Chapter One: The Bride of Winter

Chapter One: The Bride of Winter

The royal ship cut through the black waters, its sails unfurling like ghostly wings against the bruised horizon. Princess Zenaida Reyes stood at the edge of the deck, her snow-white hair catching the wind, a veil of frost beneath the sinking sun.

Behind her, Sunfire Isle shimmered in gold and crimson—a warm memory slipping further into the sea. Home. Familiar. Safe.

Ahead, Nyxshire waited.

Cold. Distant. Unforgiving.

Her fingers tightened around the railing, leather gloves creaking softly. The chill in the air didn’t bother her—not anymore. She had learned to live with cold. She had learned to hide in it.

The marriage contract was written in blood and wax. Sunfire’s brightest flower was to wed Nyxshire’s steel-hearted Emperor. An alliance forged by strategy, not affection. Not choice.

“Your Highness.”

A guard approached cautiously, his voice laced with nerves. “We’ll arrive by dawn.”

Zenaida gave the faintest nod, her gaze fixed on the horizon.

They said Emperor Zypher Lancaster had eyes of stone and a heart carved from winter. That he spoke in commands, not words of warmth. That no one ever got close enough to thaw him.

She wondered if that would change. Or if she would be just another title in his ledger—princess, bride, pawn.

The wind rose suddenly, colder, sharper.

And then she heard it.

Zenaida…

She froze.

The voice was not the guard’s. Not the crew’s. It was older. Familiar.

A whisper she had heard in dreams woven with shadow and flame.

She turned quickly, pearl-white eyes scanning the deck.

Empty. Still.

Her breath caught in her throat. Not from the cold—but from the knowing.

A presence… watching. Waiting.

You are not just a bride.

You are the key. The weapon. The reckoning.

She squeezed her eyes shut, heart pounding in defiance.

Not now. Not yet.

For a moment, the ocean seemed to hush—like it, too, was listening.

At Dawn – The Gates of Nyxshire

Snow fell like ashes from a dead sky. The carriage doors opened, and Zenaida stepped out into a courtyard carved of ancient ice and breathless silence. Soldiers lined the path, cloaked in black armor, their spears like frozen trees.

The air bit at her skin, but she held her head high. Every step echoed—graceful, deliberate. Let them see her strength. Let them wonder if she was truly just a girl.

And there he was.

Emperor Zypher Lancaster stood at the top of the palace stairs, cloaked in shadows, his crown burning with obsidian light. His gaze met hers—impassive, unreadable.

He looked like a man carved from stone and firelight.

Zenaida bowed slightly. “Your Majesty.”

He studied her like a blade to be measured. “Welcome to Nyxshire,” he said at last. His voice was flat, carved from the same chill that surrounded them. “Let us get this over with.”

So this was how it began.

The palace doors opened behind him—tall, dark, and wide enough to swallow fate whole.

Zenaida stepped forward, her heartbeat steady—but her destiny already unraveling like thread between gods.

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