Rain of Frostthorne walked in serene, calm, and scanning the room taking in everyone's faces, memorizing them all for further use, or for people she should get rid of quickly.
The Golden Hall of Dawnspire glittered with light. Chandeliers blazed overhead. Long tables stretched beneath the banners of the sun, filled with nobles in silks and jewels. Guards lined the walls in gleaming armor, and servants moved like shadows with trays of wine and fruit.
She moved with steady grace, her pale gown flowing behind her. Her hair was long and blonde, her skin so white it seemed carved from marble, her eyes the icy blue of mountain rivers. She looked nothing like the women of Dawnspire. She looked like the mountain snows themselves had shaped her.
Whispers followed her steps.
"That's the queen from Frostthorne."
"They say their warriors train from childhood that is so savage."
"Their horses can run up cliffs, stronger than any of the ones here in our kingdom."
"She doesn't belong here. She looks like winter itself."
Rain heard but gave no sign. She walked until she stood before the raised platform where King Dorian waited.
Dorian wore white and gold, his sandy hair perfectly in place, his bright blue eyes sweeping over her like he was judging a prize at auction. Tall, broad, handsome, he looked like the king, every bit of him showing pride, and he knew it.
"You are on time to our wedding, glad to see you haven't backed out," he said flatly.
"I always am on time Dorian, don't worry I am here to make sure things are smooth and go as planned," Rain replied, her voice cool.
The priest stepped forward, book in hand. "We gather to bind King Dorian of Dawnspire and Rain of Frostthorne. This bond shall bring peace and strength between our kingdoms." He continued his speech on and-on-and Rain tuned him out.
Two servants came forward with silver trays, each carrying crystal goblets of red wine.
"Seal your vows with a toast," the priest said gesturing two the goblets of wine.
Dorian raised his goblet high, turning to the hall. "To peace. To Dawnspire. To our future." The nobles echoed him and drank.
Rain's servant offered her goblet, but she did not take it right away. Her eyes lingered on the surface of the wine. It caught the light strangely, a faint shimmer others would have missed. She looked up, calm, and her hand shifted.
Instead of lifting her own cup, she reached across the table and slid it toward a noble who had been whispering insults about her since she entered. In its place, she drew his goblet to herself.
The man blinked. "Your Majesty?"
Rain raised the glass before he could finish, her gaze sharp enough to still him.
"To Dawnspire," she said. And she drank the cup dry.
The hall gasped. The boldness stunned them. Dorian smirked and swallowed his own wine. The rest of the court followed. The sneering noble hesitated only a second, then lifted the goblet Rain had pushed to him and drank.
At first nothing happened. Then the man's face went pale. His hand shook. The goblet slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor. A groan escaped him before his knees buckled, and he collapsed.
Screams broke the air. Servants rushed. Nobles clutched their cups and stepped back. Guards moved in.
Rain set her empty goblet down with calm fingers. Her face remained composed.
"Carelessness in the kitchens," she said before anyone could speak. "Almond oil left where it should not be. Unworthy of Dawnspire's standards."
The physician knelt beside the fallen man and checked him quickly. "He will live," he announced. "It was a small dose. Rest and water will set him right."
The court murmured. Relief mixed with suspicion. All eyes turned back to Rain.
Dorian's expression was sharp as a blade. "You knew that cup was poisoned?"
"I suspected," Rain said evenly. "That is why I drank first in case all of them were, King Dorian." Her eyes narrowed at him daring him to say anything further.
Lyrisa, dressed in scarlet silk with jewels in her hair, stepped forward from the side of the throne. Her green eyes glittered as she pressed herself to Dorian's arm. "She staged this," she said loudly enough for all to hear. "She wanted to make us afraid of her."
Rain's gaze slid to her, cold and unbothered. "Afraid of me? Lyrisa, I am just but a small noble from the mountains surely you all couldn't be afraid of someone as small and humble as me."
The priest cleared his throat and, pale-faced, finished the vows. "By law and light, the king and queen are bound." He closed his book quickly and scurried out of throne room.
Dorian leaned toward Rain, his voice low so only she and Kale, captain of the guard, could hear. "Do not mistake this union for power against me. People will clap tonight and forget about you tomorrow."
Rain's lips curved faintly. "Power is not applause, my dear Dorian we don't need it's sound. Power is for those who survive."
Dorian turned away with a scowl and raised his voice. "Let the feast begin!"
The music started again, though weaker. The nobles returned to their seats, but many left their cups untouched.
Rain sat at the high table, her hands folded neatly, her eyes sweeping the room. She watched and remembered. Frostthorne had taught her to see. Her people were mountain-born, riders who trained from childhood, warriors hardened by cold and stone. That was why Dorian wanted this marriage. He wanted Frostthorne's soldiers and horses. He thought marrying her gave him both.
What he did not know was that Frostthorne held deeper secrets. Hidden in its mountains was Nightwillow, the ancient sect where queens were made. Dorian did not know. He thought she was only a woman from the mountains, pretty and cold a trophy for his kingdom.
At the king's side, Lyrisa leaned close. "She embarrassed you," she whispered.
Dorian shrugged, sipping more wine. "She made herself strange to the court. Let her. I have what I wanted, Frostthorne's riders. Nothing else matters."
"She will be a problem," Lyrisa said, her eyes rested on Dorians queen a spot that she wanted and it was taking because of political gain.
"Then we will deal with her, but only after I have what I need," Dorian muttered, already laughing at a duke's story.
Behind the queen, Kale stood watch. Broad-shouldered, with short brown hair and hazel eyes, he had been the first to kneel by the collapsed noble. He kept his gaze on the room. Leaning down, he spoke quietly to Rain.
"You made a bold choice. Some will respect it. Others will hate it, they will be looking at you more now."
"Both are useful," Rain answered without looking at him.
The feast went on, but the night was no longer lighthearted. Dawnspire had seen its new queen, and no one would forget it.
Later, a servant approached Rain and bowed low. "Your Majesty, a gift arrived for you. It waits in the Moon Gallery. There was no name with it, but it looks beautifully wrapped."
Rain rose at once and gestured. "Come with me, Captain," she said to Kale.
They left the hall together, their steps echoing in the torchlit corridors. The Moon Gallery was wide and cold, lined with silver mirrors that caught the moonlight. At the center stood a small black box tied with a thin gold ribbon.
Kale drew his sword half from its scabbard. "Do not stand in front of it," he warned. "Stand aside, just in case my queen we aren't sure what this box contains."
Rain circled the table, studying. "The ribbon is for show. The lid is what matters."
Kale eased the lid up just a little. A hiss escaped, and a curl of black mist slipped into the air. He acted instantly, throwing his cloak over the box and forcing the lid closed. He coughed once but stood steady.
"You could have been poisoned," Rain said looking at him concerned.
"Better me than you," Kale answered.
For the first time that night, her expression softened. "Thank you, Captain."
He nodded, his eyes back on the box. "I'll have it sealed in the armory. No one touches it without me." Kale flicked his hand in the air to summon two more gentry who picked up the box and had it relocated for further investigation.
Rain turned to the mirrors, her reflection standing tall and alone in the moonlight. "This place does not welcome me," she said softly. "That is fine. I did not come here to be welcomed. I came here to win."