The embers in the fire guttered low, throwing a slow, hungry light against the cave walls. Noori sat close enough to feel the heat, lips moving in a chant so soft it was almost swallowed by the last pops of flame. Her hands traced the old words with the certainty of muscle memory, each syllable folded into a spell that tasted like iron and winter.
Dastan watched her. He watched the hitch of her breath as she pushed power through her chest and the way the cave seemed to lean in toward her voice. A warmth spread through him that did not belong to the fire. It made the rock edges shimmer and blurred the line where the cave ended and the world began.
Noori did not look up. Her face pinched in concentration, jaw set. Her voice threaded the incantation tighter, drew it toward its peak.
Something inside Dastan tightened. His vision went soft at the edges. He tried to reach for the bedrock beneath him and found only air. The warmth turned sharp, the world rolled, and his breath came thin. He should have called out. He tried. The sound caught in his chest and failed.
Noori's hand snapped away from the ritual at the same instant his body went slack. The chant died on her tongue. She hauled him to her, feeling the cold sweat slick his skin against her palm. "Did you pass out?" she demanded, more alarm than surprise in her voice. Dastan's breath was a shallow thing against her neck. Her fingers fanned across his ribs, looking for a pulse she already feared would be faint.
She looked to the cave mouth and froze. Something had changed in the air. The silence beyond the footing was no longer empty. A distant beat of hoofs tapped the ice like a warning.
He is not alone, she thought. Her other hand went automatic to the small dagger at her belt. Instinct tightened the line of her shoulders. She put Dastan down with as much gentleness as she could spare, then moved to the entrance, every sense stretched taut.
Boots struck snow. A voice barked orders that did not belong to the woods. Before Noori could weigh the odds, the ice that sealed the cave burst. A sheet of frozen air crashed inward, scattering shards and powdered snow. The avalanche of noise stung her eyes and made the torch flicker wild.
She set her jaw and pushed to her feet. The cave smelled of smoke, wet fur, and something fouler beneath it. Through the spray of ice she could make out silhouettes forcing a way inside. Men. Armed. Determined.
"One step more," she said, and the words were not soft. They landed like iron. "One step and I will burn every foot of this place until nothing stands."
Her voice was small in volume but enormous in consequence. The threat was a promise. Around her, the cave listened. The men at the mouth hesitated. Noori felt the power gather in her palms, a coiling heat she had learned to hold back and then unleash. She smelled the copper of danger and felt the old, steady pull in her chest that had guided her through worse nights than this.
They did not move. For a beat the world balanced on the edge of her next choice.
Her threat hung in the air, thick enough to breathe. Each echoing step in the cave struck like a countdown. Noori's hand stayed wrapped around her dagger, her muscles pulled tight as bowstrings. The blinding white light at the mouth of the cave made it impossible to see who approached—only a tall silhouette cutting through the glare.
Then a voice broke through."Princess?"
The word hit her like a slap. She knew that voice. Even buried under snow and echo, she would've known it anywhere. Farris.
Her grip faltered, and for the second time that day, she had drawn steel on someone she shouldn't have. The dagger slid back into its sheath with a soft rasp.
Farris stepped closer, the light outlining his figure, his face still hidden in shadow. "Princess, what are you doing here?" His tone was urgent, tinged with something she couldn't name—concern, maybe, or disbelief.
Noori instinctively moved a step back, guarding the unconscious Dastan behind her. Farris stopped, his hands half raised as if torn between touching her and keeping his distance. The air between them thickened, heavy with things left unsaid.
His voice softened, just a fraction. "Is the prince alright?"
"He should be," she replied curtly, her words clipped and dry.
He exhaled through his nose, the tension in his jaw betraying what his words didn't say. "Guards!"
The shout cracked through the cave, and three Solyrian knights rushed in, snow crusted on their armor. Their gazes flicked between Noori and Farris, confusion and fear mixing on their faces.
"Take the prince back to the palace," Farris ordered, his voice sharp.
"Yes, Your Highness." They moved quickly, their eyes lingering on the cloak draped around Dastan—hers. Farris noticed but said nothing, his silence pressing heavier than words as they carried the prince away.
When the last of them vanished into the snow, only Farris and Noori remained.
The silence between them stretched. She refused to look at him, but he couldn't stop looking at her. The question left his mouth before he could stop it.
"Why did you marry him?"
Her head snapped up. The bitterness in her laugh cut through the cold like a blade. "What right do you have to ask me that?" she said, her voice low and trembling with restrained anger. "Don't pretend you know me, Duke. Not after what you did."
Her jaw locked, fists curling at her sides. A single tear shimmered in her eye, stubborn and unshed.