The night shattered into violence.
Arrows thudded into the sleigh's ebony sides, glancing off hidden steel plates with sharp, lethal pings. The horses screamed, rearing against their traces as shafts buried in snow around them. Dmitri's voice cut through the chaos like a blade: "Form the line! Protect Their Majesties!"
Nikolai seized Anya's wrist in a grip of iron and yanked her from the sleigh into the knee-deep snow. The great ice tiger materialized beside him—towering now, translucent fangs bared in a silent roar—as it bounded forward to shield them.
"Stay behind me," he commanded, frost exploding from his free hand to freeze a volley of arrows mid-flight, shattering them into glittering dust.
Anya wrenched the stolen saber from her belt and stepped to his side instead. "I fight with you, not behind you."
For a heartbeat, Nikolai's eyes met hers—fierce, approving, alive in a way she had never seen. Then he nodded once.
Together they advanced.
The attackers surged from the treeline—forty strong at least, cloaks black and crimson bearing Dragunov's raven. But among them moved others in rose-embroidered masks: Sofia's elite guard. A poisoned alliance laid bare under moonlight and blood.
Dmitri carved through the melee like death incarnate. Twin blades flashed; men fell before they could cry out. He fought toward a slight figure near the rear—the young maid who had served Anya tea hours earlier, now unmasked, bow drawn.
The girl's eyes widened in terror as Dmitri closed in.
Three raven soldiers charged Nikolai and Anya at once.
The ice tiger lunged, crushing one against a tree with a sickening crack. Frost spears erupted from the ground, impaling another through the thighs.
The third came for Anya.
She met him steel-on-steel. He was bigger, heavier, but she was quicker—years of secret training in hidden courtyards flowing through her limbs. She parried, spun inside his guard, and drove her saber upward beneath his ribs.
He dropped.
Breathing hard, Anya looked up—and found Nikolai staring at her with raw, unguarded pride.
The tide turned. Nikolai's hidden personal guard—riding in a second sleigh—joined the fray, pressing the attackers back. Bodies littered the snow, dark stains spreading like spilled ink beneath fresh powder.
Then a low horn sounded from the forest's edge—chilling, triumphant.
A single rider emerged on a black charger: Lady Sofia Voronina, hood thrown back, raven hair streaming like a battle standard. Crimson velvet clung to her perfect figure, one hand resting possessively on the slight curve of her belly.
"Well," she called, voice sweet and deadly, "this is inconvenient."
Nikolai stepped forward, the ice tiger pacing at his side. Frost crackled beneath his boots with every step.
"Lady Sofia," he said, lethally calm. "You stand on imperial soil with drawn steel against your Emperor. Even your father cannot save you from treason."
Sofia's smile was poison. "My father sent me, dear Nikolai. Minister Dragunov tires of your independence. And I—" her gaze slid to Anya, venomous—"tire of waiting for what was promised."
Nikolai's voice dropped to a whisper of winter. "Promised?"
Sofia patted her stomach lightly. "Did you think I would let some northern savage steal my crown? The court knows you need a tame wife, Nikolai. One who understands obedience." Her smile widened. "One who already carries your heir. Two months gone—conceived the night of the winter feast, when you were so… unusually ardent."
The world stilled.
Anya felt the blow strike Nikolai like a physical wound. His hand, still linked with hers, went rigid. Frost exploded outward in a violent ring, flash-freezing the snow at their feet.
"You lie," he said, voice raw.
"Do I?" Sofia drew a small crystal vial from her sleeve, holding it to the moonlight. Blue liquid swirled within. "Truth serum, from the palace alchemists. One drop, and you'll remember everything you've forgotten. Shall we test it now?"
Dmitri appeared at Nikolai's side, blades dripping. "She's stalling, sire. Reinforcements are minutes away."
But Nikolai's eyes were fixed on Sofia's midsection, something shattering behind the ice.
Anya stepped between them, placing herself in front of Nikolai like a shield.
"If the child is his," she said coldly, "let the court physicians confirm it after your arrest. Treason ends tonight, Lady Sofia."
Sofia's mask cracked—rage twisting her beautiful features.
"You dare?" she hissed. "You think your parlor tricks make you worthy? You're nothing."
She flicked her wrist.
A crossbow twanged from the trees.
The bolt flew straight for Anya's heart.
Time slowed.
Nikolai shouted her name—desperate, broken.
The ice tiger lunged too late.
But Anya's power answered, wild and instinctive. A wall of jagged ice erupted from the ground before her, thick as fortress stone.
The bolt struck—and shattered.
Sofia's eyes widened in real fear.
Anya lowered her hand, chest heaving. "Poor aim."
Silence reigned for one frozen heartbeat.
Then Sofia screamed—a wordless command—and her remaining forces charged in a suicidal wave to cover her retreat.
Nikolai started after her, murder in his eyes, but Dmitri caught his arm.
"Let her run," he urged. "We have the evidence. And questions first."
Slowly, Nikolai turned back.
The battlefield quieted, snow already hiding the dead.
He looked at Anya—at the melting ice wall, at the bloodied saber in her hand.
Then at Sofia's vanishing silhouette.
"Is it possible?" he whispered, voice barely audible. "Could I have… and not remember?"
Anya felt something inside her fracture.
She wanted to scream. To demand truth.
Instead, she sheathed her saber and walked past him toward the inn.
He called her name once—pleading.
She did not stop.
At the inn doors, Dmitri caught up, expression grim.
"My lady—"
"Not now."
But he gently took her arm, steering her into the stable shadows.
"There's something you must see."
He produced a folded letter, sealed with the rose crest.
"Taken from Sofia's 'maid' before she died."
Anya broke the wax with trembling fingers.
In Sofia's elegant script:
*The potion worked perfectly. He remembers nothing. By spring, the false child will be undeniable—alchemist's arts, but convincing enough. Once the wildling is dead, the throne is mine.*
Relief crashed through Anya like a thaw.
She crushed the letter in her fist.
"He didn't betray you," Dmitri said softly. "It was all lies."
Anya closed her eyes, breath shuddering out.
When she opened them, they burned with winter steel.
"Then we end this. Tonight."
She turned—and found Nikolai in the doorway, having heard every word.
His face was devastation.
"Anastasia—"
But before he could finish, a new horn sounded—deeper, more ominous than any before.
Not Dragunov's raven.
Not Sofia's rose.
This was the imperial war horn, reserved for one purpose alone.
Invasion.
Dmitri stiffened. "Northern beacons. Multiple signals."
He met Nikolai's eyes.
"The border has fallen," he said. "Tatars. Tens of thousands. Moving south—fast."
Nikolai's hand found Anya's, gripping tight.
"War," he said hollowly. "While we tear ourselves apart."
A final rider burst from the trees—an imperial scout, half-frozen, horse collapsing beneath him.
He threw himself at Nikolai's feet, blood bubbling on his lips.
"Your Majesty… they fly a white tiger banner… woven from living ice."
The scout's terrified gaze fixed on Nikolai—and then slid to Anya.
"The Khan claims the true Frost Sovereign has come to reclaim the throne."
He coughed blood. "And at his side rides a woman… who commands blizzards with a wave of her hand."
Nikolai and Anya turned slowly to face each other.
Because in that moment, they both understood.
Someone else out there wielded the Zimniye Dushi.
Someone powerful enough to shatter borders and summon armies.
And they were coming—for the palace.
For the crown.
For the two souls who had awakened the ancient power.
But whose side would the third Winter Soul choose?
Or had she come to kill them both?