There is a specific way a man walks when he is carrying news that will hurt someone he loves. Nicholas was walking that way now.
Guinevere knew the walk, and she could feel it. He didn't have to say it. His wolf was already mourning through the matebond before his mouth caught up.
"A relay arrived during the summit session. Ship-carried to the harbor, then wolf-run from the coast." His voice was steady. The voice of a man who had practiced this sentence at least twice on the walk here and was now delivering it like a field report because the alternative was delivering it like a man who didn't want to leave. "Shadowfell's eastern border has been hit. My people are under attack."
The words landed in her chest before they finished reaching her ears. Her wolf pressed forward, low and anxious, reading the grief through their matebond before her brain could process the language.
