Keith

The first time I hold my son, the world narrows to the weight of him in my arms.

Everything else—wars, trials, blood, crowns—falls away like ash in the wind.

He is small. Red-faced. Furious at the cold air he’s been forced into. His cry is sharp and indignant, and it slices straight through my chest.

Hope laughs weakly from the bed, sweat-damp hair clinging to her temples. “He sounds like you.”

My wolf lifts his head inside me, stunned into reverent silence.

He is ours.

“Yes,” I breathe, voice rough. “He is.”

The healer finishes wrapping him and places him back into my hands properly this time. I didn’t...