I'll have your sparring instructor meet us in the main hall."

Erik nodded with bright eyes and turned to run through the halls and back to his room.

"He has his father's confidence, doesn't he?"

Alayne turned to her loyal handmaiden, Verity, standing demurely back and smiled. "He does. I don't know if The Mother's blessed or cursed me with that."

"It's a blessing, of course, my queen," Verity said. "But maybe right now a little bit of a curse. I'm sure Finley had quite the time arguing that he couldn't just take a gryphon."

"Indeed he must have," Alayne agreed. "Would you be a dear and let his instructor know to meet us?"

"Of course, my queen," Verity said and took her heavy skirts in her hands to give her a curtsy before heading down the halls.

Erik ended up beating Alayne down to the main hall where he was dressed in more appropriate attire to spar in. The outfit was thick, but stretchy with a few areas of extra padding that Alayne was grateful for. Erik was still so little, not even a decade old, and much too young to be having real blows landed on his tiny body. The swords he practiced with still had blunted edges as well. He held one such sword now, frowning at it as she walked into the hall.

"When do you think I'll be able to practice with a real sword," he asked his sparring instructor.

The vampire standing beside Erik was a muscular man with deep-set red eyes and a bald head. Thick scars ran diagonally down from his left brow and down to the right side of his jaw. His name regularly escaped Alayne as she dealt with him so little. She knew him by his face, though, and when she did have to mention him, referring to him as Erik's sparring instructor did the trick. He was a newer member of their staff, as Riccardo had been taught by Demetri and his generals themselves. Since the war had increased in intensity, and her husband and his generals were busier, now, an instructor had seemed prudent to hire.

"When I hit you with mine less," the instructor answered Erik with a deep voice. He had an accent that Alayne was sure originated from the tropics in the south, but couldn't say which region specifically.

"You barely hit me anymore," Erik said, glancing at Alayne as she continued to cross the distance towards them in the large hall.

"We'll see how tonight goes, and if you're distracted or not trying to show off for your mother," the instructor hummed. He looked to the queen and bowed his head in respect. "Good of you to join us, my lady. I am glad you brought a coat. I wanted to take the young prince into the grounds to practice tonight. He's been working on using his terrain to his advantage rather than letting it work against him."

"The snow and ice are slippery," Erik grumbled.

"Let's proceed, then," Alayne said and gestured with her gloved hand towards the large, double doors that would lead out into the courtyard. From there, she would be able to keep a watchful gaze for any commotion that might indicate the return of the rest of her family.

Erik put everything he had into his swings at Master Quelii. He'd never struck the swordmaster, but with his mother watching he had to. He had to show her he wasn't a baby anymore! He could go out and help his father and find his brother! He was going to be the most fearsome soldier in his father's army! If he could just land a hit!

"You're sloppy tonight," the master said. "Remember your fundamentals. Keep your stance strong." With an easy push against Erik's small, wooden sword with his own, Erik was knocked down on his rump right into the snow.

"It's hard. The snow drags at my feet," Erik complained.

"That is why we are practicing out here," the master said. "Find your footing. Some night, this won't be practice." He swooshed his sword so sharply through the air that it whooshed before he pressed the pointy end into Erik's throat. The blunt, wood sword left no wound, but Erik felt as if it had. "And you'll be dead."

Erik huffed and pushed the sword away with a hand before getting up to his feet. He couldn't help but glance at his mother sitting on a bench nearby, only to find she wasn't staring at him but out over the grounds. "Mother, you're not watching," he called her out.

"Alright. I'm watching," she called back, focusing her eyes on him much to his approval.

"You need to focus more on me than your mother, boy," Quelii said and thrust his sword towards Erik's belly.

Erik deflected the thrust, skirting around to the left of it.

"Remember your footing," Quelii said, and let his sword meet with Erik's again to try to push him off balance. Erik's feet ground down, however, and Quelii nodded his approval before drawing his sword away to swing at the boy this time.

Erik ducked under the swing, popped back up, and tried to catch the opening left from Quelii's swing to get a hit on the swordmaster, but Quelii was quicker than he was expecting and his sword was deflected again. "Aaargh," he shouted in wordless frustration.

"Don't let your emotions get the best of you," Quelii said. "You'll forget what you're doing." He smirked and before Erik could react, he was pushed back again, stumbled, but ultimately fell into the snow once more. "And die."

A sword was at his throat again and Erik huffed heavily before letting himself fall back in the snow. He threw his mother another look from this vantage point, though, and saw a strange look on her face before she suddenly stood from where she'd been sitting.

"Mother?" Erik sat up, too, and looked out over the flat expanse of white covering the grounds of the palace to see his father emerging on his maned elk from the forest path that Erik knew led off to the human city nearby even if he'd never been there himself.

"They're back!" Erik got up to his feet.

"With guests," Alayne said. "Erik, come -"

But before his mother could finish, Erik transformed in a breath into a fuzzy-headed brown bat, his wooden sword abandoned on the ground as he flew out to cross the distance between his father and brother as quickly as he could.