Chapter 7
Lina's POV
I dragged my frozen body back to my quarters, the cramped room as cold as a tomb, the water bucket in the corner filmed over with thick ice. Every muscle screamed with exhaustion, my frost-scarred hands throbbing with relentless ache, and I collapsed onto the thin straw mattress, wrapping my arms around myself as the wind howled through gaps in the stone walls.
A soft knock startled me upright, and a low-ranking servant boy slipped inside, carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle and a small clay jar that he set down with a nervous bow. "From Chief Guard Selas, miss," he whispered, hurrying out before I could respond.
I unwrapped the bundle to find a heated stone still radiating blessed warmth, and the jar contained a thick, herbal-scented salve that smelled faintly of snow lotus. My eyes burned with unshed tears as I thought of Selas's quiet kindness, of Moros's cryptic reassurance, of him—the one who had promised to wait beyond the Storm Gate. I spread the salve over my raw, cracked knuckles, whispering to myself like a prayer, "Just two more days... only two more days and I'll be free."
I woke before dawn and pulled on my threadbare cloak, my breath misting in the frigid air as I crept through the silent corridors. Snow had fallen all night without ceasing, blanketing the battlements in pristine white, and I made my way to the deepest recesses of the fortress, where the ancient Holy Springs lay hidden beneath a canopy of frost-laden pines.
It was tradition—on the first snowfall, the first person to make a wish at the Holy Springs would have their heart's desire granted. I had come here every year for the past ten, always hoping, always praying for the same simple things: freedom, safety. I checked the snow carefully, my heart lifting when I saw no footprints marring its smooth surface, and I approached the pool, where water bubbled up from deep within the earth.
I pulled a small copper coin from my pocket and held it between my palms, closing my eyes as I whispered my wish into the silence. I tossed the coin into the spring, watching it sink with a soft plop.
I lifted my gaze to the distant horizon beyond the fortress walls, my chest tightening with bittersweet ache as I thought of my mother, frail and alone, waiting for the daughter who had been taken from her so long ago. "Mother," I whispered, "just two more days... I'm coming home."
I turned and walked back toward the castle, my footsteps the only marks in the fresh snow, and disappeared into the swirling flurries.
Augustus's POV
I stood motionless in the distant pine grove, the frost-laden branches providing a natural screen as I watched her kneel at the Holy Springs. The magical connection between the ancient spring and my bloodline allowed me to hear every word she whispered, her voice trembling with fragile hope that twisted like a blade in my chest.
"Freedom... safety..."
The words echoed in my mind, simple and devastating, and a wave of fury surged through me so violently that I felt the dragon fire roiling in my veins. Ten years. She had come here every year for ten years, and every single time, she had wished for the same thing—to leave. To escape. To abandon this fortress, to abandon me, as if the decade she had spent in my service meant nothing.
She wanted freedom? I would never grant it. The thought of her walking through the Storm Gate, of her vanishing into the world beyond my reach, filled me with primal rage that made my vision blur red at the edges, and I forced myself to take a deep, shuddering breath, my jaw clenched so tightly that my teeth ached.
I watched her rise and turn away, her footsteps disappearing into the snow, and a cold, bitter smile curved my lips as I stepped out from the shadows, my golden eyes narrowing with predatory intent. Two more days, she had whispered. How beautifully naive. How tragically wrong.
Later that afternoon, I made my way to the former Dragon Queen's chambers, the heavy scent of medicinal herbs hanging thick in the air as I pushed open the carved doors. She lay propped against silk pillows, her face pale and drawn with illness, and she looked up at me with those sharp, calculating eyes that had once commanded the court.
"Your Majesty," Eleanor murmured, her voice hoarse, and I approached her bedside with measured steps, taking the porcelain bowl of medicine from the attendant's hands and dismissing the servants with a curt gesture.
I knelt beside her, the picture of filial devotion, and lifted the bowl to her lips, blowing gently on the steaming liquid to cool it before tilting it carefully so she could sip. "Drink," I said softly, my tone warm and solicitous, and she obeyed, her gaze never leaving my face as I dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a silk cloth and offered her a piece of candied ginger.
She shifted against the pillows. "I heard that Moros Nightfeather came to see you late last night. Is there trouble at the eastern border again?"
I froze for the briefest instant, my hand stilling as I set the bowl down, and then I straightened, my expression smoothing into a mask of cold indifference. The silence stretched between us, heavy and taut, and I finally spoke, my voice flat. "It was merely a routine military report. Nothing that concerns you, Mother. Focus on recovering your health."
"Forgive me. I overstep," she whispered, her voice tight with apprehension as she shrank back against the pillows. I reached out and adjusted her blankets with deliberate gentleness, though she flinched at my touch. "Rest now," I said quietly, and she closed her eyes immediately, her face pale.
