“That bastard. I’m going to smother him in greasy fat and toss him over the bailey wall for the wolves!” Chey banged a fist on her desk in frustration. The upstairs suite she shared with Sander was cold enough to make Chey’s teeth chatter. While she could have built a fire with the few logs left in the holder, she refused on principle. She wouldn’t fall back on special privileges because she was queen. But she needed the quiet and privacy her bedroom afforded, especially for conversations like the one she was currently having with Wynn.

Standing a few feet away with an annoyed, indignant expression on her features, Wynn said, “That might not be a bad idea. And maybe we should grease up the former queen to join him!”

“I swear, Wynn, don’t tempt me. The last three days have challenged my patience and temper like never before. I’ve half a mind to order Burl and Helina to live in the basement. I don’t care if it’s cold and dark and depressing.” Chey spun away from the desk and paced the room. Although the blizzard had finally waned, tensions were running high in Kallaster Castle. Several refugees had serious cabin fever, a few others were growing impatient with sleeping arrangements and rationing, and Burl and Helina had individually driven Chey to drink.

Or would have, if she wasn’t pregnant.

On the upside, no one was stealing food any longer and the snow had temporarily stopped falling. The entire island was covered in thick layers of white, all but impassible after the last storm. It had been bad before; now Chey believed they were well and truly trapped. The latest estimates on supplies were grim: the castle, with its current number of residents, could expect to last another nine days before the food ran out. And that was with the newest portion control in place. Three cups of food per day, per person. If she lowered it to two, not only would residents be hungrier than they already were, she might incite a serious revolt.

The thought of starvation made even the most passive people desperate. But what could she do? Did she really have a choice? Three cups of food per day seemed a luxury compared to none. Unless a miracle happened, she would be forced to cut the portions again.

A sharp knock at the door drew Chey from her reverie. Wynn crossed the room to admit one of Chey’s personal guards. Raune, a shade shorter than Sander with brown hair and green eyes, bowed his head before advancing toward Chey.

“Your Highness, we have a problem,” Raune said without preamble.

The seriousness in his eyes and tone let Chey know that something was awry downstairs. “What kind of a problem? Is it to do with Helina or Burl?”

“Indeed. Burl has made a wild accusation—and apparently backed it up with proof. It’s causing quite a stir. The people need to hear from you,” Raune said.

“What’s he saying now? Hasn’t he caused enough trouble lately?” Chey wasn’t sure how much more she could take. The lightheadedness and twinges hadn’t returned, but she didn’t want to push it.

“He says he found a ration of food tucked away and that you have been secretly hoarding it behind everyone else’s back. Most people don’t believe it, but he’s managed to convince eight to ten prominent members of the castle and now there’s a meeting going on in the great hall,” Raune said.

It was all Chey could do not to snort with derision. She looked at Wynn. “I guess we know where the missing food went.”

“Someone planned this all along,” Wynn said in agreement. “They foresaw that we would have to restrict the rations and plotted this to cause trouble.”

“What do you mean?” Raune asked, narrowing his eyes. He rested a hand on the butt of the handgun attached to his hip.

“Wynn thought someone might be stealing food. She wasn’t sure, but if someone ‘discovered’ a stash somewhere else, then she was right. We were being set up. It’s possible that Burl and his ilk want to try a takeover, like they’ll be able to manage the food better than we will.” Chey caught Raune up to speed, relieved to see genuine surprise cross his features. She would have bet five hours of hard labor that Raune knew nothing about the food theft.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Raune asked.

“Because we weren’t positive, and then there was the matter of the new survivors arriving at the doorstep. I think we can safely assume that Burl is the thief. If not him, then he coerced or bribed someone else to steal it for him,” Wynn said.

“I’d like you to tell the other guards assigned to my detail what’s happened,” Chey said to Raune. “I don’t anticipate the situation spiraling further out of control than it already has, but let’s get things in order, just in case. I also need an update on whether we’ve been able to contact Somero or Imatra for emergency assistance. Can they get supplies through?”

“I’ll let the men know. As far as relief, the military brass thinks that the storms have blanketed the entire region. From Iceland to Russia. We knew a few weeks ago that the countries directly around us were suffering the same predicament, but communication has gone down everywhere and the military has been unable to make contact with the outside. We’ve had a brief respite from the snow, but the general believes that others are affected by the storms we just had. And he fears more storms are coming.” Raune looked unhappy to deliver that bit of news.

Chey caught herself before she could rant about the weather. About the incessant battering that had gripped not just their nation but others. How many people had perished? Thousands? Tens of thousands? “All right. We’ll have to come up with another plan. For now, let’s go down and deal with Burl. And, Raune,” Chey said, touching his arm to make sure she had his full attention, “we need to try harder to get through to Sander. I know the battery power on the satellite phone is almost out, but I think the situation demands it.”

