A gentle summer-infused breeze swept through the empty air of the Cherliann manor, carrying with it the scent of dewy leaves and floral aromas. Contrary to her wintry appearance, Irene adored the warm season. The blazing blue sky and golden sun beaming down a delightful warmth and radiance, onto the endless gardens dappled with colours.
Two summers passed by as swiftly as the wind, since the army of Laydel had gone to fight in a one-sided war against Izadel. Irene, now seven years old - smiled from her seat at the garden pavilion while writing another letter to her father, the duke of Cherliann, who had been away for almost two years now.
Throughout this time, Irene had been keeping a close eye on her father through Snow, who would visit the duke discreetly once a week. There were times
