Somewhere across the sea, his mate was in danger. Nicholas Shadowfell knew this the way he knew his own pulse.
He had seven hundred and fifty million gold in a vault beneath his Keep. At the moment, it was absolutely fucking useless. The woman he'd liquidated an estate for was afraid and he was too goddamn far away to do anything about it.
The war table was covered in maps and reports from six different border captains who all said the same thing: the continent was getting absolutely railed, and nobody was talking to each other.
Nicholas stood at the head of it.
"We can't reinforce Nighthollow without yanking men from the eastern line," Captain Harlan said. "Which leaves a massive, gaping hole until someone grows a pair and admits this isn't six different problems. It's one big continental clusterfuck."
