When Locke had fallen, it had been to hurricanes and firestorms and skyfire and snowstorms—bodies had lain frostbitten and burned side by side. He had been trying to prepare the men here for what they would soon face, but none of them truly understood.

Not yet.

But he would make them. If he had to burn or freeze or drown them himself to make them understand the danger that was coming, he would.

When he was halfway down the hall to his room, he began tearing at the buttons to his coat, eager to have the thick garment off his sweaty body. He had come from a training session with the kingdom’s most talented Stormling soldiers—a mix of Pavanian men and women and a few of his own surviving men. Perhaps, if he had not lost so many of his own soldiers in the wildlands as they searched for Princess Aurora, he would feel better about their chances. But as things stood, they had a long way to go before the soldiers he was training could prevent the kind of destruction that had taken his homeland.

Scowling, he ripped off his coat, and pushed open the door to his office. He threw the heavy piece of clothing on top of a nearby chair, and attacked the buttons of his shirt next, not bothering to undo them neatly, but pulling the shirt open with one harsh yank.

Then he stilled, noticing too late that his rooms were not empty. He stiffened, ready to reach for one of his knives, before a second person emerged from the bedroom, a silk scarf wound about his fists. Cassius relaxed, but only slightly, then stalked across the room to tear the pretty piece of silk from the hands of his brother.

“What do you think you are doing?” he snarled.

His younger brother gave a cavalier smirk, but loosened his hold so the purple fabric came free easily. Casimir said, “Just trying to figure out why you still live in this place, rather than taking rooms of your own like the rest of us have.”

“I like these rooms.” Cassius said, his tone clipped. He started to fold the scarf, but the scrape of a chair behind him reminded him that there was a third person in the room. Not wanting to give away more than he already had, he wadded the silk up and tossed it aside in the same manner he had his coat.

“You could at least change things up,” his brother added. “Bleeding skies, the wardrobe is still filled with dresses.”

He ground his teeth together and swallowed the answer he wanted to give—that Aurora would be back, he would find her, no matter how long it took. Instead, he sneered, “I have been too busy to redecorate. Impending doom, and what not.”