Something cool against her cheek pulled Chey from darkness to light. She opened her eyes and allowed her vision a moment to clear before picking out the features of her son. Blue eyes serious and concerned, Elias lifted the cloth and placed it this time across her forehead. Her not-quite-seven-year-old—going on thirty—leaned over to peer into her face.

“She’s coming to,” Elias announced to someone out of sight. “Mom? Can you hear me?”

If she hadn’t felt so dreadful, Chey would have smiled. “I can hear you fine.”

“You slept all night,” Elias said.

“Did I? It feels like it’s only been a few hours.” Chey struggled to sit up, frowning at a fresh twinge in her belly. The events of the evening before rushed back all at once. “Where’s Auntie Wynn?”

“I’m here, Chey. We’ve been taking turns watching over you.” Wynn leaned into view from a chair positioned to the side of the couch. Her eyes had that puffed, I haven’t slept for days look. She smiled then set a hand on Chey’s shoulder. “How do you feel? You passed out. Scared the dickens out of us.”

“I’m fine.” That was Chey’s standard answer. She didn’t want to admit that she was exhausted and had been experiencing small stabs of pain in her belly. “What do you mean we?” Chey glanced between Wynn and Elias. She became aware of muffled masculine voices in the hall outside the room. Probably the ever-present guards. An advisor or two. Maybe Doctor Flemming.

“I wasn’t going to leave you alone, Mom,” Elias said in a determined, no-nonsense tone.

Sometimes Chey thought her son was growing up a little too fast. His future responsibilities as king meant that he needed to understand the importance of his position, yet Chey had stubbornly insisted that he also be allowed to grow up as any other normal child, free to play and be mischievous without feeling too burdened at such a young age. Sander had agreed, but what they hadn’t counted on was Elias’s own stubborn determination. The boy followed his father everywhere and mimicked his every move. Elias worshiped Sander and had taken to the role of heir with a seriousness that tempered many of his actions. He wanted to sit in on council meetings, accompany Sander on official outings, and had a natural charm that he unleashed on the adoring citizens of Latvala at every opportunity.

Now he had apparently sat up all night long with his Auntie Wynn, changing cool compresses to keep his mother comfortable.

“I appreciate that, Elias. You should go get some sleep, though. I’m feeling much better.” Chey wouldn’t take no for an answer. As sweet as Elias’s concern was, he needed rest. She suspected that the boy had dozed off several times anyway and a sly wink from Wynn proved it.

“But Mom . . .”

“No buts. I’ll wake you a little later. Check on your brother and sister before you turn in, all right?” Firm but gentle, she smiled through the peck Elias put on her cheek and watched him march from the room. He strode with purpose, little shoulders square, back straight.

Just like his father.

The second Elias was out of sight, Chey set down the damp cloth and scooted to the edge of the sofa, untangling a warm blanket from around her legs. Maternal instinct on high alert, she wanted to see her other children to make sure all was well. “How are the kids? Have they been worried?”

“Hey now, don’t overdo it. Doc Flemming checked you over and said he thinks you need to slow down. The kids are fine.” Wynn put a firm hand on Chey’s shoulder and settled next to her on the sofa. “You’ve been pushing yourself way too hard. Up and down a million flights of stairs every day, organizing the staff and overseeing the supplies, dealing with the influx of unexpected arrivals. And then the debacle last night in the great hall. You’re so busy taking care of everyone else that you’re forgetting to take care of yourself.”

Chey wasn’t used to lounging around, even while pregnant. She liked to be up and mobile and doing things. Taking care of the kids, the castle. Sander. There was paperwork to handle and phone calls to take and charities to check on. With the onset of bad weather, her priorities had shifted. If anything, the work she did now was more important than before.

People depended on her to make the right decisions for survival.

Deciding now wasn’t a good time to mention the twinges and blinking dots of white in her vision, Chey said, “There has been a lot to do. I have to step in when Sander’s gone, you know? By the way, did anyone manage to get through to Sander on the satellite phone?”

“Unfortunately, no. No one has been able to get through yet. But they’re still trying,” Wynn said. She left the couch to pour Chey a glass of water.

“Thanks.” Chey accepted the glass upon Wynn’s return and guzzled half the contents before coming up for air. “He’ll be mad if he finds out I fainted and he wasn’t notified. But what can we do? It’s not like I have any control over the weather or the signal.”

