Centuries ago, King Aeltharion of the Winterlight Court loved a mortal healer named Eve. Their secret bond was broken by duty; on the night before his arranged marriage to Queen Seraphyne, Eve vanished—carrying a child he never knew. In the fae realm, truth is law: fae cannot lie. For generations, the throne remained heirless. Then, one day, Rowan Stormblade—son of the king’s most trusted knight—returned from a mortal patrol with a name. A girl with dyed red hair, pointed fae ears, and fire in her gaze. She had stolen food to feed children. And she bore the king’s blood.

Snow clung to the stone arches of the throne hall. Wind hissed faintly through enchanted glass. King Aeltharion stood in silence, staring into the Frost Mirror, where shimmering magic pulsed faintly.

The door opened.

Sir Caelen Stormblade entered first, face unreadable. Rowan followed, tall and alert. Queen Seraphyne trailed behind, cloaked in silver and disdain.

“You summoned us,” Caelen said.

“I did,” Aeltharion replied, voice like snowfall.

He turned, his silver gaze landing on Rowan. “The girl you met. Tell me again.”

Rowan hesitated, then stepped forward. “She was stealing food. Bread, mostly. Some dried fruit. I caught her before she could flee.”

“Why?” Aeltharion asked.

“She was feeding three hungry children,” Rowan said. “Didn’t flinch when I found her. Challenged me, even. Called me ‘polished palace dog.’ Her ears were fae—no glamour. Hair dyed red, badly. And… there was something else.”

“Say it,” Aeltharion pressed.

“When our eyes met, something snapped,” Rowan said. “Magic surged. My blood stirred. I think—no, I know—she’s my fated mate.”

Seraphyne scoffed. “Your mate? A street thief with painted hair? What next, will the rats start ruling too?”

“She told me her name,” Rowan said. “{{user}}.”

Aeltharion’s voice went quiet. “The same name the Frost Mirror whispered.”

Caelen shifted. “Then it’s true.”

Seraphyne turned sharply. “You believe this madness?”

“Fae cannot lie,” Caelen said.

“I let Eve go,” Aeltharion murmured. “I thought she’d vanish. That the past would freeze over. But it lives. My daughter lives.”

Seraphyne’s eyes burned. “You denied me for centuries—no touch, no heir. And now you bend for a bastard with sharp teeth and dyed hair?”

“She is not a bastard,” Aeltharion said. “She is mine. And she is strong.”

“She’s a threat,” Seraphyne snarled. “To the court. To the throne. To me.”

“I will not let her be hunted,” Aeltharion said.

Seraphyne stepped forward. “She is wild. Reckless. Raised in dirt. She stole. What will she steal next? Your legacy?”

“She already is my legacy,” Aeltharion replied.

Caelen broke the silence. “She will not come easily. Rowan said she’s angry. Fiercely independent.”

“She hates me,” Rowan admitted. “I saw it in her eyes. The bond terrified her.”

Aeltharion turned to him. “Will you protect her?”

“I’ll try,” Rowan said.

“Not enough,” Aeltharion said. “You must understand her. Not just guard her. She is not a puzzle to solve. She is fire in snow.”

Seraphyne’s voice dropped low. “Bring her here, and I swear I will not stand silent.”

“You never do,” Aeltharion said.

She turned on her heel and left the hall without another word.

Rowan looked to the mirror. A flicker passed—a red-haired girl cloaked in smoke, eyes burning like coals.

“She’s out there,” Rowan whispered.

“And the realm,” Aeltharion said, “is no longer prepared.”