Vandamonth Imperial Palace
The mountains of the Snow Kingdom rose like frozen giants, their jagged peaks piercing through veils of mist and drifting snow.
The air was thin and crisp, laced with the scent of pine and ice, and every breath came out in soft clouds that vanished into the chill.
Nestled between the towering ranges of trees were frozen lakes, their surfaces smooth as glass.
The distant howling of white wolves could be heard, their voices crying in the night.
The sound rose and fell across the frozen expanse, echoing between the mountains like a mournful song.
The wind carried it over the snow-laden trees, weaving it through the icy stillness of the valley.
Somewhere beyond the ridges, seated in a castle in a chamber lit up with candles, is a queen.
Shadows crawl along the stone walls, and the scent of melting wax mingles with the cold night air that seeps through the narrow windows.
It was Kora, fondly known as the queen of Ice.
She was seated on a rocky chair, her eyes fixed on the fireplace.
The chair rocked to and fro, its creaking echoing faintly through the silent chamber.
The flames before her hissed and cracked, their warm glow tracing soft lines across her pale face. She seemed lost in thought, caught somewhere between memory and sorrow.
Her eyes were fixed on the fireplace. The flames danced wildly, casting fleeting shadows that seemed to move of their own accord across the stone walls.
The chair rocked to and fro in a steady rhythm, like the ticking of a clock counting down to something unseen.
Her blue eyes sparkled with the flames, reflecting the wavering fire.
They were like a strange blend of fire and ice, alive with light, yet cold with restraint. Her face, though illuminated by the warmth of the fireplace, was void of any emotion. Not a flicker of joy, not a trace of sorrow. Only stillness.
The room was silent; only the distant sound of wolves could be heard.
Their howls drifted faintly through the cold night air.
Just then her ears pick up a sound...the deep voice of a man.
The chair that was going to and fro suddenly stilled.
Slowly, an eerie smile crept onto her lips.
Slowly, an eerie smile crept across her lips.
"He is back."
She rose to her feet gracefully; the cotton nightgown she was wearing pooled down to her feet as she glided across the room.
Her long blonde hair swerved from side to side, grazing her back.
Her silken gown swept against the cold stone floor as she moved toward the oak table where a jug of wine rested beside two cups.
With steady hands, she lifted the jug and filled up one of the cups with wine.
The faint aroma of aged grapes filled the air, mingling with the scent of burning tallow from the candles nearby.
For a moment, she stood there, silent, regal, yet burdened, watching the wine ripple before bringing it slowly to her lips.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, its hinges groaning against the silence. Kora froze mid-sip, her blue gaze lifting toward the sound.
The faint echo of boots kissing the wooden floor reached her ears, too familiar to be mistaken for that of a servant.
"Kora"
He suddenly called her name, his voice low yet commanding, slicing through the stillness of the room.
Kora's hand lingered on the cup, her fingers tightening ever so slightly.
She didn't turn to face him. Instead, her gaze remained fixed on the cup of wine, watching the surface ripple from the faint tremor in her hand.
"Three days' journey," she said softly, her voice calm but edged with bitterness. "That's what you said Aaram, do you know what it felt like waiting in this room, alone, clouded with only my thoughts?"
She asked, before turning to look at him.
"Is this how you welcome me? With a solemn face?" he asked, breaking the silence at last.
It was Aaram, the king's personal advisor and Kora's secret lover.
He unhitched the sack slung over his shoulder and let it drop to the floor with a dull thud. Dust rose from the aged planks, curling in the candlelight.
She sighed, rolling her eyes before reaching for another cup. The wine poured in a soft stream, filling the cup to its brim.
Her gaze flicked toward him for a brief, sidelong glance as he busied himself with removing his thick coat. It was edged with flakes of snow, the faint chill of the night clinging stubbornly to the fabric.
He looked weary, the kind of exhaustion that came from more than travelling, yet there was a spark in his eyes, a mixture of pride and something darker.
"Do you expect me to welcome you with open hands," she said, setting the jug down with a soft but deliberate thud, "when you failed to keep your promise?"
"No… What I expect," he said, his tone rough with fatigue, "is that you don't make quick judgments. The journey was as stressful as hell."
He eased himself onto the edge of the bed, the old frame creaking beneath his weight.
Kora picked up the cup of wine she had just filled and glided to where he was.
She handed him the cup of wine, her fingers brushing his briefly before pulling away. He accepted it, lifting his gaze to meet hers.
