Julian stepped out of the carriage beside her, his breath pluming in the freezing air. He looked at the massive army of his homeland, his jaw tightening.
A war horn echoed across the valley, a deep, mournful bellow that shook the snow from the pine trees.
From the center of the Northern lines, a massive armored destrier rode forward, flanked by two dozen heavily armed royal guards. The rider was a giant of a man, draped in a cloak of white wolf fur, wearing a crown of jagged iron.
King Valerius of the North.
Elara did not wait for him to cross the valley.
"Commander Ken. Hold the perimeter," Elara commanded flatly.
"Regent, it is a tactical suicide to walk into the open," Ken rumbled, his grip tightening on his broadsword.
"I am not initiating combat. I am delivering an update," Elara replied.
She began to walk.
