And so for ten years, I, who never cared for anything flashy or ornate, always pinned the most vivid moonblossom I could find before going to see him.
I stood beside him through his glory days, his war markings and swift wolf-form runs across enemy lines, his meteoric rise.
And my reward was a blade through the belly and a pack in the ground.
This life, I intended to live differently.
I walked faster.
Briar rose on her toes and hurried to keep up.
Behind us, the crowd erupted. Howls split the air, dozens layering into a wall of sound that rattled in my chest.
Hoofbeats hammered closer, louder, shaking the ground beneath my feet.
"Seraphina!"
A man's voice split the air beside my ear.
My feet stopped. My body turned, stiff as a board.
Fenris Vargr sat tall on his warhorse, silver-edged battle pelt gleaming, the Crimson Fang crest burned into the dark leather across his chest. Sharp brows, striking eyes, a jaw cut hard enough to draw blood on. He was so handsome it almost hurt to look at him.