The cold bite of Queen Ellah's aura was enough to shatter the bones of a normal Swordmaster. Frost crept up Klaus's legs, cracking the leather of his boots, seeking to freeze the blood in his veins. The guards lining the walls had already dropped to one knee, their heads bowed, trembling under the weight of their Queen's wrath. The very air in the throne room had turned into solid ice, suspending dust motes in a frozen grid.
Yet Klaus did not flinch.
He did not bow. He did not shiver. Instead, he exhaled a slow, steady breath that manifested as a dark mist, contrasting sharply with the Queen's blue frost. The frost creeping up his legs halted, then sublimated into vapor before reaching his knees.
