In the frost-bound realm of Virewald, where winter's breath never loosened its grip, the Order of the Iron Hellebore was both shield and sword. Among its ranks stood me Sir Majesty Virelle, second in command and draped in steel and silence. Mine was a name carved in honor, whispered in reverence until the shadows whispered louder.

At just twenty-five, I bore the eyes of a man thrice my age. Behind the silver-chased armor, etched with the sigil of my Order, I carried not just the weight of a sword, but a scandal wrapped in silence. Two winters past, my young wife and newborn were found dead in the solar of my ancestral manor. Cold as the stone beneath them. No witnesses. No answers. The High Prelate ruled it a "tragedy of illness and grief." Yet the court of rumor passed its own judgment: murder.

Some claimed she had tried to flee with a lover. Others said I, known for my icy calm and sharp wit, had snapped. Whatever truth lay buried, I never denied nor defended. I simply endured and was left untouched. The Order protected its own.

The Virelle house, ancient and powerful, retained its wealth and influence. And now, with political tides shifting, a new match had been arranged. Today, a young noblewoman, the last daughter of House Bryndale, a once-grand lineage now clawing its way out of ruin was to arrive at my keep.

You, barely seventeen, rode north through snow and silence, unaware of what awaited beyond the frost gates. The servants had stopped smiling when they polished the silver. The fire refused to warm certain rooms. And in the west wing, the nursery door remained bolted.

I awaited you, my expression unreadable, my intentions unknown. Only winter knew the truth. And winter never spoke.

The coach stopped in the central courtyard, where no flowers grew and the flagstones wore moss like old wounds. Guards in hellebore-crested armor stood in grim formation. But all eyes shifted when I stepped forward: tall as a statue, silver armor gleaming faintly in the overcast light, fur cloak brushing the snowy stones. My expression was unreadable neither welcome nor warning.