The peace we’d had these past few months felt like a lie I kept telling myself, and I was running out of ways to believe it. The cold had settled over Askalda like a heavy blanket, freezing everything solid, and somewhere in that silence, I’d started to forget what danger sounded like. But I knew better. I knew in my bones that Rina was just waiting. The snow kept her away, same as it kept us trapped here. But spring would come. The rivers would thaw, the passes would open, and she’d be right there on the other side of the melt, ready to finish what she’d started. I could feel it coming, the same way I could feel this baby kicking at my ribs; inevitable, impatient, and impossible to ignore.
For now, my mates still trained. Of course they did. Warriors didn’t get winter breaks just because their fingers might freeze off.
I got dressed that morning like I was preparing for battle. Layer after layer, wool and fur until I looked like a walking pile of laundry with legs. Veylan’s pelt went over everything, the one he’d hunted for me during that awful storm. It still smelled like smoke and some oils we’d used to keep the leather soft, but I didn’t mind. It swallowed me whole, kept me warm, although I looked like a fat bear ready for hibernation.
I turned around and nearly tripped over my own cubs. Four golden fuzzballs tumbling around my ankles, biting each other’s tails, rolling in the snow like they didn’t even feel it. They crashed into my legs, shook themselves off, then went right back to wrestling.
"Let’s go see your daddies," I said, trying to adjust the wrap across my chest without exposing myself to the wind. "You guys ready?"
Four pairs of amber eyes blinked up at me. Four little mewls answered back. My heart did that thing it always did, that painful squeeze that meant I loved them so much it actually hurt.
We headed out through the village, the cubs running ahead in their fur forms, leaving tiny paw prints everywhere. I waddled behind them, one hand on my belly, the other gripping Veylan’s fur, my breath coming out in white puffs. Every step sucked. My hips felt like they were trying to separate from my body, and this baby seemed determined to kick my bladder into submission.
The training grounds sat past the main dwellings, just a beaten-down patch of snow where everyone had walked the white away. I could hear the fighting before I could see it, wood cracking against wood, guys grunting and shouting, the sounds bouncing off the cliffs.
And there they were. All of them. Stripped down to the waist like the cold didn’t exist, steam literally rising off their skin. Ravin moved like water and death combined, showing some younger warrior how to parry. Leon and Veylan circled each other, all teeth and focus. Caelion practiced alone, looking weirdly graceful for a guy who lived in water. And Soryn, half-shifted, was beating the hell out of a wooden post with his tail.
The tigers were there too. Most had gone home with Aureon’s uncle, back to their jungle, but a few stayed. Aureon, obviously. And that other one who kept staring at Wren like she was made of sunlight.
Wren. Poor Wren, who’d been so sick Layla thought she might not make it. But she’d pulled through, and now the whole village knew she was pregnant. Her and that quiet beast mate of hers finally managed it. I was happy for her, I really was, even if I worried about her being strong enough.
I found the viewing platform, basically just a raised area covered in furs where the females could sit without getting trampled. Layla and Rhonda were already there, talking to Wren, who was wrapped in white that matched her pale hair and pink eyes.
"Hey girls," I managed, grabbing the post to haul myself up. I was practically wheezing.
"Hey Kyr," Layla laughed, looking at my face. "You look like you just ran miles up a hill."
"Yeah," I breathed, collapsing onto the furs. "This pregnancy feels like I’m carrying actual rocks. Heavy ones. That kick."
I’d barely gotten my breath back when I smelled him. Tiger. Sweat. That musk that was somehow different from my lions. Aureon dropped down beside me, breathing hard from whatever he’d been doing, his chest heaving, white hair stuck to his forehead. He’d stripped down like the others, and I could see the bruises my mates had given him had started fading into new muscle he was building.
"Hello, beautiful female," he said, those golden eyes way too bright for someone who should be exhausted. "You still look so beautiful, even with pregnancy."
I just stared at him. Who talked like that? Who just... said things? No games, no subtlety, just straight-up compliments while dripping sweat on my furs?
"Thanks," I said, because what else do you say? My brain was scrambling for something better, something that would establish boundaries or whatever, but he was already grinning like he’d won something.
Then Ravin was there.
I didn’t even see him move, but suddenly my First Mate was beside me, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his stomach to soak his waistband. He stared at Aureon with this look that wasn’t quite murder but definitely wasn’t friendly. Like he was considering where to bury the body.
