Chapter 1 — **Chapter 1**

Vaelen

“Come on! Faster, everyone!” my brother yells from the front. “We don’t want to get caught in the blizzard.”

“Let’s take the shortcut,” I shout back through the howling wind.

*Risky, Theryn warns through our link.*

*We can’t play it safe with the storm this close,* I counter. *The warriors are skilled riders, and if the blizzard hits, it’ll be death for the weakened—elders and children included.*

Theryn turns his head slightly, not slowing his pace. “Follow us,” he calls to the small group of men and women, werewolves of the Northern Kingdom, the Kingdoms of Eternal Ice.

I drop back to ride alongside a young woman clutching her baby, tied close to her chest for warmth. Her face is set in grim determination. At the rear, my youngest brother, Riven, ensures no one straggles behind.

“How are you holding up?” I ask her.

“I’m good,” she replies, her eyes fierce with resolve. “Thank you, Prince Vaelen.”

I don’t press further, respecting her strength. She’s lost her mate and older child—among the few females we found alive in the ravaged village. Her will to save her infant is her anchor now. I nod and ease away, staying near enough to assist if needed.

Theryn veers our group off the safe, main road onto a narrow mountain path. Only two riders can fit abreast here, with the jagged stone wall tight to our left and a sheer, dizzying cliff to our right. The crunch of ice under hooves echoes in the silence; the wind stings my face, sharp as knives. My stomach churns at the drop below—falling means certain death. I suggested this route, but doubt gnaws at me. What if I’ve led us wrong? The memory of a failed patrol last winter, when I misjudged a storm and lost good wolves, claws at my mind. If we fail here, I’ve failed them all.

Nothing breaks the tension save the thud of hooves and the wind’s rising scream.

*Riven, reach out to Dad and the guards, tell them we’re coming,* Theryn commands through our mind-link. As triplets, we share a rare, constant connection—an open door never closed, unlike most shifters who link only with mates or packs. Even strong wolves can’t sustain a personal link like ours, save for the king, blessed by the goddess with greater powers, and his elite.

*Consider it done,* Riven replies, unusually grim for the mischievous one of us. A faint ache pulses behind my eyes from the link’s strain, a reminder of its cost.

*Any problems back there?* I ask.

*Hope not,* he says. *One older man struggles to keep pace. I’m with him and a teenage girl, nudging their horses forward.*

*If you need help, tell me,* I offer.

*Save the baby if it comes to it,* Theryn cuts in, his tone heavy. *The villagers can’t lose another woman or child.*

*Let’s focus on getting everyone to the castle’s safety,* I remind him, sensing through our bond his readiness to make hard calls.

*Agreed,* he links, but a flicker of doubt seeps through—rare for him. *I just hope this path doesn’t bury us first.*

Silence falls as we push on. I glance back, letting my wolf spirit, Caspian, rise to scan the storm. The blizzard looms closer, snow howling at our heels, and within it… a shadow. Not just wind and ice—a presence, lurking.

*It’s not just the storm chasing us,* Caspian growls, voicing my dread. A low, guttural snarl echoes in my mind, chilling my blood.

I shoot a final look at the woman with the baby. “Are you certain you can manage alone?”

“Absolutely, my Prince,” she insists. “I’m one of the village’s best riders. Help those who need you more.”

“Alright,” I say, dropping back to Riven. He’s with the slowest two, as promised. I grab the old man’s reins; Riven looks startled. *Something’s behind us,* I warn.

*What?* He glances back, frowning. *You sure?*

*Have I ever been wrong about this?* I challenge.

*Yes,* he admits, *but I’m not risking it today.*

He takes the teenage girl’s reins, offering her a reassuring smile. “The storm’s gaining. Let’s get clear of it.”

She nods, relief washing over her pale face. With a shared look, we urge the horses forward.

We catch up as the group nears the capital’s border, the largest town of our kingdom, encircling the castle. A shimmer ripples in the air as we cross the protection spell—a sudden warmth against the biting cold, a barrier woven by our witches to guard against threats. Even if the blizzard overtakes us now, whatever dark force tails it will be locked out. Guards and warriors rush to help villagers dismount and guide them to safety.

“Everyone, stay inside!” Theryn bellows to curious townsfolk peering from their homes. “The storm hits any moment!”

He and a few warriors lead horses to the stables, while Riven and I push ours to the limit. “Good boy,” I murmur to mine, patting his flank. “A feast and belly rubs await you.”

