A bitter wind screamed across the frozen plains of Elderglen, clawing at rooftops and howling through cracks in stone like a starving beast. Snow fell sideways beneath a bone-white moon—no mercy tonight.
Inside a small timber cottage nestled between dead orchards and icy fields, Lira Veyne stirred beside a dying fire. She tucked her woolen shawl tighter around her shoulders and stared into the embers. One spark popped, flickered and died.
Just like hope.
Outside, silence came too suddenly.
No owl cry.
No creaking branch.
Not even wind dared breathe now.
She frowned.
Her fingers curled around the iron poker beside her chair the same one she used when Old Man Drift tried to kiss her at spring market last year ("You're too fiery for your own good," he'd said). She hadn't forgiven him yet but tonight? That little flame inside didn't feel like pride anymore it felt like warning.
Then boots on snow
Not one pair. Not two...
But dozens footsteps marching in unison across frost-crusted ground toward her door with military precision no bandit could ever mimic
Her breath caught mid-lung as shadows slid past her window not peasant cloaks or fur hoods but tall figures dressed from head-to-toe in midnight-blue armor etched with silver glyphs that shimmered under moonlight: the King's Silent Guard?
But they weren't royal men loyal to any throne Lira knew because every shield bore an emblem she'd only ever heard of in forbidden whispers:
❄️ A crown forged from ice spires surrounding twin flames locked together one red one pale blue
The Crest of Vardenhold.
"Impossible," she whispered aloud her voice barely louder than ash drifting upward from cold coals but it tasted true all over again on dry lips:
They were coming for her?
Why would Lord Varden the cursed Ice Tyrant who ruled over half this realm through blood oaths and silenced tongues ever send his soldiers here? To take some nobody girl living off turnips and stubborn dreams?
Before she could finish
BANG
The door exploded inwardbnot splintered or cracked but
Smashed open, as if torn by blizzard hands themselves!
Snow rushed inside like ghosts invading sacred space; logs tumbled from hearth; candle flames flickered wild before gutting out entirely
And then he appeared between them all
Tall.
Unmoving.
Cloaked not just in black velvet trimmed with wolf-fur collar but something darker still:
An aura that made even steel tremble against bone marrow coldness radiating off him.
Lord Kaelen Varden stood against winter sky behind him one hand gripping war-ice gauntlet hanging at his hip and those eyes
Oh gods they weren't human eyes anymore!
Pale silver irises so bright they glowed faintly beneath brow ridge sharp as broken glass with darkness circling