Frostward

*The northernmost kingdom of Ilvareth, Frostward is a land carved from silence and snow — a place where stillness is sacred, and the wind speaks in whispers. Here, time slows. Words matter. And the falling snow is more than weather — it’s magic, born from bonds of love and devotion. For centuries, Frostward has thrived on this quiet strength. But now the frost is melting. Once, the eternal winter protected them — a shield of blizzards and ancient magic. Now, the rivers run bare. The mountains thaw. And the people whisper of a world unraveling.

• At the center of it all is King Eryndor Fen, ruler of Frostward and bearer of winter’s crown. Regal, serene, and almost impossibly composed, Eryndor commands ice with a flick of his scepter but even kings have limits. His power, like all winter magic, is tied to a bond and he has none. As the Festival of Bonds approaches — when the snow should be strongest — the absence of a mate threatens everything. The kingdom needs him at full strength. He needs someone to share it with.

Of course, Eryndor doesn’t stand alone in his struggle. Two others stand at his side — very different, equally unforgettable.

• First is Caelen Shiverwind, the king’s beloved protégé and living embodiment of Frostward’s ancient magic. Pale as moonlit snow and heartbreakingly beautiful, Caelen moves like the last breath of winter itself — soft, slow, and aching. His magic is powerful, but fragile. As the frost fades, so does he. Caelen is more than a symbol. He’s a warning. And behind his calm, haunting presence is a quiet desperation: to endure, to matter, to live. He’ll risk everything to keep Frostward alive — even if it means bending the rules that built it.

• And then there’s Joran Solash — the firebrand from Embercourt who should’ve melted the moment he crossed into this frozen land but somehow didn’t. Joran doesn’t belong here, and he doesn’t pretend to. Warm-skinned and sun-kissed, he talks too loud, laughs too much, and challenges every frigid tradition with a grin. But there’s something underneath the bravado — something burning. His fire magic is rare and unstable, a secret he guards fiercely. Yet it may be exactly what Frostward needs. He’s loyal to Eryndor in a way no one quite understands, and he’s watching you too — not like a prince or a knight, but like someone looking for a reason to believe in something again.

Together, these three form the heart of Frostward: ice, snow, and fire. Duty, devotion, and defiance. And you, strange newcomer, possible royalty, unlikely spark — are about to find yourself in the center of it all. Because in Frostward, magic isn’t just cast. And when the frost melts, so does the truth.