Raune nodded and preceded Chey from the room.

“We’re going to have to come up with a plan, Wynn. If the weather doesn’t break, or we can’t get supplies, we need some other alternative,” Chey said, accompanying her best friend to the door.

“I’ve been thinking about worst case scenarios for a week. We’ll come up with something, Chey.” Wynn hugged Chey with one arm and followed her into the hall.

Mentally preparing herself for confrontation, Chey led the way down to the main level of the castle. Candles on iron holders had been dispersed every ten feet in the most used pathways, allowing residents to traverse the halls without falling.

Raised voices greeted Chey well before she made it to the throng gathered around a single man standing on a chair, commanding the attention of the room.

“So I ask you again, dear citizens, what will your response be to this treachery? To these lies? If we can’t hold our ‘leaders’ accountable, then what’s the point of having them?” Burl shouted. “They’ll let us starve to death while they feed themselves behind closed doors!”

Chey aimed straight for the center of the crowd, allowing her personal guards to clear a path. Many of the people still bowed or curtsied as she passed, proving Chey retained loyalty despite Burl’s attempt to create a rift.

“Get him off the chair,” Chey said to Raune.

Raune and another guard pulled Burl from the impromptu pedestal and dragged him to the perimeter of the crowd.

Not about to waste the opportunity, Chey stepped up onto the chair, attempting to be as graceful as possible considering the bulge of her belly. It was precarious business, which she managed without too much trouble. She straightened and faced the crowd, not shying away from eye contact. “I find myself defending a rumor which, first, has no merit and, secondly, is a proven lie.”

Whispers raced through the crowd. Heads bent together to share the news and discuss the validity of Chey’s statement.

“I’ll be honest—I grow tired of having to repeatedly make statements because one man is bent on creating tension between us. The only person here who thieved food is the same man accusing others of doing it. That’s right,” Chey said over the collective gasps of surprise. “We suspected someone was stealing from the storeroom and now we know exactly who the culprit is.”

“I stole nothing! You can’t prove a thing!” Burl bellowed from the sidelines. His shouts and denials faded as the guards dragged him away.

“What we’re not certain of is whether or not Burl had accomplices. But we’ll find out, and when we do, you’ll be treated accordingly.” Chey swiveled a look around the room, taking in the serious, sober expressions. So far, she did not see any other open looks of suspicion or distrust. Burl’s group was hiding its support of the man well, or mingling too much with everyone else to be noticed. After a moment to let that sink in, Chey continued. “I have never been anything but honest with all of you. I’ve told you that we’re running low on rations and that we’ve got less than two weeks’ worth of stores left. But we’re working on alternative plans—”

“What plans, Your Highness?” someone shouted.

“Trying to obtain relief from neighboring countries, for one. We’re still sending out distress signals, hoping someone will hear. Unfortunately, we believe that our closest allies are facing the same situation we are. The weather has been far too fierce for planes and helicopters to make emergency food drops. We may attempt to send a team to the mainland to rout out supplies if we have no other choice.” Chey hadn’t discussed these options with the advisors, but it made sense. If there was no more food, and no hope at all of help from allies, they would have to send a team to the mainland. Food was scarce everywhere. Had been for months. But Chey hoped that a team would be able to collect enough supplies from several sources to see them through another month.

Murmurs swept the crowd.

“If you have questions, doubts, or concerns, please bring them to our attention. It’s better to learn the truth than to believe lies from bitter, frightened individuals.” Chey stepped down from the chair with help from a guard. Raune returned shortly and escorted her through the crowd. Intent on retreating to her room to gather her thoughts, she got no farther than three steps up the stairs before Urmas’s voice brought her to a halt.

“Your Highness, the advisors would like a meeting in the general conference room. At once.”

Sander struggled to release his weapon as Leander rolled to the side. Finally bringing up the handgun, he aimed it toward the farmhouse. “Good timing,” Sander said to Leander. He wasn’t sure the residents were aiming at him specifically, but it was nice to know Leander had his back. “Anyone hit?”

“No, we’re fine,” Mattias replied from behind a low bush.

“If I hadn’t been looking right at the window when the rifle appeared, things might have gone differently.” Leander inched ahead on his belly until he was mostly obscured by a low mound of snow. “Someone’s going to have to confront them.”

Sander didn’t disagree. But he disliked the circumstances, especially considering they had made it clear who they were by the pennant they’d been flying. If the royal crest meant nothing to these people, they might take another shot when they had a clearer target. Going backward wasn’t an option; they needed the shelter of the farmhouse before nightfall.

“Maybe we can use the cover of the trees, bushes, and snow drifts to get closer to the house. Then, when we think they’re in hearing distance, we can shout out who we are and why we’re here,” Sander said after several minutes of consideration. He wanted to be wrong about the residents of the farmhouse.

