Chapter one
People often mistake silence for peace.
They see an empty hallway, a warm fire, a girl reading beside a window, and they believe she must be happy.
They never wonder what it feels like to be the person everyone leaves behind.
I have learned not to expect goodbyes.
They are easier that way.
The morning my family left for the northern palace of Veyrath, the sky was the color of ash and the snow fell so heavily that even the guards struggled to see beyond the fortress walls.
Everyone had a reason to go.
My father had meetings with northern lords.
My brothers were needed to discuss the border defenses.
My sister Lyara had insisted that she could not miss another war council, because apparently a sword in her hand made her more valuable than a crown on anyone else’s head.
And my mother had a thousand preparations to make before my wedding.
My wedding.
The words still sounded strange.
In three weeks, I would become the wife of Prince Kylen Arvane, heir of the northern alliance.
A marriage meant to bring peace.
A marriage meant to stop old enemies from becoming new wars.
A marriage that everyone believed was my greatest achievement.
I had never understood why people looked at marriage like a battlefield.
Perhaps because they knew something I didn’t.
I sat by the fireplace in my room high inside the eastern tower of Arvenhold Fortress, wrapped in a thick blanket while snow covered the glass of my window.
My fingers rested on the pages of an old book, but I had not turned a page in several minutes.
My thoughts were somewhere else.
With him.
Prince Kylen was not what I expected a future king to be.
He wasn’t arrogant.
He didn’t enjoy showing power.
He didn’t speak louder than everyone else in the room just because he could.
He liked quiet places.
Old books.
Tea.
Music.
Things people considered useless in a world where kingdoms were built by armies.
Perhaps that was why I liked him.
Because he never looked at me as if I were broken.
Only different.
“You should be practicing with a blade.”
My sister’s voice echoed in my memory.
Lyara had said it countless times.
“You cannot hide behind books forever, Elena.”
She believed strength came from fighting.
I believed strength came from surviving.
Neither of us had ever convinced the other.
A sharp cough escaped my chest, pulling me away from my thoughts.
The winter always did this.
It arrived with snow, and it took something from me.
My energy.
My breath.
My ability to pretend I was like everyone else.
The healers called it a weakness.
I called it something I had learned to live with.
Outside, the wind grew louder.
The old fortress groaned beneath the storm.
Arvenhold had stood for more than three hundred years. Its walls had survived battles, rebellions, and sieges.
Nothing had ever broken through them.
At least, that was what everyone believed.
I lifted my teacup toward my lips when I heard it.
A sound.
Not from the storm.
From outside.
A deep metallic scrape.
I froze.
Another followed.
Closer.
My heartbeat quickened.
The guards would have announced visitors.
The servants would have knocked.
No one entered my tower without permission.
No one.
I slowly placed the cup down.
Then the window shattered.
The sound was so violent that for a moment I couldn’t understand what happened.
Cold air rushed into the room.
Snow scattered across the floor.
And something black and heavy crashed into the stone beside me.
A hook.
Attached to a chain.
My breath stopped.
Someone was climbing the tower.
Someone had crossed the fortress walls.
Someone had come for me.
I stumbled backward, my hand searching for anything I could use as a weapon.
A book.
A candle.
Anything.
The window frame cracked.
A hand covered in black leather gripped the edge.
Then another.
A figure pulled himself inside.
Tall.
Armored.
Covered in fur and shadows.
Not a soldier from my father’s army.
Not anyone I knew.
The stranger looked around the room before his eyes found mine.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then he spoke.
“Princess Elena Veyr.”
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
Like he had been certain he would find me.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
The man stepped closer.
Behind him, two more warriors entered the room.
The firelight reflected against their dark armor.
Against the weapons at their sides.
Against the cold expressions on their faces.
The first man looked at me with something I could not understand.
Not hatred.
Not anger.
Something worse.
Regret.
“My name is Aren Vaelor,” he said.
The name meant nothing to me.
But the fear in my body recognized danger before my mind did.
“You need to come with us.”
I tightened my grip on the edge of the table.
“Why?”
Aren’s expression changed slightly.
Because whatever answer he was about to give me…
he did not want to say it.
“Because by sunrise,” he whispered, “everyone in this fortress will be dead.”
And for the first time in my life…
I wished I had been strong enough to leave.