"I hope it isn't poisoned." he asked with a faint, teasing smile.
Her lips curved into a sly smirk. "I don't know… You can have a taste and tell me," she replied, her tone laced with sarcasm.
Without waiting for his reaction, she turned and glided back across the chamber. Reclaiming her half-filled cup, she brought it slowly to her lips, her eyes never fully leaving him.
"How is the old man coping?" he asked at last, his voice breaking the fragile quiet between them. He was referring to Jarob, who has been sick for days.
Kora smacked her lips, setting her cup down with a faint clink.
"The royal physician is not sure yet," she said coolly. "He predicts Jorab might survive."
A flicker of irritation crossed Aaram's face before he masked it with a slow sip of wine.
"I don't know why that man refuses to die," he muttered under his breath.
Kora raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp.
"And I don't know why we are discussing him," she countered coolly.
She stepped closer, letting her words hang between them.
"It's been more than a few minutes since you walked in, and yet you haven't asked me how I am doing."
His gaze fell on her, dark and calculating. A cunning smile tugged at the corners of his lips. She was close now, dangerously close, and for a fleeting moment, he reached for the rope of her night robe, as if to undo it.
But she was quicker. With a fluid, practiced motion, she withdrew from his grip, her eyes flashing with warning.
"I embarked on a journey for days, while you've been seated in the castle, looking all pretty. Who, then, should be asking about the other?"
He leaned back slightly, the faint clink of his cup against the bedframe punctuating his words. His eyes glittered with a mix of mischief and provocation, daring her to respond.
"You were on this journey for five days, Aaram," she argued, her voice steady but sharp. "We both agreed it would be three."
He merely shrugged, a faint, unconcerned smile playing on his lips.
He rose from the bed, the old frame groaning under his weight, and made his way toward the sack he had placed on the floor.
The faint scrape of leather boots against stone echoed through the chamber, drawing her eyes to him once more.
Her gaze followed him, sharp and searching, tracking every movement as he approached the sack.
He raised the sack bag from the floor and dropped the sack on a table with a dull thud, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet room.
Slowly, he circled back, standing across from her, his eyes fixed on her reaction.
Her gaze locked on the sackbag. A flicker of suspicion danced in her eyes, and she made no move to touch it.
"What is this?" she asked, her voice calm.
"Just a gift for your cheer amusement, why don't you see for yourself," he said, his voice carrying a subtle challenge.
For a fleeting moment, her eyes lifted from the sack to meet his, searching his expression for a hint of deceit.
Then, with a deep breath, she reached out and gripped the bottom of the sack.
With a cautious motion, she tipped it over, and the contents tumbled out onto the floor.
What rolled out of the sack was not what she expected.
Her breath caught in her throat, but for only a few seconds; once she realized who it was, her face held a relaxed countenance.
On the floor lay the head of one of Jarob's favorite concubines, Hanah, her lifeless eyes staring blankly upward, lips slightly parted as if frozen mid-whisper.
Kora stared at the head on the floor, her expression unreadable, as though the sight elicited no emotion at all.
Her face remained an icy mask, and her eyes, sharp and unflinching, had no hint of fear.
"What is this?" she asked, her voice carrying neither panic nor disgust.
She already knew the answer; it was clear enough, but she sought confirmation from him, to hear it spoken aloud.
He met her gaze steadily, unshaken by her composure. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, as if amused by her coldness.
"I am sure you already know the answer to that question; you hate that face too much not to be able to recognize it."
Aaram answered before settling down on one of the chairs in the room.
Kora gazed at the face of the bodiless head, a spark of satisfaction glinting in her blue eyes.
"Hanah…" she murmured, the name dripping with disdain.
"She had quite the nerve, fucking my husband right before my very eyes."
She scoffed, and her gaze hardened, icy and unyielding, betraying no trace of mercy.
Then she turned her gaze toward the man in the room, her eyes lingering on him with a mixture of desire.
"You have done well… and you are forgiven for all your transgressions," she purred, running her hand through her long silky hair.
Then her hand drifted to the rope holding her nightrobe together; the movements of her hand were teasing and full of intent.
"You deserve a reward," she cooed.
She pulled the rope, and the gown loosened; it parted, revealing the pale expanse of her body, unapologetically bare, every inch a calculated temptation.
Aaram smiled, dark amusement glistening in his eyes.
He rose to his feet, and just then the nightgown dropped to the floor. His lecherous gaze was already trailing her body.
"Now this… this is how you welcome a man."