He neighs as if he understands.

We cross the border with the old man and girl just as the spell seals behind us. A guttural roar tears through the wind, unnatural and close.

*I heard that too,* Riven mutters through the link.

The blizzard slams into us as I reach the stables, its full fury rattling the windows. Thankfully, most are safe inside. Only Theryn, Riven, a few warriors, and I remain here with the horses. Our buildings are sturdy, built for such weather, yet I can’t shake the worry for outer villages still exposed to the storm’s wrath—and whatever hides within it.

“Good job,” Theryn says, his voice steady but tired.

“You too, brother,” I reply, clapping his shoulder. Riven pulls us into a group hug, a faint grin hiding his strain.

“What are you doing?” Theryn grumbles, flustered.

“Goddess, Theryn, loosen up before the storm freezes you solid,” Riven teases, his humor a thin shield against the day’s weight.

I chuckle, while Theryn scowls, swatting Riven’s hand away as he turns to the horses. Though triplets, we’re far from identical in looks or nature. Theryn, with blue eyes and blonde waves, mirrors Dad’s stoic presence. Riven, red-haired and freckled with green eyes, takes after Mom’s lively spirit. I’m the oddity—black, curly hair and eerie silver eyes from nowhere in our lineage. At twenty-four, we share one frustration: none of us have felt the mate-pull, that instinct shifters sense when their fated one comes of age. My chest tightens at the thought—could mine have died before we met? But for all three of us to miss it… something’s wrong.

“Cae,” I approach Theryn again. “You led us well today.”

“Your call on the mountain path saved time,” he admits, a rare nod echoing a childhood signal of trust between us. “Though I questioned it.”

“And you trusted me,” I point out. “You could’ve stuck to the safer route as mission leader.”

He frowns, brooding as ever. “Mom always says we’re weak alone, strong together.”

Our father rotates leadership among us on missions, testing our strengths and perspectives. He’s delayed naming an heir—being triplets complicates tradition. Normally, the firstborn alpha inherits, but our birth broke every rule. Mom calls us a miracle; sometimes, it feels more like a curse.

“Let’s head inside,” Riven interrupts my thoughts.

The stables connect directly to the castle, sparing us the storm. Thick white bricks shield the ice-palace exterior, while warm wood and polished stone line the interior. The Frostveil Dominion lacks much that grows in cold, but we ensure our people’s comfort.

“Here you are!” Light footsteps approach as Maelis, our second-oldest sibling after us, rushes over. She hugs us, worry glazing her green eyes. A tomboy who scorns “princessy stuff,” she’s Mom’s mirror with red, chin-length hair and a penchant for pants. Dad resisted at first, then relented.

“You did well evacuating the townsfolk,” Theryn praises.

“Thanks, Cae. The warriors were key,” she says, taking Riven’s and my hands, nudging Theryn with her foot. “Come, hot wine and food await. Everyone’s expecting you.”

Stepping into the vast dining hall, cheers erupt. It’s packed with rescued villagers and townsfolk from vulnerable areas near rivers or mountains. I’m proud of Maelis for ensuring safety—those staying in homes have supplies to weather days if the storm traps us, as it did last time when snow buried paths for hours. Riven and I once dug through drifts to reach the stranded.

A small boy tugs Riven’s sleeve, offering a shy “thank you” with a carved wooden toy as a gift. Riven kneels, grinning, and ruffles his hair, a warmth in his eyes that binds us to our people.

“Vaelen!” Tiny arms wrap around me as Eibhlin, our youngest sister, tickles my side.

I grab her hands, halting the attack. “Is this how a princess greets her brother?”

She pouts, blue doe eyes wide. “Dunno, don’t care.” At sixteen, her long blonde hair makes her seem younger. We all spoil her a bit.

“Maelis,” I plead.

She rolls her eyes. “Really, Vaelen? She’s not a toddler!”

“I’m almost an adult,” Eibhlin giggles, twirling childlike. “A boy at school even liked me!”

I freeze, wolf stirring. “What?” My voice rumbles.

“A fourteen-year-old called her cute and borrowed her pen,” Maelis says dryly. “No bloodshed needed.”

“It starts with a pen,” Riven smirks, sneaking up.

“Goddess,” Maelis groans. “You nearly stopped my heart.”

He laughs, feigning teary drama. “Our baby’s pen, borrowed! I remember when I borrowed Ceci’s, and—”

“Stop, or I’ll punch you,” I warn.

