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events.
    At her cry his head whipped around. 'Twas not a scream, but a challenge to do battle. Like a Valkyrie, the princess flew at him—her visage radiant with anger, her black hair evidenced only by its high sheen beneath the night sky.
    So entranced was he by the sight, she was upon him before he could react. Her hands struck his thighs, clawed at his mantle as if she would dismount him from his horse. Holding the child close, he scabbarded his sword.
    "Give him to me." Her face gleamed white with cold and whatever emotion that fueled her attack. Fear or hatred? Both, he surmised. He reined his mount to the side, so as not to trample her.
    "Mama."
    The child spoke softly but the word stung Kol's ears as if it had been shouted by an army of thousands. His gaze held hers as he allowed her to take the child. Of course. Beside him stood a noblewoman, full-grown. He should have known she would have a family. A child.
    A husband.
    So why did he feel as if he'd been dealt a blow by the flat side of a sword? A vision formed in Kol's mind, that of a shining, faceless hero. Her husband. Hatred and jealousy flared deep within, and with it a primal desire.
    She backed away, her eyes narrowed. Against her breast she held the child tight and whispered against the small cheek. Kol jerked the reins and spurred his mount to follow her. Over the child's head she cast him a venomous glare, clearly intended to wound. The effect was opposite.
    He wanted to touch her.
    "Come here." He dismounted.
    "Nay." The princess's eyes darkened, clearly sensing a new and different danger. "I will not."
    Silence ruled the grove, save for the rush of the wind through the trees and the elusive patter of Heaven spilling its frozen, fragmented tears upon the earth.
    Had he met her husband in battle? He hoped so. A succession of images flashed through his memory, one after the other. The men he had fought and defeated that day. Each and every death-moment.
    He moved toward her. She retreated, turning the child's face against her neck.
    A woman's cry and the sound of horses' hooves tore his attention from her. Vekell burst from the weald atop his mount. Before him scattered a dozen or so children and one very terrified woman. Soldiers quickly fenced them in.
    "Hermione," the princess called. Kol's eyes descended over her wet garments, which molded against long, slender legs. "Children."
    The woman sobbed and fell at Isabel's feet. "Forgive me, my lady. When the boy heard you he escaped my grasp, and I knew not where to take the others." Around her narrow shoulders she wore only a thin shawl. The children huddled together, their faces gaunt, their eyes wide and fixed on the giants who surrounded them. Most were not dressed to survive the elements. Some wore no shoes.
    Realization struck Kol, and with it, an anger so intense, the fires of passion that had so consumed him moments before were summarily doused.
    He leveled his gaze upon the princess. "You knew they were here."
    Her face shone luminous, her lips black red. Droplets of ice glistened upon her hair like diamonds. Her silence confessed everything. His men waited upon their mounts, quiet and watchful. Behind him his steed snorted and pawed, as if sensing his fury. Wind surged through the trees.
    Anger thickened his voice. "You would let them die of cold to spare them from me?" The princess did not look at him as a man, but as a monster.
    The princess did not blink. She did not move. She merely stood holding her child like the statue of some long-dead martyr, challenging him with her violet eyes. Almost as if she had witnessed every sin he had ever committed.
    He was damn sick of her eyes and the way they judged him. Striding forward he took hold of her arm.
    The children cried out. Some of them screamed.
    As if he were a bloody-fanged monster, come to eat them alive. He grew more furious. All around, the forest trees pitched and roiled, brandishing their branches as if they, too, protested his hold on her.