Azriel won. His one-hundred-ninety-ninth victory, apparently. The three of them had entered the cabin an hour later, dripping snow, skin splotched with red, grinning from ear to ear. Mor and I, snuggled together beneath a blanket on the couch, only rolled our eyes at them. Rhys just dropped a kiss atop my head, declared the three of them were going to take a steam in the cedar-lined shed attached to the house, and then they were gone. I blinked at Mor as they vanished, letting the image settle.