"Aureon," Ravin said, in that voice that held authority, that made me want to sit up straighter. "You still have training. Your uncle left you in my care."
Aureon’s face crumpled into a pout that should have looked ridiculous on a grown male but somehow didn’t. "I don’t understand why he did that," he complained, waving toward the south like his uncle was still standing there. "I’m an adult now. I don’t need a keeper."
"He’s worried," Ravin said, softer but not soft. "You’re the only son of the chief, his brother’s kid. The last heir. Since you didn’t want to leave until you found a mate within our tribe, he left you with me where he’d know you’d be safe."
"He should’ve just stayed then," Aureon muttered, crossing his arms, his lower lip pushing out. "I’m not a cub to be coddled."
I smiled. I couldn’t help it. He was like an overgrown kitten trying to roar, all bruised pride and stubborn optimism. It was annoying and kind of adorable at the same time.
Ravin caught it. That smile. His eyes narrowed at me in this way that said do you find him attractive now? Do you want him as another mate?
I cleared my throat, wiping the smile off my face, and turned back to my friends like I hadn’t just been mentally charmed by the tiger cub I was supposed to ignore. The winter would end eventually. I’d have to make real decisions then.
The training resumed with a violence that made the air itself seem to shiver. Ravin called for order, his voice cutting through the grunts and heavy breathing of the assembled males. He paired them off with the casual cruelty of a leader who knew exactly how to push each warrior to their edge. When his golden eyes fell on Aureon, a smile touched his lips that held no warmth at all.
"Again," Ravin said, tossing the tiger prince a wooden practice sword. "Show me what my brother taught you."
Aureon caught the weapon, his own smirk firmly in place, and launched himself forward.
The fight was brutal. Ravin moved like thunder contained in flesh, each strike carrying the weight of years of command and conquest. Aureon was no match for him, not truly, but the boy had heart. He took hits that would have felled lesser males, rolling with the impact and coming back up with a laugh that seemed to irritate Ravin more with every exchange. The tiger prince blocked a blow meant for his ribs, the crack of wood on wood echoing sharp as a gunshot and spun away with a grace that was almost beautiful.
"Good," Ravin admitted, though his jaw was tight. "But not good enough."
He ended it with a sweep of his leg that sent Aureon sprawling into the snow, the practice sword flying from his grip. The tiger prince lay there for a moment, staring at the grey sky, then laughed and bounced back to his feet like the fall had been nothing.
"Again?" Aureon suggested, breathless and grinning.
"Leon," Ravin called, sheathing his own weapon. "Your turn."
My second mate approached with the predatory patience of his kind, his golden hair darkened with sweat, his muscles coiled and ready. Where Ravin had been controlled, almost clinical in his brutality, Leon carried a personal edge. He did not like this tiger cub. He did not like the way Aureon looked at me, spoke to me, smiled at me.
They circled each other, and I could see the difference immediately. Aureon was enjoying this, his eyes bright, his body loose and ready. He wanted to learn, wanted to test himself against the best. But Leon wanted something else entirely. He wanted to hurt. He wanted to drive home a point that had nothing to do with training and everything to do with possession.
Leon struck first, faster than I had expected, and Aureon barely blocked it. The force of the blow drove the tiger prince back three steps, his feet sliding in the packed snow. He looked up at Leon, and that smug smile touched his lips again, the one that said he knew exactly what this was about and found it amusing.
"Is that all, Prince Leon?" Aureon taunted, though his arms shook from the impact. "I thought you would be stronger."
Leon snarled, a sound purely leonine, and attacked in earnest.
The fight that followed was less a lesson and more a beating disguised as sparring. Leon drove Aureon across the training ground, blow after blow raining down with a ferocity that made me wince. But the tiger prince never stopped smiling, even when blood trickled from his lip, even when his blocks came slower and slower. He was enjoying this, the madman, enjoying the proof that our males were as strong as he hoped, as worthy of serving as he believed.
"Enough," Ravin finally called, and Leon stepped back, chest heaving, his eyes still murderous.
Aureon sat in the snow, laughing, wiping blood from his mouth. "Wonderful," he gasped. "Absolutely wonderful."
Leon turned away, disgusted, and I saw the smugness had gotten to him exactly as Aureon intended.
While this drama unfolded, Soryn had been working. My serpent mate did not spar with wooden swords. He practiced with a tree trunk, his tail striking it with cracks that sounded like lightning, the bark splintering under his scales. Then he turned to the warriors who had gathered to watch, his serpent eyes cold and assessing.