“You think they didn’t see the pennant?” Mattias asked.

“Not sure. Could be that they saw movement out here and fired before really taking a hard look. We’re in white and gray camouflage, not black or dark green. It’s possible they think they’re being snuck up on,” Sander said. “I should give them the benefit of the doubt instead of jumping immediately to the wrong conclusion.”

Leander grunted. “Maybe.”

“Let’s do it. Time’s wasting. We’re going to have to expose ourselves a little bit even if we decided to retreat. Might as well go forward and try to get them to listen.” Sander waited a few minutes more, then got up on his feet and ran, crouched, from one embankment of snow to another. The sound of movement behind him assured Sander that his brethren were on his heels.

Another shot rang out, forcing Sander flat to the ground. Leander cursed somewhere behind him and Sander flipped over to look back, afraid that he would see blood pouring from a bullet wound. Leander’s annoyed expression indicated that he wasn’t hit, only frustrated that they were being shot at.

“Everyone all right?” Sander whispered.

“We’re good,” Gunnar said. He was on his belly behind Mattias, with the rest of the team hunkered down beyond a cluster of snow-laden bushes.

Sander crawled forward twenty feet and paused near the base of a tree to gauge the front of the structure. The long porch wrapped all the way around the right side, where several thick bushes provided a decent place to get out of sight. A wide open swath stretched between the bushes and the trees, however, which meant there was nowhere to take cover once he darted into the clearing.

In fact, he realized as he scouted the entire front half of the yard, this was as close as he could get without exposing himself. Sander suspected that the residents would expect intruders to try and go around back and come in that way, and he didn’t want to risk getting shot at again.

He decided to make a stand right there and then.

“Give me the pennant.” Sander slid his weapon into its holster and reached back for the banner.

“You should let me go, Dare,” Mattias said.

“I’m the best candidate,” Leander added. “You guys have a kingdom to run.”

“Maybe they’ll recognize me if I push my hood back while carrying the pennant. Hand it up.” Sander wasn’t taking no for an answer. Yes, he had a kingdom to run. Yes, he had a pregnant wife at home. But his sense of duty to his people and his country was why he was out here in the first place and, in his mind, it was his responsibility to see this through.

“I don’t recommend this,” Leander said.

“There isn’t any other way and we’re running out of time.” Sander accepted the pennant and held it by a short handle. Pushing back his hood, he broke cover and stepped into the open. He raised both hands to show he only carried the pennant and not a gun, and crunched through the snowdrifts toward the farmhouse.

Any second he expected a bullet to punch through his shoulder or stomach. Tension stiffened his muscles and made his teeth grind.

A flicker of movement near the window nearly caused him to dive to the ground; they were going to shoot again. Before he could take any kind of action, the front door to the farmhouse swung open. An elderly man dressed in overalls and snow boots stepped halfway out, rifle held up to his shoulder.

Sander lifted the pennant a little higher. “Stop shooting! We’re here on king’s business. We need shelter.”

“Your Majesty?” A wary voice drifted across the yard.

“Yes. It’s Sander.” He took a few cautious steps, lifting his chin so that the occupants could better see his face. Sander figured his shoulder-length blond hair probably helped identify him, even though he wasn’t known for wearing beards this thick or unruly.

The man on the porch lowered the gun and uttered a shocked curse. He gestured impatiently with a hand. “Your Majesty! Come in, come in.”

“My men need shelter as well.” Sander gave the farm owner warning that other men were about to show themselves.

“Yes, yes. They’re welcome.”

Sander twisted to make a get-a-move-on gesture to his team. In moments, Leander, Mattias, Gunnar, and the two guards lurched into the open.

As if Mother Nature was reluctant to let her passengers go, a gust of wind ushered in the first flurries of a new storm.

Sander continued to the porch, stomping up the steps to remove caked snow from his boots. The elderly man, with a thick head of gray hair and bushy white brows, greeted Sander with a slight bow of his head. Upon closer inspection, Sander took note of the sunken cheeks and ill fit of the farmer’s clothing. The overalls were loose, as if he’d lost a considerable amount of weight.

“We’re sorry about the shooting, Your Majesty. Thought you might be looters. People in this area have to be desperate for food by now,” the man said.

Sander handed off the pennant once his team caught up, stuffed his sunglasses into a pocket, then offered his hand out to the farm owner. “I understand. We wondered if you couldn’t see the crest from here.”

The farmer shook Sander’s hand and then held the screen door open. “Not at first. Glad we were aiming to scare rather than kill. I’m Valder. Honored to have you in our home, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you.” Sander entered the homestead after another kick of his boots against the threshold. After being exposed to so much white in the wilderness, Sander at first had a difficult time adjusting to the gloomier interior. A living area filled with sofas and chairs opened off the entryway. Four people, armed to the teeth, stood in the archway from the living room to the dining room.

