The journey to the postern gate was a nightmare. Every torchlight sputter made her flinch. Every distant shout sent a spike of ice through her veins. She saw two guards huddled near a brazier, their backs to her, and she flattened herself against the cold wall, holding her breath until she thought her lungs would burst, before scurrying past them like a field mouse.
The small, iron-bound gate was unguarded. With a trembling hand, she lifted the heavy bar, her muscles straining. It opened with a groan that was swallowed by the shriek of the wind.
She was out.
The storm hit her with the force of a physical blow. Rain immediately plastered her cloak to her skin, and the wind nearly tore the breath from her lungs. The world was a chaos of darkness and noise. She pulled the hood of Maude's cloak low over her face and plunged into the night, away from the only home she had ever known, away from the man she loved.
The trek to the Dragon's Tooth pass was the hardest thing she had ever done. The ground was a treacherous mess of mud and loose rock. The wind pushed and pulled at her, a malevolent ghost trying to drag her back.
Her only guide was the looming, jagged silhouette of the mountains against the slightly less dark sky.
The ruined shrine was just as Finn had described, a crumbling stone arch huddled against the mountainside, a ghost of a forgotten faith. Tethered to a dead tree was a sturdy, shaggy pony, its breath pluming in the cold air. It snorted and stamped its feet as she approached, its eyes rolling with a mix of fear and stubbornness.
She found the saddlebags Finn had left: a loaf of dense bread, a hard wedge of cheese, a full waterskin, and a small flint and steel. And a note, scrawled in a clumsy but hopeful hand.
Gods speed, Your Majesty. The path is marked with white stones. Trust the pony. He knows the way.
She stroked the pony's neck, its coarse hair a small, solid comfort in a world of chaos. Thank you, Finn
A note she left behind for him.
The ascent was brutal. The path was little more than a goat track, winding up through sheer rock faces. The pony was sure-footed, its small hooves finding purchase where she saw none. She clung to its mane, her body numb with cold and exhaustion, her mind a blank slate of survival. There was no room for fear, no room for sorrow. There was only the next step, the next white stone, the next agonizing breath.
***
In the King's solar, the council meeting was a study in tension.
"The western garrisons are stretched thin, Your Majesty,"
a grizzled commander was saying, pointing a thick finger at a map.
"The snows will cut them off entirely within a fortnight. We need to resupply now, before the passes close."
The King, a severe silhouette in the firelight, listened, his steepled fingers betraying nothing.
Claude stood by the fire, its warmth a mockery of the cold dread pooling in his gut. He wasn't listening. He was thinking of Elowen, of the lie in her eyes, of the way she had flinched when he'd spoken of the storm. A terrible, premonitory coldness had settled over him, a feeling he only ever got on the eve of a battle he knew he would lose.
"The supply lines are our priority,"
the King was saying, his voice a smooth, commanding instrument.
"General De Valois, you will oversee the winter provisions personally. You leave at dawn."
Claude blinked, dragged back to the present. "At dawn, Your Majesty?"
"Do you have a problem with your orders, General?"
the King asked, a sharp, dangerous edge to his tone.
"No, Your Majesty."
The meeting concluded. As the other commanders filed out, the King held Claude back with a gesture.
"My son,"
the King said, a rare, almost paternal softness in his voice.
Claude said nothing, his senses on high alert.
"It is good that you are… fond of her,"
the King continued, walking to the window and looking out at the raging storm.
"It makes her more docile. More malleable. A fond mare is easier to breed."
Claude's hands curled into fists at his sides. "She is my wife."
"She is a broodmare,"
the King corrected, turning from the window, his eyes like chips of ice.
"And a very expensive one. Do not forget her purpose, Claude. Or yours. That is all."
Claude strode out of the solar, the King's words echoing in his ears like a death knell. A broodmare. A very expensive one. The coldness in his gut turned to ice, then to a raging fire. He didn't go to the barracks to prepare for his journey. He went to his rooms.
He found Maude there, frantically trying to smooth the bedcovers, her face pale and tear-streaked.
"Where is she?"
Claude demanded, his voice dangerously quiet.
Maude flinched, wringing her hands.
"My lord General… I…"
Claude crossed the room in three strides, his face a mask of cold fury. He grabbed the old maid by the arms, not roughly, but with an unshakeable grip.
"Maude. I am not asking you where my wife is. I am telling you to tell me where she has gone."
A sob escaped Maude's lips. She looked at the general, at the desperation and terror warring in his eyes, and the last of her resolve crumbled.
"She's gone, my lord. To the Dragon's Tooth pass."
With tears in her eyes.
"My lord she is with child... she had to... the King"
The words hit Claude with the force of a physical blow. He let go of Maude, stumbling back a step as if struck. Child. The word reverberated in his head, a dizzying, world-shattering revelation. And the King. The two pieces clicked into place with horrifying, sickening clarity. His father's threats. Her fear. Her flight.