“I think the more important question is how do you feel this morning? You say you’re fine all the time, but are you really? The doctor said to summon him the second you were awake.” Wynn stood next to Chey, one hand on her hip, staring down like a scolding sister.

Chey finished the water and set the glass on the coffee table. She sidestepped the question as best she could. Better to downplay the situation rather than get the entire castle in an uproar. The doctor was probably right: she’d been overdoing it. If she experienced any more lightheadedness or twinges, she wouldn’t hesitate to mention the symptoms. “I’m better. Tell the doctor that he doesn’t need to do another exam. I’ll rest later today after I—”

“After you what?” Wynn arched a brow. “Now you’ll start listing a hundred things you need to do that will put you right back where you were last night. No.”

“Wynn,” Chey said in protest. “I can’t just take the day off.”

“Yes, you can. You will. There isn’t anything immediately pressing that I can’t take care of. Also, Flemming won’t be put off. He was insistent about seeing you once you were awake. Then, bed rest.” Wynn spun away from the couch and crossed to the door.

“What about the weather? Has the storm passed?” Chey asked, hoping for good news.

Wynn paused with her hand on the knob and glanced back. “Not yet. It’s bad out there. So far, no end in sight to the blizzard.”

That wasn’t the news Chey wanted to hear. She nodded and shifted the blanket so that it draped around her shoulders. Even if she wanted to rest, she wasn’t sure she would be able to. There was the issue of the troublemaker, dwindling food supplies, and a new blizzard to deal with. As Wynn called for the doctor, Chey mentally prepared herself for the challenges of the day, starting with the poking and prodding of the well-meaning physician.

A flurry of activity drew Chey’s attention. She could see Wynn making hand gestures in the hall and hear the low buzz of urgent conversation. Something was wrong. Drawn toward the escalating confrontation, Chey pushed to her feet. With her blanket trailing on the ground like a royal cloak, she headed toward the group in the hall. Three guards pushed past Wynn and the doctor.

“Your Highness, we have news,” one of the guards said.

“I tried to deflect them. Sorry, Chey.” Flustered and indignant, Wynn took up a flanking position at Chey’s side.

“What is it?” Chey braced herself for news that Burl had started another fight or that they’d caught a thief red-handed stealing food. What came out of the guard’s mouth was the last thing she expected to hear.

“We have bodies outside the gate. It appears a few stragglers attempted to reach the castle sometime during the night but never made it. There may be more coming from the docks, we’re not sure. We need to send out a search party.”

Chey immediately understood the implications of what the guards were asking her to do. They needed permission to leave the castle grounds and search for survivors, but giving permission meant that if something happened to the guards, she would be responsible for sending them out in the first place. If she sat back and did nothing, if she refused to send a search party into the storm and more people perished, she would be seen as callous and cold hearted. Not every news organization in Latvala loved the king and queen, and couldn’t wait to spin a story into something menacing and damaging. She would be skewered no matter what, and would likely be in the media crosshairs for the deaths that had already occurred.

“Send out a team of four. Everyone is to stay together, no matter what. Stick to the main roads only, because I doubt any survivors would have risked going overland and falling into a snow-covered ditch. Search within a half mile of the castle gate, no farther.” Chey thought restricting the places and distance the guards could go might help prevent another catastrophe.

“Yes, Your Highness.” The guard bowed his head and retreated with the others.

“Your Highness, I really do insist that you allow me to look you over again,” the doctor said, nearly overlapping goodbyes with the guard. In his midsixties, with a thick head of graying hair and ultraprofessional demeanor, Doctor Flemming refused to be ignored.

“Come in, then, and let’s get to it.” Chey admitted Flemming, closed the door on the rest of the world, and prepared to hurry the examination along. She withstood the doctor’s endless questions while he took her blood pressure, checked for fever, and palpated her stomach. There was only one moment during the light press of his fingertips that she felt a faint ache somewhere deep. Not the sharper twinges of the evening before, she noted, and chose to remain silent about the pain. The doctor might force her into total bed rest and that was a risk Chey couldn’t take. There was simply too much to do, too much she was accountable for in the castle.

