Chapter 63

THIRD PERSON’S POV The cold wind moved through the city walls of Illyria. Viktor Simons, Marshal of the Western Plains, stood on top of the balcony, looking over everything. In the distance, he could see the Lycan Kingdom’s camp. His gloved hands were clenched behind his back. The scent of wolves filled the air, sending a shudder through his own beast. His wolf stirred, not with fear, but with total hate. Viktor’s white hair remained untouched by the wind, but the cold air wrapped around him, making each exhale a cloud of ice. He could hear the snow crunching under the boots of approaching soldiers. Marshal Chandler of the Dune Kingdom was with them. Unlike Viktor, Chandler had spent his years fighting in the heat of the dunes, and the bitter cold of this northern front did little to suit him. “This march has taken its toll,” Chandler said, coming closer to Viktor, “The men need rest, Viktor. They’ve crossed leagues of frozen wasteland. Pushing them any harder may break them before bat