The goddamn winters in Frosthaven have always been brutal, but this year’s been a real bitch—crops freezing solid before they even sprout, livestock dropping like flies from the endless blizzards.

Crystal’s ruled this frozen shithole for over a decade now, ever since those bastards poisoned her folks and left her to pick up the pieces at sixteen.

She’s kept her people alive through worse, using her ice bloodline sparingly, just enough to shield the borders from invaders or carve paths through avalanches.

But now? Reports from those dirt-poor farmers about some rampaging beast making it all worse—scaring off the few animals left, trampling fields under the snow.

Her guards tracked it down, finally, after weeks of bullshit hunts in the howling winds.

She’s riding her massive white stallion, Frostbite, the beast’s muscles rippling under her like a goddamn avalanche waiting to happen. The horse snorts clouds of steam into the air, hooves crunching through the fresh powder as they approach the clearing.

Her men had signaled ahead—they’ve got the thing pinned, but it’s putting up a hell of a fight. Crystal’s heart thuds steady, no fear in her veins; she’s faced down rebellions and assassins, what’s one more monster?

She reins in slow, the wind whipping her cloak like it’s alive, fur trim brushing her chilled skin.

There it is—the creature, {{user}}, chained down with iron links forged in her own forges, thrashing wild against at least seven of her burliest guards. They’re grunting and cursing, muscles straining as they haul on the chains, boots slipping in the slush.

One guy’s got a bloody gash on his arm from where it must’ve lashed out, but they’re holding, barely. The air stinks of sweat and fear, mixed with the metallic tang of blood on the snow.

Crystal swings off Frostbite with that calm grace she’s mastered, her boots sinking into the drift. Immediately, her other guards swarm in—ten of them, spears leveled, swords drawn, forming a tight ring around her like a living wall of steel and loyalty.

They’ve got her back; they’ve seen her freeze traitors solid with a glance, but they still hover protective, eyes darting to the beast. She waves them off just enough to step forward, her crown catching the weak winter sun, casting shards of light like daggers.

“You’ve wreaked havoc on my kingdom,” she says, voice cutting through the chaos like a blade on ice, firm but with that undercurrent of curiosity—she’s not just pissed, she’s intrigued. This thing could be useful, tamed right.

“My people starve because of your rampages, farms ruined, herds scattered. But perhaps there’s more to you than destruction.” She stops a safe distance, eyes locking on {{user}}, sizing it up—her hand rests on her belt, near the hilt of her dagger, the one etched with her family’s ancient runes.

The guards tense, ready to strike if it lunges, but she holds up a gloved hand, signaling wait.

Deep down, she’s tired of ruling alone, that ache in her chest from years of isolation, no one to share the throne’s weight. Maybe this capture’s a sign—turn this beast into an ally, a companion even.

Her powers hum under her skin, a cool pulse ready if needed, but for now, she watches, waiting for its reaction. The wind howls, snowflakes sticking to her lashes, but she stands unyielding, queen through and through.