He didn't waste another second. He turned and ran, not towards the stables for a horse, but towards the armory. He moved with a speed and purpose that sent servants scattering before him. He buckled on a sword belt and grabbed a heavy cloak. He was not a husband going to fetch his wife. He was the Mad Dog of Ravaryn, unleashed, and nothing on heaven or earth would stop him.
He found a warhorse in the stables, a huge, black stallion that reared and fought at the unfamiliar touch. Claude broke it with a few sharp words and a sheer force of will, swinging himself into the saddle without a saddle or stirrups.
He rode out not through the postern gate, but through the main gate, the guards, seeing their general armed and mounted, snapping to attention and not daring to question him.
The storm was a living entity. It clawed at him, tried to unseat him, blinded him with sheets of rain and whipped him with debris. The horse was strong, but the ground was a quagmire. Claude pushed the animal relentlessly, leaning low over its neck, whispering grim encouragements, his mind a single, burning thought: Elowen.
The Dragon's Tooth pass was a maelstrom of wind and rock. The path was gone, washed away into a churning river of mud and stone. He had to dismount, leading the terrified horse, his boots sinking ankle-deep in the mire. He scanned the darkness, his soldier's eyes searching for any sign, any trace.
He found it. Near a place where the path had sheared away entirely, a scrap of dark, wet fabric snagged on a thorny bush. He recognized it immediately. The deep blue velvet of her gown.
A raw, guttural sound tore from his throat. He scanned the sheer drop below, a dizzying fall into blackness.
"Elowen!"
he roared, his voice swallowed by the storm. "ELOWEN!"
There was no answer.
The tracks were gone washed away from the storm. She was gone... something burned in him that day. He had no choice but to head back, he was going to gather his forces. His father wanted a "Mad Dog" well he got it now.
He rode back to the castle, a grim specter caked in mud and fury. The storm had finally broken, leaving behind a raw, washed-clean world under a pale, dawn sky. He burst into the King's solar, not even bothering to knock.
The King was there, looking out the window, a picture of serene satisfaction.
He turned as Claude entered, a faint, mocking smile on his lips.
"Ah, General. Your wife has taken a night air, I see. Or has she flown away like the fairy she is?"
Claude said nothing. He strode across the room, the mud from his boots smearing the pristine floor. He stopped in front of the map that covered the large oak table.
With a single, violent motion, he swept the entire map—books, markers, all of it—to the floor.
The King's smile vanished, replaced by a flicker of surprise and then cold anger.
"You dare? I warned you not to get attached Claude. She was nothing but a pawn, it is unfortunate that she is gone and did not even bear an heir yet."
the King said with a cold smirk.
Claude's head snapped up, his eyes burning with a light that made even the King take an involuntary step back.
"She did,"
Claude said, his voice dangerously quiet. "She is with child. With your grandchild. And you drove her away to her death."
The King's composure finally cracked. His face paled, a genuine shock warring with his rigid pride. "A child...well then she has commited a crime, of kidnapping the heir."
"Crime?"
Claude laughed, a harsh, broken sound. "The only crime here is yours. And you will pay for it."
With a speed that defied his exhaustion, Claude drew a dagger from his belt. He slammed it into the polished surface of the table, quivering with the force of the blow, inches from the King's hand. The sharp thwack echoed in the deathly silent room.
"This is Ravaryn now,"
Claude snarled, his finger pointing at the hilt of the dagger.
"My Ravaryn. The old ways are dead. The western territories will not be garrisons; they will be provinces. Their people will not be subjects; they will be citizens. And you,"
he leaned closer, his face a mask of cold fury, "you will stay in this room, and you will count your days. Your reign is over, I am the new king now and if you protest your life is mine to take."
He did not wait for a reply. He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the King staring at the quivering dagger, a man who had won a kingdom only to lose it to a son's love.
The castle was in an uproar. Guards stood uncertain, nobles whispered in corridors, but when they saw the General—mud-stained, burning-eyed, radiating a terrifying aura of absolute authority—they fell silent and made way. They were not seeing Claude De Valois anymore. They were seeing the Mad Dog, and he had finally slipped his leash.
He went to the barracks. The soldiers, his veterans, snapped to attention. They saw the look on his face and knew something fundamental had changed.
"My father is confined and no longer the king."
Claude announced, his voice ringing with command.
"The western territories are now under my direct protection. There will be no more reprisals, no more hostages. We go not as conquerors, but as liberators. Any who disagree will answer to me."
He looked at his men, at the hard, loyal faces he had led into battle a dozen times. He saw their confusion, their fear, but he also saw their trust.
"Elowen, Queen of Ravaryn, is lost in the Dragon's Tooth pass. She is carrying the heir to the throne. We will find her."