Forty minutes later, Chey smoothed the shirt over her burgeoning belly and said, “All right. I have to get downstairs now. Thank you for being so thorough.”

“I still recommend that you take it easy, Your Highness. You fainted for a reason. If you continue the hectic pace you’ve set for yourself, I fear you’ll trigger premature labor and that would be disastrous in these conditions.” Flemming studied her over the rim of his glasses with serious green eyes.

Chey touched the doctor’s arm lightly. “I promise I’ll take it easier than I have been. As soon as we find out if there are more survivors, I’ll put my feet up for the rest of the day.”

After she’d checked on the food situation and spent time with her children.

Flemming quirked his lips as if he doubted she would be so easily swayed. But he nodded, gathered his bag, and escorted her to the door.

In the hallway, Chey discovered Wynn fielding castle staff, a few advisors, and a single member of the guard. The group paused to bow their heads her way and opened their circle to admit her.

“Chey, I’m glad you’re done. Everything is running as smoothly as it can be for now. We’re all waiting for word from the team you sent out,” Wynn said.

“The bodies of the deceased are being dealt with as well,” a staff member added.

“How many were there?” Chey asked.

“Four. Three men, one woman. No identification so far,” the man said.

“All right. What about the—” Chey paused as the lights flickered. She glanced at the overhead fixtures. While most of the mainland had been without electricity for weeks, Pallan Island had fared better. Kallaster Castle had suffered three outages, the longest lasting two days. Chey recalled how cold the castle had become during the last outage and how difficult it had been to get warm. While the entire castle was too large to heat as a whole, separate systems heated different sections, and the residents relied on that along with the fireplaces to beat back the chill. Generators served the kitchen only; the stores of frozen meat couldn’t be allowed to thaw and spoil.

“Oh no,” Wynn whispered as the lights flickered again.

The bustling activity in the hall came to a standstill. Silence descended in place of incessant conversation, as if every inhabitant of the castle held their breath.

It appeared the island’s luck had run out.

After a brief surge of light, the hallway fell into shadow.

The repetitive throwing motion acted somewhat like a drug, distancing Sander from the relentless chill that pervaded the layers of his clothing and skin. Reel, throw. Reel, throw. Turn a half circle. Reel and throw again.

He estimated that he’d been throwing the tether for twenty, maybe thirty minutes, surely long enough for his brothers to find him. They had to be searching, scouring the drifts near the truck, aiming across the stricken hinterland in all directions for signs of his passing.

There could only be one reason he hadn’t been found: he’d wandered beyond the reach of the tethers. Mattias, Gunnar, and Leander would have hooked their ropes to the truck, as he had, and fanned out to cover more ground. Each man would have had a certain amount of length to work with—and that was it. Once the rope ran out, so did the search. His brothers and Leander wouldn’t risk wandering into a blizzard without some sort of safety net.

Where did that leave him? He could pick a direction and walk, hoping to run into the truck. If he missed and set off into the frozen landscape, he wouldn’t survive the night. The outcome of his choices had not changed. Death waited in every pelting piece of ice, in every single temperature drop. Sander could almost feel Death breathing down his neck, waiting for him to make a wrong move.

Well, screw you, Death. I’m not ready yet. He decided to continue his current course of action for another ten minutes. If no one found him by then, he would be forced to pull up proverbial stakes and strike out for shelter.

Reel, throw.

He thought about his kids. His pregnant wife. Focused on their wellbeing, the joy he’d experienced the last time in their presence. Memories surfaced of snowball fights and reading by firelight. Of childish laughter and Chey’s warm kisses.

At some point during his flashbacks, he realized he was only throwing the rope two or three feet instead of five or six. His muscles protested the extra exertion when he lobbed the heavy end into the air.

Slowly, surely, the cold was leeching the life right out of him. He threw the tether again, silently cursing the weather and his increasing inability to function properly.

A sharp tug on the tether pulled him off balance. Two shapes loomed into view, their clothing dusted heavily with snow.

Mattias. Leander.

“Dare!” Mattias lurched forward to grab Sander around the shoulders.

“I-it’s about t-time. Where the h-hell have you t-two been?” Sander heard the stutter and slur in his words. His teeth were chattering. Despite his sluggishness, relief hit Sander like a sledgehammer.

