Page 30 of Iron Beneath the Snow

“It was necessity.”

“And what am I now?” she asked. “A symbol? A message?”

He considered the question for a moment before answering.

“A bridge.”

She let out a short breath.

“Bridges are usually walked over.”

“Only when they’re built to carry weight,” he said. “Some bridges hold armies.”

Her gaze sharpened.

“And which kind do you expect me to be?”

“That,” he said quietly, “depends on you.”

Their eyes held across the room.

In the steady firelight she studied him more carefully than she had been able to in Frostvein’s hall. His features were severe but not cruel, and there was something deliberate in the way he held himself—as if restraint, not indifference, guided him.

She searched his face for anything her memory would recognize.

Found nothing.

“I stand under Ironfang protection now,” she said slowly. “Does that protection extend to your wolves?”

“It does,” he said. “Ironfang doesn’t harm those under its protection.”

“And you?” she asked.

His gaze held hers a moment longer than before.

“Yes,” he said at last. “Including me.”

Something about that unsettled her more than refusal would have.

“You should rest,” he said after a moment.

She watched him.

“And you?”

“There’s a hall full of wolves deciding what you mean for Ironfang,” he said. “I should probably attend that discussion.”

Of course he did.

She crossed the room and knelt by the hearth, striking a spark into the waiting wood. The fire caught quickly, flames rising through the stacked branches and casting restless light across the iron-banded walls.

When she turned back toward the doorway, he had not moved. Soren still stood where she had left him, watching her with a quiet concentration that was difficult to interpret. There was nothing openly possessive in his gaze, and nothing resembling hunger. If anything, it felt as though he were measuring distance—between them, between decisions already made and those still waiting.

“You will not be forced here,” he said after a moment.

“In Ironfang.”

The words were delivered with deliberate clarity, as if he wanted no misunderstanding to survive them.