Page 27 of The War of Four Winters

"And yet we carry his blood." I turned to face my brother. "Does that ever frighten you? That some piece of him lives in us?"

Katyr studied me thoughtfully. "Every day. But then I remember what my father–myrealfather–taught me. That we choose who we become, regardless of whose blood we carry."

Marius Runecleaver had raised Katyr as his own, never betraying that the boy he loved was actually Tarathiel's bastard with his wife. He had died protecting that secret, and Katyr still wore his shorter hair in mourning, a rebellion against Runecleaver traditions.

"Your father was a wise man," I said. "I wish I had known him better."

"He would have liked what you're doing with them," Katyr gestured toward the boys. "He believed children should be cherished, not shaped into weapons."

The words hung between us, heavy with the weight of our shared history. Tarathiel had seen his children as nothing more than extensions of his will, pieces to be moved in his endless games of power. Those who failed to serve his purpose were discarded…Or worse.

"I think about it sometimes," I admitted. "What kind of father I would be? Whether I could break the chain of cruelty that runs through our family line."

Katyr's smile was tinged with sadness. "The fact that you worry about it means you already have."

Below us, the boys had completed their snow figure, a rough approximation of a wolf, its head tilted toward the sky in a silent howl. Torsten proudly circled their creation, making adjustments while Leif watched with quiet satisfaction.

"It’s hard to believe they were treated like property a few months ago," I said. "They’ve changed so much."

"History repeating itself," Katyr observed. "Just like Father. A slave who became king."

"And somehow became more cruel than his former masters ever were," I added bitterly. "He led a rebellion in the name of freedom, overthrew a tyrant king, and then became a worse monster himself. I've never understood how someone who broke his own chains could forge new ones for others. How a liberator could become such an oppressor."

"Power without healing becomes tyranny," Katyr said quietly. "He never confronted his pain, only transformed it into cruelty. Started a revolution only to betray its very purpose."

"That's what I fear sometimes," I admitted, watching the boys shape their snow creation. "That I'm carrying the same poison in my blood. That power will corrupt me just as it did him."

"But you're not him," Katyr said firmly. "You've done what he never could."

"And what's that?"

"You've loved someone enough to die for them. To put their freedom above your control." His eyes found mine. "Tarathiel never would have broken Elindir's collar. He certainly wouldn't have made him consort."

The mention of Elindir sent a familiar ache through my chest. "Elindir was a prince before he was a slave, before he became consort to a king," I said. "Another twist in this strange pattern we keep weaving."

"Who became the heart of a kingdom," Katyr finished for me. "Though he'd hate to hear you say it."

A laugh escaped me at that. "He would. He still refuses to sit through most council meetings."

Torsten had spotted us watching and was now waving frantically, shouting for us to come see their creation. Leif stood slightly behind him, his eyes hopeful despite his more reserved demeanor.

"We're being summoned," Katyr said with mock formality. "Shall we, Your Majesty?"

I pushed away from the railing. "You know I hate when you call me that."

"Why do you think I do it?" His smile was quick and mischievous, a glimpse of the boy he must have been before the weight of eight magical taps and a secret lineage fell upon his shoulders.

We descended the stairs to the courtyard, snow crunching beneath our boots. The boys rushed to meet us, Torsten chattering excitedly about their snow wolf while Leif hung back, watching my reaction with cautious eyes. Those eyes had seen too much cruelty. Trust came slowly to him, each smile a victory hard won.

"It's magnificent," I told them, circling the snow creation with exaggerated consideration. "Fit for the hall of kings. Though I think it needs one thing more..."

I removed my cloak and draped it ceremoniously around the snow wolf's shoulders. The rich fabric, emblazoned with the plum blossom of House Starfall, pooled regally in the snow. Torsten clapped his hands in delight while Leif's eyes widened.

"But that's your official cloak," Leif whispered, scandalized. "The one you wear for court."

"And now it honors the finest snow wolf in the realm," I said solemnly. "Every king needs proper attire."

Torsten immediately began adding more details to their creation, emboldened by my approval. Leif remained beside me, his small hand tentatively finding mine. The simple gesture tightened my throat.

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