Page 66 of The War of Four Winters

"His kindness overwhelms me," I rasped.

The captain regarded me dispassionately. "Don't mistake purpose for mercy, traitor. He wants you presentable, not comfortable."

They left me there, alone with the dripping walls and my own ragged breathing. I dragged myself to the bench, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through abused muscles and untreated wounds. The blanket was rough wool, hardly adequate against the cell's deep chill, but I wrapped it around my shoulders anyway.

As darkness fell, bringing deeper cold, I found myself reciting names like a prayer: Elindir. Katyr. Aryn. Ieduin. Daraith. Taelyn. Leif. Torsten. The people who had become my true family, replacing the bloodline that had brought only pain. I thought of Miya too, her gentle smile, her fierce spirit. The child we had created, lost before it could draw breath. In their memory, I had built something new. Something worth fighting for, worth dying for.

If Elindir truly approached D'thallanar, he moved into terrible danger. Yet knowing he lived, that he fought still, rekindled something within me that Father's cruelty had nearly extinguished.

I must have slept, for the sound of my cell door opening startled me awake. I struggled to sit upright, expecting the promised healer with his impersonal hands and grudging care.

Instead, Klaus Wolfheart stood framed in the doorway, his imposing figure silhouetted against torchlight from the corridor. He dismissed the guards with a gesture that brooked no argument. When we were alone, he entered, closing the door behind him with surprising gentleness.

"You look terrible," he observed, voice gruff.

I managed a smile that pulled at cracked lips. "The accommodations leave something to be desired."

Klaus snorted, but there was no humor in the sound. He studied me with the same calculating gaze I remembered from war councils and treaty negotiations. The man who had once been my staunchest northern ally before Elindir entered my life.

"Why are you here?" I asked when his silence stretched uncomfortably long.

"To see for myself what Tarathiel has done to the boy who would be king." He moved closer, withdrawing something from beneath his cloak. A flask. "Drink. It's water, not poison. Though many would prefer the latter for you."

I accepted it cautiously, taking a small sip before gulping the rest. Clean, sweet water. A luxury after days of brackish rations. Klaus watched me drink, his expression unreadable.

"Thank you," I said, returning the empty flask.

He tucked it away. "Don't thank me yet. I haven't decided where I stand in this mess you've created."

"Where does Taelyn stand?"

Something flickered in his storm-gray eyes—the same eyes my queen had inherited. "My daughter remains at Calibarra, coordinating your council in your absence. She sends ravens daily, seeking news of your capture." His jaw tightened. "She remains loyal, despite everything."

"She's a remarkable woman."

I hesitated, then asked the question that had been burning in my mind. "The boys... Leif and Torsten. Has she written about them?"

Klaus' expression softened unexpectedly. "She begs me to tell you they are well and safe. She mentions them in every message." He paused, something raw and personal passing across his weathered features. "She writes that they ask for you constantly."

The image tightened my throat. "Thank you for telling me."

Klaus nodded, his eyes distant. "I lost all five of my sons in the Yeutland campaigns. Even now, years later, I sometimes find myself watching the northern road. A father should never have to bury his children.”

The unspoken rebuke to Tarathiel hung in the air between us.

"I still have hope I’ll return to them," I said, the words both promise and prayer.

"Taelyn writes that you were planning to formally adopt those human boys. Make them your heirs."

The statement carried no obvious judgment, but I tensed anyway. This had been our breaking point before. My refusal to produce proper elven heirs with his daughter, my growing closeness with Elindir, my plans for a different kind of succession.

"Yes," I confirmed. "Leif and Torsten are my sons now, in every way that matters."

Klaus turned back to me, his face half-shadowed. "Taelyn writes that she loves them as her own."

That surprised me. Taelyn had been kind to the boys, certainly, but I hadn't realized her feelings ran so deep. "They are easy to love."

"Even though they're human? Even though they can never truly be elven princes?"

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