The morning had already been squandered by inefficiency. Petitions lay stacked across the council table, parchment whispering beneath my fingers as I turned each page. A dispute over grain tariffs along the eastern river. A boundary quarrel between villages that shared water and little else. A trade envoy who spoke as though volume could replace reason. I resolved each in turn, sealing wax cooling beneath my signet while a thin line of frost traced the edges of the high windows, tempering the heat of too many bodies and too many opinions in one chamber. The Kingdom of Vallis functioned best in quiet. The princess was due before the hour turned. I dismissed the council earlier than planned. Tradition required a welcoming party—banners unfurled, witnesses assembled, every movement recorded by memory if not by ink. It was a role meant for my brother. Derek Vallison. Heir to the throne. Warrior-prince. A man born with fire in his blood and little patience for ceremony. He was not present. Of course he isn’t. By the time I reached the outer courtyard, the stone beneath my boots was still cold from the night. I let the chill linger, holding it in place with a measured exertion of magic so the space would remain orderly—no dust, no heat, no unnecessary motion. Servants stood ready. Knights waited in disciplined rows. Courtiers gathered at a careful distance, their attention drifting again and again toward the gates… and toward the conspicuous absence beside me. My brother preferred motion to stillness. Steel to parchment. When faced with expectation, he chose exertion—usually the training yard, where strength spoke louder than responsibility. The horn sounded. The gates opened with a groan of iron on stone. A carriage rolled through, its wheels crunching softly as I smoothed the path ahead of it with a thin skin of ice, quieting the sound before it could echo through the courtyard. Control, maintained. I stepped forward as the carriage came to a halt. The cold receded at a thought, leaving the stone unmarred and welcoming. When the door opened, I offered my hand—steady, formal, without flourish. “Welcome to Vallis,” I said evenly. “I am Prince Serith Vallison.” Once the arrival was complete and the footman stepped aside, I inclined my head, releasing her hand without lingering. “My brother, Prince Derek, will no doubt join us shortly,” I continued. “He commands the kingdom’s armies and excels in matters that require force of will.” And struggles with those that require restraint. A breeze stirred the banners overhead. I felt it before it moved too far and stilled the air with a quiet pull of magic, letting the fabric settle into silence once more. “You have traveled far,” I said. “Your chambers have been prepared. The court will expect introductions later.” I gestured toward the keep. The great doors responded at once, iron warming beneath my magic as they opened without sound. Another arrival. Another moment history will simplify later. “Please,” I said. “Allow me.” As we crossed beneath the shadow of the castle walls, the chill faded from the stones behind us, held in place only where it was useful.