“What? Can’t hear you,” Leander shouted. “Come on. Let’s get back.”

Sander didn’t argue. He must not be shouting as loud as he thought he was. After sharing a brief hug with Mattias, Sander followed the men through the snowstorm. Someone had cleverly thought to attach several tethers together, end to end, giving Mattias and Leander more room to search. This was the lifeline they used to return, a steady, reliable source of direction.

They had gone less than thirty feet when a large lump in the snow drew Sander’s attention. A fallen tree, perhaps, or an oddly shaped rock.

Upon closer inspection, he recognized a section of white and gray camouflage.

“The guards,” Mattias said near his ear. “They wandered too far from the truck and died.”

More loss of life. Sander clenched his teeth at the needlessness of it, trudging onward when Leander urged him forward. He realized how lucky he was that he hadn’t joined them in death, but it didn’t lessen his anger. There had been too many casualties, the extent of which might never be known. To Sander, it felt as if Latvala was under siege from an unconquerable enemy, that all he could do as king was sit back and count the bodies once winter was over. It was infuriating. Frustrating.

He didn’t know how to combat Mother Nature and win.

In the middle of his internal monologue, he noticed the snaking trail of the fallen guards’ tether. The length appeared to lead back toward the truck, suggesting that the guards had been attached to the vehicle at one time. No longer. Picking up the line, Sander came across the clasp and, upon closer inspection, discovered the piece to be intact. There was nothing broken, no piece missing. The clasp had apparently detached, leaving the guards unprotected in the storm. Eerily similar to his own situation, where he’d blamed himself for not securing the device. Sander had to wonder if there wasn’t more to it.

“Almost there!” Leander shouted, urging Sander toward a looming silhouette that appeared through the snow.

Dismissing the mystery for now, Sander dropped the tether and focused on the reality that he’d been no more than seventy feet or so from the safety of the truck all along. Salvation, survival, had been within reach. To think he’d been all but lost in the blizzard, might have wandered in the wrong direction and died in the storm, proved how deadly the weather could be.

Ushered into the back of the vehicle, under the protection of the tarpaulin, Sander sank to the floor and stretched out his legs. He was dimly aware of Gaius and Joska, of the weak light spilling throughout the cavernous space, and of Leander hurrying to one of the crates.

“Replace that jacket with this one,” Leander said, handing a dry coat to Mattias. “The layers of material will help trap the heat.”

What heat? Sander thought. He laughed silently while Mattias unzipped the front of his coat and pushed back the hood. A strange cracking noise accompanied the movement. Bits of ice landed on the floor.

“Hang on, brother,” Mattias said, peeling the coat from Sander’s arms. “Leander’s activating the heat packs.”

“I’m fine. What’s the fuss?” Sander shrugged into the new coat, then allowed Mattias to tug the snow-crusted gloves from his hands and replace them with a fresh, dry pair.

“This is the fuss.” Leander flashed a small round mirror in front of Sander’s face.

Father Winter stared back. Sander hardly recognized himself. Ice stuck to his brows and beard and his lips were an alarming shade of blue. He’d never seen himself with such pale skin.

Leander set the mirror aside and began stuffing heat packs into the front of the jacket. “Sit up. Mattias will slide a few packs down your back. We need to heat up your core in a hurry.”

“How is he?” Gunnar said, entering through the back door.

“Almost frozen solid,” Leander replied. “But we’re fixing that.”

Although two layers of material sat between the heat packs and Sander’s skin, it still felt like someone had pressed live coals to his flesh. He squirmed and pushed Leander’s hands away. “They’re too hot. Wait a minute.”

“They only feel hot because you’re so cold. You need these, trust me.” Leander shoved in another pack regardless of Sander’s protests.

“Don’t go to sleep, Dare. Stay awake,” Mattias said.

“I’m not going to sleep.” Sander thought about standing up and putting an end to the pampering madness, but he couldn’t seem to make his arms and legs move.

“You’ve drifted twice already, old man. Gunnar, keep him awake.” Leander tucked a final heat pack against Sander’s nape.

“Hey, brother. Tell me how you got lost out there, huh?” Gunnar asked, dropping into a crouch nearby.

Sander’s sluggish tongue shaped the words that rang clear in his mind. “That’s easy. We’ve got a traitor among us.”