"Who wishes to test themselves?" he hissed.
Rhonda’s panther mate, Silas, stepped forward. A proud male, dark-haired and confident, his panther form known for its speed and cunning. He shifted partially, claws extended and launched himself at Soryn with a roar.
It was over in seconds.
Soryn moved like water and shadow, his tail wrapping Silas’s ankle, yanking him off his feet, his hands finding pressure points I could not see. The panther hit the ground hard, the air leaving his lungs in a rush, and Soryn stood over him with one foot on his chest, his expression almost bored.
"You’re no match for me," Soryn said softly, almost kindly, his serpent eyes meeting Silas’s with something that looked like respect. "Keep practicing." Then he released him.
Silas rose slowly, humbled but not broken, brushing snow from his fur as he retreated. The other warriors looked on with new respect for the serpent they had once underestimated, and for the panther who had been brave enough to test himself.
Nearby, Caelion had been watching, his hands clenching and unclenching. He was not a warrior, my merman, not truly. His strength was in the water, in the depths where others could not breathe. But he stepped forward anyway, challenged Darius, Rhonda’s sea lion mate, to a bout.
They fought, if it could be called that. Darius was trained, disciplined, his movements economical and brutal. Caelion tried, his hands forming fists, his merman speed translating poorly to land. He lasted longer than Silas, but not by much. Darius swept his legs, pinned him, and held him there until Caelion tapped the snow in surrender.
When they rose, Caelion would not meet anyone’s eyes. His shoulders slumped, his blue hair falling forward to hide his expression. Dejected. Ashamed.
Darius placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from fleeing. "Do not be," the sea lion said, his voice carrying none of the mockery Caelion clearly expected. "You were not trained as I was. Your people fight in water, where I fought on land and sea. To stand against me at all, to last as long as you did, that is already commendable. More than commendable. That is courage."
Caelion looked up, surprised, and I saw something shift in his face. Not pride, not yet, but the beginning of it. The understanding that strength came in many forms, and his was not lesser simply because it was different.
Veylan had moved to the center of the training ground, his silver eyes fixed on Ravin. The two circled each other, wolf and lion, both strong in their own right, both carrying the weight of leadership in every line of their bodies.
They were well matched. I had watched them spar before, knew that Veylan’s speed and cunning balanced against Ravin’s raw power and experience. Veylan technique honed in the frozen north where survival meant constant vigilance. Ravin had strength built through years of defending his pride and learning from his father from a young age.
They clashed like thunder.
Veylan struck first, a feint to the left that became a spinning kick to Ravin’s ribs. My First Mate blocked, barely, and countered with a fist that would have shattered bone had it connected. Veylan ducked, rolled, came up inside Ravin’s guard and drove an elbow toward his sternum. Ravin twisted, taking the blow on his shoulder rather than his chest, and grabbed Veylan’s arm, using the Veylan’s own momentum to throw him.
But Veylan was already moving, twisting free of the grip, landing in a crouch that spoke of countless hours of practice. He smiled, fierce and wild, and launched himself again.
They traded blows back and forth, neither gaining clear advantage, their movements becoming a blur of gold and silver, muscle and intent. I could see why they were almost equal. Veylan’s wolf nature gave him endurance and adaptability, his strikes precise and calculated. Ravin’s lion heart gave him devastating power, each hit carrying the force of his absolute confidence.
But slowly, inevitably, Ravin’s strength began to tell.
He caught a kick meant for his knee, held Veylan’s ankle, and swept the wolf’s other leg out from under him. As Veylan fell, Ravin followed, pinning him to the snow with one arm across his throat, the other raised to strike.
They held there, frozen, breathing hard, steam rising from both of them in the cold air.
"Yield," Ravin commanded.
Veylan held his gaze for a long moment, testing, then tapped the snow twice. "Yield," he gasped, but there was respect in his eyes, and a promise that next time would be different.
Ravin rose, offered his hand, and pulled Veylan to his feet. They clasped forearms, warriors acknowledging each other, and I saw something pass between them. An understanding. They were both leaders in their own right, both strong, but in this pride, there was room for only one at the top, and that was for Ravin. The next in line to be the king of the lions.
The training continued, brutal and beautiful, the sound of combat filling the winter air, while I sat with my friends and watched my males prove exactly why they were mine.