He grins but quiets.

“Where are Selira, Nevyn, and Dad?” I ask.

“Checking on castle servants and their families,” Maelis explains.

I nod. Dad’s involving Nevyn, newly eighteen, in more duties to prove himself. Selira, nineteen, thrives on representative tasks Maelis avoids, though I sense unspoken envy between them.

I roam the hall, checking on the rescued. “Most are well,” I report to my siblings. “Tired, a few scratches. One man broke his leg in the attack but rode through—a miracle.”

“Mountain packs near no-man’s land are tough,” Theryn notes.

I’m about to reply when the young woman with the baby approaches. “Prince Vaelen,” she says, likely drawn to my approachability over Theryn’s distance or Riven’s trickery. “Thank you for ensuring my baby and I arrived safely.”

Scars mark her face, one blinding her left eye, yet she radiates fierce calm. I raise a brow, sensing it. “You’re the luna.”

She nods.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I say. “I can’t fathom your pain.”

Her gaze flickers with grief before steel returns. She touches a frayed cloth tied to her baby—a remnant of her lost mate, perhaps. “There’ll be time to grieve. Today, my few remaining people need their luna.”

“True,” I agree. “Is your baby well?”

“A bit cold, but fine.” A faint smile emerges. “She’s strong. She must be—after losing my mate and firstborn, she’ll lead one day. Over half our pack was slaughtered.”

“We’ll find the attackers,” I vow.

“He’s right,” Theryn adds, frowning. “They can’t keep terrorizing border villages!”

Her pack, high in the mountains near no-man’s land, is among many hit by unknown forces during blizzards. I’ve glimpsed a beast in the storms, though Theryn doubts it. One step at a time.

Maelis ensures everyone gets warm drink and food, easing the day’s horrors. We linger with the villagers before retiring. Tomorrow, Dad’s called a crucial meeting—just him, his beta, advisor, and us three.

Exhausted, I collapse into bed, sleeping deeply despite my usual light rest. The day drained me. We’d rushed out at the witch’s blizzard warning, arriving to find the village half-dead, attackers gone. What hunts these places? Is it our kingdom they target, or something else?

*Caspian stirs. No use racking our minds,* he grumbles, a dark edge to his tone. *Something’s out there. I feel it.*

*That’s supposed to calm me?* I mutter, climbing out of bed to the adjacent room with its tub and sink—luxuries from Mom’s witch friend. Magic’s changed castle life, hinting at witches’ broader role in wards and foresight against our foes.

Caspian stays silent. I’m late, muscles aching from yesterday, thoughts of the storm’s shadow lingering. Skipping breakfast, I head to the main meeting room near the throne—a place for strategy. Why here?

I bump into Riven en route. “Morning, grump,” he grins.

“Morning, menace,” I retort.

He laughs. “Why menace?”

“Only a fiend is this cheery so early.”

His smile fades to seriousness. “Any idea what this is about?”

“None,” I admit. “We’ll know soon.”

In the meeting room, Dad, his beta Quinn, and Theryn wait. Wine and cake sit oddly on the table.

“Morning,” I greet, exchanging a puzzled look with Theryn.

“Sit, boys,” Dad says, smiling brightly. He waits for Quinn to shut the door. “Finally, the day has come!”

“Unbelievable,” Riven gasps. “Are you naming an heir?”

“If only,” Quinn mutters, gray-haired but striking—Maelis’s “silver fox.” He’s annoyed. “Not even Prince Riven could predict this.”

“Done mocking me, Quinn?” Dad grumbles.

“I wasn’t, King Gillean,” Quinn retorts.

Dad puffs his cheeks, irked. Tall and imposing with wild blonde hair and blue eyes, he’s quirky only with Quinn and Mom. Their lifelong bond lets Quinn handle him.

“The truth is,” Dad growls, “I’ve carried this crown long enough.”

“But Dad,” Theryn blinks, “you can’t just… abdicate.”

“Watch me,” he challenges. “I tire of ruling alone while Sine’s on her expedition. I’ve decided to join my mate, cherish her, and leave this burden.”

“Another pup, perhaps?” Quinn says dryly.

Dad glares. “Don’t curse me, fool! I’ve enough children!”

“So, what’s the plan?” I press, sensing Quinn’s exasperation. Yesterday tested our readiness to lead—saving lives, facing unseen threats. Is this tied to that?

Dad grins, proud. “The first of you to win a maiden’s heart within a year shall be king!”