Warmth fled inch by rapid inch as the god-killing magic of Wyrn’s enchanted spear consumed her.

In helpless, frozen silence, she stared up into the dawning horror in the eyes of the man she loved. And then her world went white.

“Khamsin! Khamsiiiin!” Wynter grabbed the cold shaft of Thorgyll’s freezing spear and yanked hard. The spearhead was stuck in his armor plate. He yanked again, and again. “Valik! Laci!” Around him, ice was shedding from the members of his army as Rorjak’s vile enthrallment melted away. The walking slain collapsed to the ground in a natural death, while the rest emerged from the torpor of their enthrallment in varying states of confusion.

“You, there! Calbernan!” Wyn jabbed an imperious finger at the huge, tattooed brute who’d thrown the spear that impaled Khamsin. A few minutes ago, Wyn had nearly lost himself to Rorjak a second time when his instinctive feelings of betrayal and hate at the sight of the Calbernans fighting alongside his wife had given the Ice King the chance to overpower him again. That one moment of doubt might have doomed Wynter again had not Khamsin slain Reika.

It was Reika in whom the Ice King had fully manifested. Reika, who had lusted for power over everything else, just like Rorjak. To gain that power, she’d surrendered herself to the Ice Heart and to Rorjak. He’d used her as his entrée back into the world, used her to manifest his power. Except, a daughter of Ermine clan wasn’t the powerful avatar Rorjak desired for his reincarnation. He’d wanted Wynter, with his royal weathergifts and his Snow Wolf blood.

And that had been his downfall. Because from the moment Wynter saw Khamsin’s tear-stained face and heard her sobbing “I love you!” the Wolf in Wynter’s blood would not let him hurt his mate. That Wolf had refused to be conquered. He’d held out, fighting Rorjak’s attempt to subsume him, until Wynter, listening to his wife’s tearful pleas for him to fight, listening to her sobbed professions of love, had realized that even if Khamsin had tried to help her brother, even if she had betrayed Wynter in every way, it didn’t matter. She was his wife, his queen, his mate. His heart.

And he loved her.

He loved every exasperating, fiery, rebellious, beautiful, challenging, volatile inch of her.

And with that realization, Rorjak lost all chance of claiming any part of Wynter ever again.

“Get over here and help me get this thing out of her!” Wynter snapped at the wary Calbernan. “Move, damn you!”

The islander sprinted over, keeping his barbed trident ready to strike, but when it became obvious Wynter was no longer under the control of Rorjak, the tattooed fellow tossed down his weapon and seized Thorgyll’s spear with both big hands. One flex of those enormous biceps later, and the bloodied spear slid free of Khamsin’s flesh.

Khamsin’s frozen body remained standing, locked in that moment when she’d chosen to sacrifice herself to save him.

“Wyn.” Laci stumbled over. Droplets of water and chips of melting ice covered her from head to toe. “Wyrn save us, what happened?”

“That blue bastard tried to kill Rorjak with the spear. Khamsin jumped in front of it to save me. She’s still alive, Laci. She’s frozen, but I can see the heat in her heart. I can feel it in her blood. And in this.” He reached for the hilt of the sword still embedded in his chest, intending to pull it out.

“Wait!” Laci cried. “What if that sword is the only thing keeping Rorjak at bay?”

The Calbernan snatched up his trident again.

“Calm yourselves. The sword didn’t drive Rorjak out of my heart. She did that. I won’t turn again.” He yanked the sword, which had only penetrated perhaps an inch of flesh, out of his chest and glared at the Calbernan, who lowered the points of his trident but kept an unblinking eye on Wynter.

“You said this thawed the Ice Heart; maybe it will work on Khamsin, too.” Hoping he didn’t have to stab her with the blade to get it to work, Wyn pressed the sword against her chest. Please, gods, let this work. “Come back to me, min ros. Come back to me.”

The limbs that had been frozen solid buckled as they began to thaw. Wynter caught his wife’s body and cradled her to his chest, careful to keep Roland’s sword in place.

“That’s it, Summerlass. You can do it.” He raised her hand and brushed his lips against the cold, soft skin of her slender fingers. She was so slight to be so brave and fierce. A marvel. His marvel. He bent over her, pressing his mouth to her cold, still lips, breathing into her lungs the first warm breath he’d had in years. “I love you.” He lifted her closer, trailing a line of kisses from her mouth to her ear and whispered again, “I love you, Khamsin. My own, Summerlass. I don’t have words enough to describe how much I love you.”

Her throat moved on a swallow. Her lips parted. A small noise breathed out.

“What was that, min ros?” He bent his ear to her mouth. “What did you say?”

The fingers in his hand flexed. The lips pressed to his ear moved. And then on a bare whisper of breath, “Try.”

He pulled back in shock. Her lashes fluttered. Silver-gray eyes looked up at him expectantly through a fringe of lush, curling lashes. One dark brow arched.

He let out a bark of laughter, hugged her tight, and showered her face with kisses. “I love you more than the sunrise. More than laughter. More than song. I love you more than skating on a frozen pond on a clear winter day or soaking in the hot springs of Mount Freika. I love you more than any man in the history of Mystral ever loved a woman. I love you more than I love making love to you—well, no, wait . . . that’s a tie.” She punched him weakly in the arm, and he laughed again. Then the laughter faded, leaving a heart so full he thought it might burst inside his chest, and a solemn sincerity that shone straight from his soul. “I love you. Angelica Mariposa Rosalind Khamsin Gianna Coruscate Atrialan. Rorjak will never have a hold on my heart again, because it belongs wholly and completely to you.”