The High Ridge was treacherous, even in high summer. In the grip of early winter, it was a death trap.
Cora had been walking for two days. Her boots were worn, the leather cracked and leaking freezing water with every step. The wind howled through the narrow mountain passes, carrying biting needles of ice that tore at her exposed skin. Her wolf, usually a source of internal warmth, was quiet, curled into a tight, depressed ball within her mind, still traumatized by the severed bond.
She was hungry. She had managed to snare a skinny snow hare the first night, but she was burning calories faster than she could consume them. By the time dusk began to fall on the second day, the sky turning a bruised purple, she knew she had to find shelter or freeze.
She smelled the smoke before she saw the fire. Wood smoke. Not a forest fire, but a controlled, steady burn. Pine and dry oak.
Cora froze, dropping into a crouch behind a snow-draped boulder. Her senses strained. The scent of another wolf hit her. Male, powerful, but unfamiliar. It lacked the underlying pine and iron scent of the Ashdown pack.
A rogue.
A rogue in the mountains would kill her for her boots alone. But freezing to death was a certainty, whereas a rogue was only a probability of death.
Cora slipped her hunting knife from her belt and crept forward. Through a break in the rocks, she saw a small clearing sheltered by an overhang. A fire crackled merrily in the center. Sitting on a log beside it was a man.
He didn't look like a starving rogue. He was massive, his shoulders broad under a heavy, worn leather coat. He was turning a spit over the fire, and the smell of roasting venison made Cora's stomach cramp violently. His dark hair was tied back, and a rough beard covered his jaw. He looked rugged, road-weary, but entirely at ease.
Cora shifted her weight, intending to back away. Her boot snapped a dry twig hidden under the snow. The crack sounded like a gunshot.
The man didn't jump. He didn't scramble for a weapon. He simply stopped turning the spit and looked directly at the boulder she was hiding behind. His eyes were a startling, piercing amber in the firelight.
"If you're going to stab me, do it quickly," he called out. His voice was a deep, gravelly baritone that vibrated in the cold air. "If you're just hungry, come sit down. The deer was too big for one anyway."
Cora hesitated. Her grip on the knife tightened.
"I can hear your stomach growling from here," he added dryly.
Slowly, Cora stepped out from behind the rock. She kept the knife visible, angled down but ready. She walked into the light of the fire.
The man looked her up and down. His gaze was analytical, not leering. He took in her ragged clothes, her shivering frame, and finally the pale, jagged scar at the base of her throat, visible where her collar had slipped. His eyes lingered there for a fraction of a second before moving back to her face.
He didn't ask. That alone made Cora like him a little bit.
"Put the knife away," he said, gesturing to a large stone opposite him. "I'm Gideon. Sit. Warm yourself."
Cora slid the knife into its sheath but kept her hand resting near the hilt. She sat on the cold stone, leaning as close to the fire as she dared. The heat was absolute heaven.
"Cora," she said.
Gideon nodded. He reached over, sliced a thick piece of meat from the roast with a vicious-looking hunting knife, and held it out to her on the blade. She took it cautiously, ignoring the grease burning her fingers, and tore into it. It was the best thing she had ever tasted.
They ate in silence for a long time. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the howling wind above the overhang.
"You're traveling light for a mountain crossing," Gideon noted eventually, wiping a bit of grease from his beard. "And you have no pack scent."
"I prefer to travel alone," Cora said defensively.
"A lone wolf in Ashdown territory," he mused. "Usually Desmond doesn't tolerate strays near his borders."
Cora stiffened at the name. "I'm not a stray. I'm leaving."
Gideon leaned back, crossing his long legs at the ankles. He studied her in the flickering light. "Leaving in a hurry, it seems. Into a blizzard. Running from something, or someone."
"Neither." Cora stared into the flames. "Just realized there's nothing left for me behind me."
Gideon's gaze was heavy. "A broken bond is a hard thing to carry."
Cora's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. "I didn't ask for your sympathy."
"I didn't offer any," Gideon replied evenly. "Sympathy is useless. It doesn't keep you warm and it doesn't feed you. I was merely stating a fact."
Cora relaxed slightly, surprised by his pragmatism. It matched her own bitter mood perfectly. "It's an old wound. It doesn't hurt anymore."
It was a lie, and they both knew it.
"If it doesn't hurt, why are you risking death on the High Ridge instead of using the main roads?" Gideon asked.
Cora sighed, pulling her knees to her chest. There was something about this stranger, something steady and unshakable, that made her want to talk. Maybe it was just the relief of being warm.
"Because the main roads go through the capital, and the capital is busy preparing for a wedding."
Gideon's eyebrows rose. "Ah. The alpha's bonding."
"You know of it."
"Word travels. A significant political union. Desmond of Ashdown and Lyanna of the Riverlands. A consolidation of power in the north." Gideon poked the fire with a stick, sending a shower of sparks into the dark. "You were his mate."
He didn't frame it as a question. He had put the pieces together. The scar, the location, the bitterness.
"I was," Cora said, her voice hard. "Until I wasn't. I'm a half-blood. My wolf is small. I don't look good in silk, and I don't know how to play politics. So he threw me away to make room for someone who does."
"And now he marries her," Gideon said thoughtfully. "And you freeze on a mountain."
"I received an invitation." Cora pulled the crumpled vellum from her pocket and tossed it onto the dirt near the fire. "He requested my presence. To watch. To accept my place."
Gideon leaned forward, picking up the invitation. He broke the remaining wax, read the note, and let out a low, dark chuckle. It wasn't a nice sound.
"Arrogant."
"Petty," Cora corrected.
"Both," Gideon agreed. He looked at her, his amber eyes catching the firelight, burning with a sudden, intense intelligence. "Are you going to let him get away with it?"
"I'm leaving. That's me not playing his game."
"Running away is exactly his game, Cora. It proves him right. It proves you are weak, that you couldn't handle it, that you scurried off into the dark like a beaten cur."
Cora bristled, her pride stinging. "What would you have me do? March in there in rags and demand a seat at the high table? I have no power. I have no pack. If I go, I give him the satisfaction of breaking me publicly."
Gideon stared at the invitation, then tossed it back to her. She caught it out of reflex.
"What if you didn't walk in as a broken, discarded mate?" Gideon asked softly. "What if you walked in as someone untouchable?"
Cora scoffed. "And how do I manage that magic?"
Gideon didn't smile. He stood up. He was incredibly tall, towering over the fire, casting a long, imposing shadow against the rock wall. He reached into his heavy coat and pulled out something metallic. He tossed it through the air.
Cora caught it. It was heavy, solid gold. She looked down at her palm. It was a medallion, intricately carved. A wolf's head crowned with winter thorns.
The crest of the Alpha King.
Cora's breath hitched. Her eyes snapped up to the man standing before her. The worn leather, the rough beard, the solitary camp. It was a disguise. Or a preference.
"You're —" She couldn't say it.
"My name is Gideon," he said, his voice carrying an undeniable, heavy command that made the dormant wolf inside Cora whimper in sudden awe. "King of the Northern Territories."
Cora scrambled to her feet, the medallion burning a hole in her hand. She started to lower her head, to bare her neck in submission, the instinct ingrained in every wolf.
"Don't," Gideon snapped.
She froze.
"I have enough people bowing to me," Gideon said, stepping around the fire. "I need someone who can look an arrogant alpha in the eye and make him bleed without throwing a punch."