"Hands under his shoulders—lift!" Rowan hissed as snow stung their faces. "Rowan, he's heavy!" Mira replied, breath sharp in the cold. "Then stop whining and move!" Rowan jerked the man's cloak tighter over his wounds and hauled. Snow slid from his cloak in wet flakes. Their boots left ragged prints toward the ruined shrine. "Who is he?" Mira asked between steps. "Not asking. Not now." Rowan kept her voice low. She shoved the shrine door open with her shoulder. Wind pushed inside and carried their breath away. The shrine had collapsed in one wing; old carved stone kept the rest. A broken lantern still smoked on the floor. Rowan dragged the man over shattered tiles and pushed him into a dark niche. She bared her hands to check his side; the blood was old and dark under the torn cloth. "Is he breathing?" Mira demanded. Rowan pressed fingers against a pulse. It was slow. "Talk to him," Rowan ordered. "Name, anything." Mira dropped to her knees and called, "Hey. Sir, wake up. What's your name?" The man's eyes opened. They were flat and cold in the torchlight. He tried to speak. Words came out slurred. "Who... are you?" Mira asked again. "Lucian Vale," he rasped. His jaw tightened around the name like a trap. Rowan froze for a beat that felt like an incision. She did not let her face change. "Lucian Vale?" Mira's voice narrowed. "The prince?" Rowan covered her mouth with a