“What is it?”
“Frostwraiths.” Her voice broke on the word. “A patrol’s returned—half dead, and they’re bringing the storm with them.”
She was gone before I could ask another question, skirts vanishing into the hall’s shadow.
The room suddenly felt too small. The air itself had weight. I pressed a hand to the window’s frostglass and saw motion in the distance—guards running along the battlements, the faint shimmer of runes igniting like lightning strikes in the snow.
I could’ve stayed. Should’ve stayed.But when the next scream rose, sharp and human, instinct pushed me out the door.
The corridors were a blur of white and movement. Servants fled inward; soldiers sprinted toward the outer gates, armor clattering. I caught pieces of their words as I ran.
“Broke through the ward—”“Three men frozen standing—”“Get the Heir! Now!”
By the time I reached the lower courtyard, snow was falling hard and fast, almost sideways. The wind howled through the iron arches, carrying voices that didn’t belong to any human throat.
The patrol stumbled through the gate—seven soldiers, only three still on their feet. Their armor smoked faintly with cold, steam rising from beneath the plates as if the frost itself had burned them.
I pushed through the chaos, ignoring the shouts to get back. One man collapsed near the wall, skin so pale it looked carved from marble. I fell to my knees beside him.
“Don’t touch them!” someone shouted.
Too late. My hands were already on his throat, searching for a pulse. His skin was freezing, but beneath it—there. A faint rhythm. Barely.
“Hold still,” I murmured. The words fogged between us, and I didn’t care who heard. I pressed my palms flat against his chest, rubbing briskly, trying to stir heat into the muscle.
A hiss of warmth flared through my fingertips, sharp and unbidden, but it worked.The soldier gasped. Color crept back into his lips. His eyes fluttered open in disbelief.
“What—” he began.
“Breathe,” I said, grabbing his arm. “You’re alive. Stay that way.”
He blinked once, then clutched my wrist like a lifeline.
A shadow fell over us. I looked up and saw him—Kaelith—framed in the archway.
The storm bent around him. His armor was darker than the snow, his eyes sharper than the wind. He didn’t shout, didn’t move fast, but everything near him reacted—frost retreating, air sharpening, soldiers straightening as if his presence alone anchored the chaos.
“What are you doing here?” His voice cut through the noise.
“Helping,” I said.
“I gave an order.”
“I can help.”
The courtyard froze. No one spoke. Even the wind hesitated, unsure which of us it feared more.
Then Kaelith exhaled, not quite a sigh, not quite surrender, and turned toward the open gate.
“Then help quickly,” he said, drawing his blade. “They’re not done with us yet.”
Suddenly, the wind changed.
It wasn’t just cold—it waswrong.It was the kind of cold that felt alive, twisting through the courtyard as if it were searching for something.
Kaelith raised his hand, and the remaining guards fell back in perfect formation. Lines of runes lit along the outer wall, and the gate shuddered shut with a sound like a glacier splitting.
“Shields up,” he ordered. His tone didn’t rise, but every soldier obeyed instantly. I’d never seen authority like that, so quiet yet absolute.
