Elara's POV
The ice on my fingers was spreading.
I stared at my hands in the darkness of the cell, watching frost crawl across my skin like living things. It didn't hurt. That was the scariest part. It felt natural, like breathing.
"No," I whispered, shaking my hands hard. "Stop it. Stop!"
The ice didn't listen. It kept growing, creeping up my wrists, making my skin glow with pale blue light.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. I shoved my hands under my torn dress, hiding them just as torchlight flooded my cell.
"Get up," a guard barked. "High Chancellor wants you moved."
"Moved where?" I asked, but he didn't answer.
Two more guards entered. They grabbed my arms and hauled me to my feet. The moment they touched me, I felt the ice inside me react—wanting to burst out, wanting to protect me.
I forced it down, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood.
They dragged me out of the cell and through the dungeon corridors. Other prisoners reached through their bars as I passed, some begging for help, others cursing me.
"You did this!" an old man screamed. "You brought the curse! My crops are dying because of you!"
"I didn't!" I tried to say, but a guard shoved me forward so hard I stumbled.
We climbed stairs—not the ones leading back to the palace, but different ones. Older ones. The air grew colder with each step, and I realized where they were taking me.
The Forgotten Wing. The abandoned section of the palace where my ancestors had locked away dangerous prisoners centuries ago.
"Wait," I said, real fear creeping into my voice now. "You can't put me there. Nobody survives the Forgotten Wing!"
"Should've thought about that before you practiced dark magic," the guard said.
We reached a heavy iron door covered in rust. It took all three guards to pull it open. The smell that came out made me gag—rot and mold and something else. Something wrong.
They threw me inside.
I hit the ground hard, my head cracking against stone. Pain exploded behind my eyes. When my vision cleared, I saw I wasn't in a normal cell.
This was a room made entirely of black ice. The walls, the floor, even the ceiling—all frozen solid and dark as midnight. And carved into every surface were words in a language I didn't recognize.
But somehow, I could read them.
Here lies the first Winterborne who fell to the curse. May the ice claim no more of our blood.
My great-great-grandmother had died here. In this exact room.
The door slammed shut behind me. I heard the guards locking it—not just one lock, but many. The sound of metal scraping metal went on and on.
Then silence.
I was completely alone in the darkness.
I pulled myself up and pressed my hands against the door, searching for any weakness. "Hello? Is anyone there? Please!"
Nothing.
Hours passed. Or maybe days. It was impossible to tell in the absolute darkness. I couldn't even see my own hands anymore.
The cold was different here. It wasn't just temperature—it was alive. It moved through the room like a creature, touching me, testing me, whispering things I couldn't quite hear.
And my magic responded to it.
The ice on my hands had spread to my elbows now. I could feel it inside my chest, wrapping around my heart with each beat. It wanted to take over. It wanted me to let go.
"I won't," I said out loud, just to hear a voice in the darkness. "I'm not cursed. This isn't real."
But it was real. I knew it was real.
Somewhere above me, footsteps echoed. Then voices—two people arguing.
"—too dangerous," a man said. It sounded like Varius. "If the magic spreads—"
"It won't," another voice interrupted. Morgana. "You promised me she'd be contained. You promised!"
"And she is," Varius replied, his voice sharp. "But your sister is stronger than we anticipated. We may need to move to the final solution sooner than planned."
"No!" Morgana's voice cracked. "You said we had time. You said—"
"Plans change," Varius said coldly. "If she breaks free, everything we've worked for is destroyed. Better to eliminate the problem now."
Eliminate.
They were going to kill me.
I pressed my ear against the door, straining to hear more, but their voices faded away.
My heart pounded. I had to get out. I had to find a way to prove my innocence before they murdered me in this frozen tomb.
I turned back to the black ice room and made a decision that would change everything.
If they thought I had magic, if they'd locked me in here to contain it, then maybe I should stop fighting it. Maybe I should learn to use it.
I held out my hands and, for the first time, I didn't push the ice away.
I welcomed it.
The response was immediate. Ice exploded from my palms, shooting across the room in jagged spikes. It slammed into the walls, the ceiling, the floor—everywhere. The black ice cracked and groaned.
I felt power rush through me, wild and terrifying and wonderful.
And then I felt something else.
Something was watching me from inside the black ice. Something ancient and hungry. I could feel its attention turn toward me like a giant eye opening in the darkness.
The carvings on the walls began to glow with blue light, and words appeared that hadn't been there before:
She wakes. The first has come. The ice remembers.
A voice whispered in my mind—not my voice, not human at all.
"Finally," it said. "I've been waiting so long for you, little Winterborne."