A messenger arrived at dawn, his horse lathered in sweat, his face the colour of old ash.

Seren found him in the courtyard, surrounded by guards who had pulled him from the saddle. He was young, barely old enough to grow a beard, and his left arm hung at a wrong angle, broken in at least two places.

"The villages," he gasped. "They’re burning them."

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An hour later, the council chamber was full.

Aeron stood at the head of the table, the messenger’s report spread before him. Kael paced by the window, his hands clenched into fists. Theron sat in the corner, unusually still, his eyes tracking every face in the room.

Seren stood beside Aeron, the locket warm against her chest. Lord Pemberton and other loyal nobles filled the benches. Even Lady Sera had come, summoned from the eastern delegation’s quarters.

"Three villages," Aeron said. "Northwood, Fernglen, and Oakstead. All within twenty miles of the border. All attacked last night."

Kael stopped pacing. "Casualties?"

"Forty-seven dead. Humans and wolves both. Another thirty wounded." Aeron’s voice was flat, but Seren could feel his rage through the bond; cold and controlled, but burning. "Survivors report a force of maybe two hundred warriors. They came at midnight, burned everything, and retreated before dawn."

General Thorne’s work. It had to be.

Lord Pemberton leaned forward. "We must respond. Send the army north. Crush them before they hit more villages."

"That’s what they want," Theron said quietly.

Every head turned to him.

"The attacks are brutal but small-scale," Theron continued. "Two hundred warriors hitting three villages. They’re not trying to conquer territory. They’re trying to provoke us."

Kael’s jaw tightened. "So we just let them burn villages? Let them kill our people?"

"No." Theron stood. "But if we send the full army north, we play into their hands. They’ll draw us deeper into the borderlands, stretch our supply lines, bleed us with guerrilla attacks. We’ll spend months chasing shadows while they pick us apart piece by piece."

Seren spoke. "Theron’s right. Thorne wants a long war. He knows he can’t beat us in open battle, not after Magnus fell. So he’ll make the war expensive. Exhausting. He’s betting we’ll give up before he does."

Lady Sera, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "Then what do you suggest, Your Highness? Let the north burn?"

"I suggest we don’t play his game." Seren moved to the map spread across the table. "Thorne is hitting villages near the border because he doesn’t have the resources to go deeper. His supply lines are weak. His force is mobile but small. If we send a large army, he’ll just retreat and wait."

She traced her finger along the border.

"But if we send a smaller force, fast, mobile, well-trained, we can hunt him on his own terms. Not a full campaign. A hunting party."

Kael’s eyes lit up. "You want to use the integrated units. Humans and wolves together."

"Thorne’s force is two hundred. We send two hundred of our best. Not to hold territory, but to *find* him. To force him to fight on ground of our choosing, not his."

Aeron studied the map. "It’s risky. If we lose that force..."

"Then we adapt." Seren met his eyes. "But sitting here while villages burn is worse. The humans who supported the charter need to see that we’ll protect them. The wolves who voted against it need to see that we’re strong enough to act without overreacting."

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The debate lasted two hours.

Some council members wanted a full invasion. Others wanted to negotiate. A few whispered that the north should be abandoned entirely, let Thorne have his wasteland.

In the end, Aeron made the decision.

"We’ll send a strike force. Two hundred soldiers; half wolves, half humans. Kael will lead them." He looked at his brother. "Can you do this without starting a war?"

Kael’s grin was sharp. "I can do this without leaving anyone alive to complain about it."

"That’s not what I asked."

"It’s the only answer I have."

Aeron nodded slowly. "Then prepare your soldiers. You leave at dawn."

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Seren found Kael in the armoury that night.

He was checking his blades, running a whetstone along each edge with methodical precision. The torchlight caught the scars on his hands, the tension in his shoulders.

"You’re worried," she said.

"I’m always worried before a fight. That’s how I stay alive." He didn’t look up. "This is different."

"How?"

He set down the blade and finally faced her. "Thorne isn’t Magnus. Magnus wanted to conquer. He had territory to defend, supply lines to protect, allies to manage. Thorne has nothing. No land. No supplies. No allies. Just rage and two hundred fanatics willing to die."

He picked up another blade.

"Men with nothing to lose are the most dangerous kind. I’ve seen it before. They don’t fight to win. They fight to *hurt*. And even if we kill every last one of them, the cost..."

Seren took his hands, stilling them. "Then don’t let the cost be you."

Kael stared at her. "You’re asking me to promise something I can’t promise."

"I’m asking you to come back." She squeezed his fingers. "Not as a prince. Not as a commander. As my mate. The bond doesn’t work if you’re dead."

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "That’s the most selfish thing you’ve ever said to me."

"I learned from the best."

He pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her like armour. "I’ll come back. I swear it."

"You’d better. Because if you don’t, I’ll come north myself and drag your corpse home. And then I’ll kill you again for dying."

Kael laughed; a rough, surprised sound. "That’s the woman I mated."

They stood in the armoury, surrounded by steel and shadow, and held onto each other like the world might end if they let go.

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Dawn came too quickly.

Seren watched from the palace gates as Kael’s strike force assembled in the courtyard. Two hundred soldiers in matching grey cloaks; wolves and humans standing shoulder to shoulder. Stefan the blacksmith’s apprentice was there, his sword newly polished. Dain the wolf stood beside him, their earlier hostility forgotten.

Kael mounted his horse at the head of the column. He wore his battle armour, dark and unadorned, and his face was already shifting into the mask he wore for war.

Aeron approached his brother. "Find Thorne. End this. Come home."

"That’s the plan." Kael clasped Aeron’s arm. "Keep Seren safe while I’m gone."

"She’s harder to kill than you are."

"True." Kael grinned. Then he turned to Theron. "Don’t let them do anything stupid while I’m away."

"Define stupid."

"Anything I wouldn’t do."

"That’s not a definition. That’s a suicide wish."

Kael laughed and kicked his horse forward. The column followed, two hundred soldiers moving north toward the smoke on the horizon.

Seren watched until they disappeared from sight.

The locket was warm against her chest.

*Come back,* she thought, though he was too far away to hear. *Please come back.*

General Thorne was sharpening his blade, somewhere to the north.

Another war looms.