Blood In The Snow

Not even a week passed, and he was already wreaking havoc all over the palace. My parents had summoned my step-brother from miles east of Nyreas to come “babysit” me while they sailed off on their overseas vacation—as if they needed another one. All they ever did was sit around looking perfect and call it ruling a kingdom. No wonder Nyreas hadn’t made any real advancement in years. I’ve never met my step-brother before. Never even heard his name spoken or whispered. I wasn’t aware of his existence until two days ago, when he showed up at the palace gates wearing attire that was so atrocious no royalty would be caught dead in, along with dark shades in the middle of winter. Which made it hard to believe he was related to us. Everything about him felt wrong. Desmond was the most deceitful creature I’d ever encountered, and I’d grown up in a palace full of courtiers. What kind of royalty can’t even maintain their appearance? My parents were obsessed with image, yet they’d brought this thing into our home and expected him to take care of me when he couldn’t even take care of himself. He didn’t even babysit me—that much became clear immediately. The man paid me no attention whatsoever. I snuck out twice in one day, walked right past him in the corridor, and he didn’t even glance up. Before Desmond arrived, I’d managed to escape exactly once while my parents were home—it lasted for five minutes before guards dragged me back from less than halfway past the front courtyard. But the whole air of the palace shifted the moment he arrived. Servants whispered in corners and fell silent when I passed. On the fifth night, I woke to voices outside my door. The darkness in my room felt heavier than usual. I sensed something was wrong, almost instantly that night—that primal instinct that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. I could hear Desmond’s low murmur, his distinctive gravelly tone unmistakable even through the heavy wooden door, and other voices I didn’t recognize. Unfamiliar voices. Harsh, clipped tones that spoke in urgent whispers. My blood ran cold. I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could, my bare feet making no sound on the cold floorboards, and pressed my ear to the wood, heart hammering. “I’ve dealt with the parents; I’m certain they won’t return.” “The girl?” the stranger asked. “Soon,” Desmond replied. My heart stopped. What did he do to my parents? Whatever it was, I didn’t want to stick around to meet the same fate. I didn’t pack. Didn’t leave a note. I grabbed my cloak, climbed out my window using the rose trellis, and ran. The guards at the gate loomed; they turned to me and blocked the exit, stopping me from leaving. I looked at them pleadingly. “Please, he’s going to kill me.” My voice cracked as I begged them to let me through. The head guard signaled the others to back down and unlocked the gate. I slipped through the opening, then shot him a glance, silently thanking him. I ran north, toward the lands I’ve only heard stories about, the Vikings’ lands, where my fate might be worse than what it would’ve been if I were to remain at the palace. I couldn’t bring myself to care. Whatever Desmond planned for me, I knew one thing with absolute certainty: This wouldn’t be the end of the Nyrean bloodline just yet.