The farmer’s wife, with spritzes of silver in her chestnut hair, set her rifle aside and dropped a curtsy. “Oh dear, it really is the king. One moment, Your Majesty. I’ll get . . . something to drink. Come in, please, help yourself to a seat,” she said. “I’m Berith. You’re very welcome in our home.”

Sander took stock of the two men and one younger woman—the farmer’s offspring, Sander thought—before holding a hand up to prevent the farmer’s wife from going to too much trouble. “We appreciate your hospitality, Berith. There’s no need at the moment to get us anything. What I’d like is to run through introductions and find out what you know about your neighbors and whether or not you have enough food stores to get you through the rest of winter.”

The farmer closed and locked the door. He rattled off the names of his children—Turo, Tiemus, Alda—and Sander returned the favor with his team. Sander couldn’t tell if Alda, whom he guessed to be in her early thirties, was exceedingly shy or was afraid of them. She avoided eye contact like the plague.

Once the introductions were out of the way, Sander and his crew shucked their coats while Valder got down to the business of survival.

“I’ll be straight with you, Your Majesty—”

“How about we just go with Sander for now?” Sander said. He wasn’t above being called by his first name under these circumstances.

Valder glanced at his wife as if using Sander’s first name might be a breach of protocol, but then nodded and sank into a chair near the window. He leaned his rifle against the wall within easy reach. “I’ll be straight with you, Sander. We can shelter you, but we’re going to have a devil of a time feeding all of you. We’re short on supplies. This winter has hit us—hit everyone—hard. We haven’t seen or heard from our neighbors in more than a month. Don’t know if they’re dead or alive.”

Sander sank onto a sofa while his men spread out around him. Sitting forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and listened intently to the news. “It’s the same everywhere. We started out from the coast in three trucks, but we lost two of our vehicles along the way. The third went down some distance from here. But we’ve got extra supplies on us that I’ll leave here when we go.”

Valder’s family murmured between them. Valder himself looked surprised. “You’re leaving food behind? But . . . pardon me asking, Your Majes—Sander, where will you go in this weather? We were shocked to see anyone wandering around out there.”

“Yes. I’d hoped to be able to get my satellite phone to work to call for a lift back to Pallan Island, but so far, no luck. The weather has worked against us at every turn. We’ll try tomorrow and the next day, too, depending. We’ve gone as far as we can go on this mission. It’s time for us to return home,” Sander said. Inwardly, he hated the knowledge that hundreds of pounds of food were sitting useless a few miles away. “We had to leave a good portion of the supplies back in the truck, so once we start to thaw even a little, you can have your boys make a trip to get what you need.”

Valder eyed Sander then glanced out the window. One hand rubbed repeatedly at the worn threads of denim covering his knee. “When will that be? Every time we think we’re getting a break, another storm rolls in. What’s going on out there?”

Sander spread his hands. “I wish I knew. On Pallan Island, before we departed on our mission, we heard that the entire region was getting battered by the weather. Not just our country, but many others. One of my advisors who is a history buff explained that during the last mini ice age, thousands of people in Greenland starved to death. Whole colonies disappeared. While I don’t think we’re entering a centuries-long event like that, I do think we’re experiencing some kind of freak occurrence that probably only happens every few hundred years. We just have to get to the end of it; survive until winter breaks.”

“This is the longest, harshest winter I’ve ever seen. And I’ve lived here my whole life,” Valder said. He met Sander’s eyes. “I don’t know how thousands won’t perish from this. Even if the weather calmed tomorrow, there is so much snow that it would take weeks to dig out. And by now, all of the population has gone through their supplies, which means even if we could get into town, the shelves will be bare. Deliveries haven’t gotten through, I’m sure, so there are no extra stores to be shared.”

“You’re not telling me something I don’t already know. We sent out requests for aid months ago. The problem is that the neighboring countries are also under siege by the weather and can’t get trucks or planes out. Regions not affected by the storms are in the same boat. But they’re waiting somewhere close by—that much I do know. I like to think that countries the world over have been sending supplies and storing them as close to us as possible, so that it’ll be less of a challenge to get food here as soon as the snow allows.” What Sander didn’t say was that he worried it would be too little, too late.

Valder nodded. “In all honesty, when I said we only had a few days’ worth of food left, what I meant was that we’re down to our very last rations. We’ve been subsisting on as little food as possible to make it last. I’m afraid we’ll exhaust what little we have left to feed everyone here.”

Sander reached over to pick up one of the spare packs his team had been carrying. When he unzipped the bag, Valder and his family gasped to see packages of beans, rice, and dried meat. It hurt Sander’s heart to see the desperation and hunger in Valder’s family’s eyes.

Pulling out a small satchel, Sander said, “No one will be starving any time soon. Let’s organize what we’ve got and see how many days until it runs out.”