The abandoned barn creaked against the autumn wind, its rotted boards barely keeping out the chill that seemed to follow Serenya Vale wherever she went. She pulled her threadbare cloak tighter around her shoulders and counted the sleeping forms huddled in the hay around her. Five small bodies, five reasons to keep running, five hearts that still beat because she had failed to save anyone else.
One, two...Mira, barely eight, curled against Tomás who clutched his carved wooden horse even in sleep. Three, four, ...The twins, Sera and Senna, identical except for the scar that ran down Senna's left cheek from that terrible night three months ago. Five. Little Bren, only five, who still asked for his mama when he woke from nightmares.
All of them breathing. All of them alive. For now.
Serenya's fingers traced the frost that had formed along the barn wall where she'd been sitting. Even in sleep, her magic leaked out in wisps of silver-blue cold, a constant reminder of why they could never stop moving, never stay anywhere long enough to call it home. She was the last princess of the North, the final ember of House Vale, and every day she drew breath was another day the Ashen King's soldiers hunted her.
But it wasn't her own life that made her stomach clench with fear in the pre-dawn darkness. It was theirs.
"Senya?" Mira's voice was barely a whisper. The little girl sat up in the hay, her dark hair tangled with sleep, brown eyes wide with that particular brand of wariness that came from seeing too much, too young. "You're cold again."
Serenya quickly pulled her hand back from the frost-covered wall. "I'm fine, little star. Go back to sleep."
"Can't." Mira crawled across the hay to curl up beside her, small hands fearlessly touching Serenya's ice-cold fingers. Of all the children, Mira had adapted best to the constant chill that surrounded Serenya like a shroud. "Bad dreams."
Serenya's heart clenched. They all had bad dreams. How could they not, after what they'd witnessed? "Want to tell me about it?"
Mira shook her head, then leaned against Serenya's side. "Tell me about before instead. About the castle made of ice."
"Mira—"
"Please." The word held the weight of a child who had lost everything and clung to stories like lifelines. "Just the happy parts."
Serenya closed her eyes, letting herself remember. "Winterspire rose from the mountainside like it had grown there, all white stone and crystal towers. When the sun hit it just right, the whole castle would sparkle like diamonds." She felt Mira relax against her. "My mother's gardens were always in bloom, even in the deepest winter. She could make roses grow from snow, and the fountains never froze no matter how cold it got."
"Because she was the Frost Queen," Mira murmured, already knowing the story by heart.
"Because she understood that winter wasn't death," Serenya corrected gently. "Winter was rest. Winter was the promise of spring to come."
"And you were the Winter Princess."
Were. Past tense. As if that life had belonged to someone else entirely. "I was many things, once."
"What's the difference between a princess and a queen?"
Serenya looked down at the small face upturned to hers, so trusting despite everything. "A princess is protected. A queen protects others."
Mira seemed to consider this with the gravity of a much older child. "Then you're already a queen, aren't you? You protect us."
The words hit harder than any blade. Serenya's throat tightened as she pressed a kiss to the top of Mira's head. "Get some rest, little star. We have a long day ahead."
"How long?"
"Until we're safe."
"But when will that be?"
The question Serenya had been asking herself every day for fifteen years. When would any of them be safe? When would the Ashen King stop hunting the remnants of the North? When could these children grow up without fear, without constantly looking over their shoulders?
When would she stop failing them?
"Soon," she lied, because it was what Mira needed to hear. "Soon."
But as the first pale light of dawn crept through the cracks in the barn walls, Serenya could feel the familiar prickle of unease between her shoulder blades. They'd been in this place too long. Three whole days—practically a luxury for their nomadic existence, but dangerously long for staying hidden.
The twins were stirring now, and Tomás sat up with a yawn that displayed the gap where he'd lost a tooth last week. Bren remained dead to the world, sprawled on his back with his thumb in his mouth. Only Senna slept fitfully, whimpering softly as she dreamed.
"Time to go," Serenya said softly, rousing the children with gentle touches and quieter words. They moved with the practiced efficiency of those who had learned that survival meant traveling light and fast. A few spare clothes, a dagger Serenya had taught Tomás to hide in his boot, dried meat and hard bread wrapped in oiled cloth.
And the children themselves. Always the children.
"Where to today?" Tomás asked as he shouldered his small pack. At ten, he was the oldest after Mira, and he'd appointed himself the protector of the younger ones. It would have been endearing if it weren't so heartbreaking.
"South," Serenya said, checking the horizon through a gap in the barn wall. "There's a woman in Millhaven who helps people like us."
People like us.Refugees. The displaced. The hunted.
"How far?" This from Sera, who had been limping since they'd had to run from the last safe house.
"Half a day's walk if we keep a good pace."
Half a day through open country, exposed, vulnerable. Half a day of watching the skies for the black smoke that would herald fire soldiers on their trail. Half a day of praying that the contact in Millhaven was still alive, still willing to help, still trustworthy.
Serenya had learned not to count on any of those things.
They left the barn as the sun crested the hills, five children and one young woman who carried the weight of a crown she'd never worn and a kingdom she'd failed to save. The morning air bit sharp and clean, and frost clung to the grass where Serenya's bare feet had touched the ground.
Behind them, winter followed in their footsteps. Ahead lay the promise of safety that always seemed just out of reach.
But they would keep walking. They would keep running.
Because as long as these children drew breath, the North was not truly dead.
And Serenya Vale, last daughter of House Vale, would protect them with her life.
Even if it killed her.