Behind a mess hall, the Wolves drilled until the air steamed. Breath came in white banners; oaths turned to mist and vanished. Aurelia watched, counted wrong on purpose, and a hundred Astartes learned that mercy could be disguised as mathematics. Russ's eyes narrowed at the soft‑stepped count—kindness, to him, looked like a thin place in the hide, a softness storms tear first. She met his look without flinching. "Kindness is not weakness," she said, calm as snow. "It is bravery that refuses to turn cruel. Strength can wear gentleness and still be strength; peace is what courage looks like when it has nothing left to prove."
Russ barked a laugh, then stalked over. "Kindness is not a tactic," he said, testing her, eyes crinkled like ice breaking.
"It is," she said. "A pack runs farther when you let lungs be lungs."
They sparred without touching. She never swung; she knew when to stop. He heard an authority that asked for nothing in return. When Russ's voice lifted—a winter‑bark that made recruits straighten—the Custodes along the yard's edge went very still, hands settling to spear‑shafts. In the Imperium, the line ran simple: the Emperor, then His daughter; to raise a voice at her was to brush against Him. Aurelia's calm held. She poured mjød for the sergeants and called it a cool‑down; Russ pretended not to approve and drank anyway, and the Ten Thousand eased by half a breath. One Huscarl let his gaze meet the Wolf‑King's—no challenge, only the iron of order. Russ dipped his chin the breadth of a blade. The Huscarl returned to his watch.
Russ let the silence hang a beat longer and flashed a wolfish grin toward the gold line. "Easy, gilded ones—will you spear a man for being loud?" he drawled. The Custodes did not reply; they never needed to. Grips tightened a fraction on hafts, shield rims settled to stone, and their stance became the shape of displeasure. That was answer enough; Russ huffed—half laugh, half respect—and turned back to the drill.
At dusk, he called her little jarl of truces and pretended not to be pleased with the title he had coined. Later, when a drillmaster shortened a punishment by exactly her miscount, Russ pretended not to notice he was learning. That evening, as the yard cooled, he found her by the water‑steps.
"Do not let them make a weakness of your kindness," he said, voice low. "The wide world will take and take."
She touched his cheek with two fingers. "I need not bear wolf fangs," she answered. "I have yours."
Russ's laugh was warm and rough; he bent to kiss her brow. "Then be as you are, little pup," he said—affection without apology—and the night kept the vow.