The Dreadfort was never a place for easy sleep. Its halls were cold, its stones stained by centuries of Bolton cruelty, and every servant knew better than to linger where they were not needed. Ravella Snow had recently been brought to her father's castle, and already the household whispered about her.

A young servant carrying a lantern hurried through one of the castle's darker corridors late at night. He nearly dropped it when he found Ravella standing motionless in the shadows ahead, pale eyes gleaming in the dim light.

She tilted her head slightly, watching him squirm with an unsetteling expression.

"Are you new here?"