The first snow of winter came softly.
No drums. No banners. Just pale flakes tumbling from a silver sky, blanketing Frostfall in quiet grace.
Cyr stood alone on the palace terrace, breath clouding in the cold.
He wore no crown.
Just his old traveling cloak and the froststeel braces at his knees, now quiet, almost ceremonial.
The healers had offered to remove them.
He refused.
He still remembered the boy who couldn't stand without them.
And the girl who gave him reason to try.
—
Behind him, footsteps padded softly.
He didn't turn.
He didn't have to.
Her presence moved like breath—barely audible, but felt with every part of him.
She stood beside him, bundled in a midnight-blue cloak lined with wolf-fur. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips slightly parted from effort.
She still t
