Veyrion offered me his arm as we stepped down the gangplank onto the snow-slick dock. I didn’t take it.
The massive creature that had once lounged by the fire aboard his ship padded silently behind us. Its fur rippled with each step—hulking, lupine—but its eyes were too intelligent, glinting like fractured ice.
Townsfolk gave it a wide berth. Some bowed their heads in silent acknowledgment. Others muttered in a dialect I didn’t understand.
It didn’t growl. Didn’t snarl. It simply followed—like it belonged to him the way a shadow belonged to a body.
“My home isn’t far,” Veyrion said, breath a pale mist that didn’t seem to faze him.
We passed townsfolk who watched without speaking. Some nodded to him—recognition, respect. A few smiled faintly, the kind reserved for a returning warrior. He wasn’t just known here. He was claimed.
The path wound upward past stone dwellings with thick thatched roofs and iron sconces burning with pale blue flame. Eventually we reached a carved archway flanked by stone sentinels, their eyes glinting with frost. Beyond it, the mountain opened into a cavern-like hall—warmth rolling out in waves from braziers fed with slow-burning coals and something that felt like enchantment.
“Welcome to Skeldrhall,” Veyrion said, drawing back a heavy hide curtain. “It’s not much. But it keeps the storms out.”
What he called 'not much'was magnificent.
The hall was grand and wild—old power made physical. Towering beams carved with serpentine patterns supported the vaulted ceiling, thick pelts layered across stone floors. A hearth roared at the center, casting gold over walls etched with deep runes that shimmered faintly in the heat. Shields clustered along the walls, each bearing a sigil I didn’t recognize. Above the entry hung a preserved beast skull large enough to belong to something mythic.
The doors closed behind us with a sound like a seal being set. The place felt awake.
Listening.
He led me through stone halls veined with frost-silver runes, the air sharp with pine resin and frost. Iron sconces burned blue-white flames. He stopped before a door carved with interlocking knots and constellations—patterns I didn’t recognize but felt in my bones anyway.
“This will be where you stay,” he said, pushing it open.
Warmth hit my face. A hearth crackled softly, casting gold over furs layered thick across the floor. A bed carved from pale wood stood against the far wall, its posts etched with star-knotted symbols. A basin of steaming water waited near the fire, herbs floating on the surface—juniper, frostmint, something sweet beneath it all.
Shelves held polished stone bowls, glass vials of scented oil, neatly folded linens stacked with quiet intention. In the corner stood a tall mirror framed in carved bone, its surface catching my reflection in pale fragments.
On a small table, someone had left dried fruits, cheese, and a steaming kettle of something unfamiliar—set there not as comfort, but as preparation.
And on the bed—A gown.
Silver-threaded. Midnight blue. It glimmered when the firelight flickered.
Veyrion’s voice carried from the doorway, calm as if he were discussing weather. “We’ll be leaving soon to see the Elders.”
A pause—then the faintest thread of amusement. “Wear the dress. They’ll expect a queen. Not a pirate.
A queen. The word sat wrong in my mouth. Heavy. Distant. Not meant for a girl who once called coral caves sanctuary, who swam in defiance of tides.
But maybe that was the point. Maybe queens weren’t born. Maybe they were forged—in seafoam, in frost, in fire. And in vows they never wanted to make.
I thought about what it would mean to marry Veyrion. The thought lodged in my chest like a stone.
What would Alaric think? This would be for him. To keep him alive. To buy him time. Maybe even a future. The last thing I’d said to him had been his own words turned against him. Cold. Cruel. Would he ever know why I did it? Or would he only see betrayal?The thought of his face—shuttered, unreadable—burned worse than the cold outside.
But that didn’t erase the unease gnawing at my ribs. I didn’t trust Veyrion—not even close. For all I knew, he’d already sent men to kill Alaric. Maybe this was a game—calculated cruelty to see how far he could bend me before I broke.
I could run. I could refuse and let pride get me killed. I could pray the man I loved survived the storm without me. But prayers had never saved anyone like us.
So I chose the option where I stayed alive long enough to matter.
He could’ve killed me. Sold me. Turned me into the Tidekeepers. Thrown me back to the ice and let it finish the job. Instead, he wanted to bind me to him.
The gown lay across the bed, silver-threaded runes glinting faintly in the lamplight. I couldn’t tell if putting it on would makeme a savior, a traitor… or something else entirely. My fingers hovered over the fabric, tracing the frost-threaded symbols as though they might burn.
