The Sound of Frost

The carriage wheels crunched through a thin layer of ice that laced the cobbled streets of the capital. Snow fell in silent flakes, softening the edges of the grand city, turning its spires and alleys into delicate shapes blurred by white. From inside the carriage, Lady Seraphine Valemont kept her gloved hands folded in her lap, though her fingers itched with nerves.

She had not seen the royal palace in over twelve years.

Back then, she was a child trailing behind her father’s long cloak, unaware of how quickly fortunes could rot. Now, at twenty-one, she returned not as nobility, but as something far less secure—an outsider invited for reasons she didn’t yet understand.

The letter had come in the night, sealed with the dying Queen’s own crest. A call to court. A summons. A risk.

Seraphine adjusted her cloak tighter. “Fools rush toward fire,” her father used to say, “but only the clever make it back with something that burns brighter.”

She would be clever. She had no choice.

The carriage came to a halt, and the door opened to the courtyard of Elowen Palace. Cold air slapped her face. She stepped down carefully, boots meeting frozen stone, and immediately, her gaze was drawn upward.

The palace loomed as if carved from bone—elegant, haunting. Shadows passed behind high, frosted windows. Soldiers in silver uniforms lined the entrance, unsmiling.

A steward approached. “Lady Seraphine Valemont?” he asked, as if her name tasted strange.

“Yes.”

“You’re to be taken to the Queen’s chambers at once. Her Majesty is expecting you.”

No pleasantries. No time.

Seraphine followed, her boots clicking faintly behind the steward’s. The palace walls felt colder than the snow outside. Portraits of long-dead monarchs stared down at her as if sensing her unworthiness.

Then, just before they reached the Queen’s wing, they passed him.

A tall figure clad in a heavy navy coat stood at the end of the corridor, half-turned toward a flickering torch. His dark hair was still wet from snow, and a thin scar cut across his right cheek like a whisper of violence. He didn’t speak, but his presence was thunderous.

Their eyes met.

General Caelum D’Arden.

She recognized him from paintings, from rumors passed in drawing rooms—war hero, tactician, the King’s blade. But no one mentioned his silence, the stillness of him. The weight of his gaze.

He looked at her as if he already knew something about her that she didn’t.

Then, without a word, he turned and disappeared into another corridor.

The steward, unfazed, resumed walking. “Best not to look him in the eyes, my lady. The General’s known to make ghosts of men braver than he is.”

Seraphine didn’t answer. But in her chest, her heart had picked up something between fear and fascination.

---

The Queen’s chamber was lit by the sickly warmth of candlelight. Heavy curtains cloaked the windows, and the scent of lavender was thick, meant to mask decay. Queen Isolde lay propped on silk pillows, her skin nearly translucent. Her once-famous beauty was now a memory beneath brittle bones.

But her voice, when she spoke, was steel.

“You’ve grown into your mother’s mouth,” she said, before Seraphine could curtsey. “Sharp and impossible to silence.”

Seraphine blinked. “Your Majesty remembers me?”

“I remember everything,” the Queen rasped, “especially the useful. Sit.”

She obeyed.

“I’m dying,” the Queen said plainly. “And with me, the line of women who’ve kept this kingdom from tearing itself apart. My son is a fool. The nobles are restless. The wolves are howling at the borders. So I need someone no one sees coming.”

“You… need me?”

“I need a shadow. One smart enough to listen, and bold enough to act. You have your father’s mind, and your mother’s blood. That makes you dangerous. That makes you perfect.”

Seraphine stared. The Queen’s words rang like prophecy, but they held something cruel behind them.

“What would you have me do?”

The Queen’s lips twitched, nearly a smile. “Watch. Listen. Speak only when it will change something. And stay away from Caelum D’Arden.”

“Why?”

“Because he already knows too many secrets. And you… you look like someone he once failed to protect.”

---

That night, Seraphine was given a chamber near the East Wing, overlooking the frost-covered gardens. She couldn’t sleep. She walked to the window and watched the snow fall until her eyes burned.

Somewhere, in the vast halls of the palace, a man with a scarred face and silent steps haunted the corridors.

And somewhere deeper still, a plan was already unfolding.

The winter had begun.

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