The Winter Bride and the Fallen King

Chapter 1 Ariel Froswyn sat slouched at her tiny apartment desk in San Francisco. The only light came from her laptop, casting harsh shadows across the peeling paint and cluttered space. Her head throbbed, and the noise outside.Th honking cars, distant sirens, joggers yelling to each other—did nothing to ease the pressure sitting heavy in her chest. Rent was due in two days. Her credit card bill was overdue. The freelance checks she depended on barely covered essentials. Every missed deadline, every revision request, felt like another crack in the foundation she was trying so desperately to build. “Froswyn!” Her heart jumped. Marcus Hale’s square, irritated face filled the Zoom window, arms crossed, his tone sharp enough to cut through her exhaustion. “Marcus… I—” she began, but he raised a hand. “No. Stop. Look at this draft.” He jabbed at the camera. “Half the sources are missing, and the rest reads like a diary entry. Are you writing journalism or unloading your feelings?” Ariel’s throat tightened. “I checked the sources. I just… wanted the piece to feel alive. Something readers could connect to—” “Connect?” Marcus barked. “They don’t need to connect. They need facts. Accuracy. Deadlines. If you can’t handle that, maybe journalism isn’t for you.” The words stung, because she feared he was right. She’d been stretched thin for months, doing three freelance jobs at once, sleeping four hours a night, and trying to claw her way into the industry from an aging apartment with a broken heater. “I’ll fix it tonight,” she said quietly. Marcus exhaled, the edge in his expression softening just slightly. “Good. I want the revision by morning. No excuses. Understood?” “Yes, sir.” When the call ended, Ariel leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Her inbox was already full of overdue reminders, Her rent, utilities, software subscriptions she needed for work. Failure wasn’t an option. Not when this was her only shot at becoming the journalist she’d always dreamed of being. By 3 a.m., her fingers ached and her eyes felt raw, but the article was finished. She reviewed, edited, revised… then finally hit send. Exhaustion dragged her under the moment she leaned back. The next morning, her alarm shrieked like a cruel joke. Groaning, Ariel slapped it off. Her whole body ached. But at least… the article was submitted. She brewed cheap coffee and opened her laptop. Marcus’s email pinged. She froze—then clicked. It wasn’t a rejection. It was a long list of notes, suggested edits… and at the bottom: “Good work, Ariel. Keep pushing.” A breath escaped her chest, shaky but relieved. For once, she hadn’t failed. Later that afternoon, she dragged herself through the office doors—her one precious perk as a freelancer: access to the workspace. Marcus approached, his expression unreadable but his eyes carrying a spark of something rare. “Ariel,” he said, dropping a folder on her desk. “I’ve got an assignment for you. Something… special.” She blinked. “Special?” Marcus snorted, then actually laughed, an exhausted, sarcastic laugh that made a few coworkers look over. Ariel made a confused face after seeing their reactions. “Oh, trust me, ‘special’ is one word for it,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “You’re not gonna believe what our boss wants this time.” Ariel raised a brow while typing on her desktop. “Should I be scared?” “Yes,” Marcus deadpanned. “Very. Because apparently we’re no longer a journalism company because we’re now a paranormal travel vlog.” He opened the folder dramatically while laughing. “The boss wants you to fly to Norway. To cover a castle.” He paused. “An abandoned castle. With—ah, wait for it.Oh! this ghost stories." Ariel stared. “You’re joking.” Marcus laughed again, louder this time. “God, I wish. I told them ghost stories don’t exist, castles aren’t magical portals, and this is the holiday season, not Halloween—but the boss wants a ‘mystical European winter feature.’ Their words. Not mine.” He shook his head like the entire situation was a bad prank. “Since when do we cover haunted castles?” Ariel asked, incredulous. “Never,” Marcus said. “Because they don’t exist. Not the ghost part, anyway. But apparently, the boss saw a documentary last night and decided we’re suddenly experts in supernatural tourism.” Ariel blinked, speechless. what! Marcus sighed and handed her the folder. “Look, it’s ridiculous. Completely unrealistic. But… it’s also a huge opportunity. Big budget. Full coverage. And honestly?” He shrugged. “You’re the only freelancer crazy enough or shalk I say, desperate enough—to actually say yes.” Ariel’s breath stalled. Norway. A castle. A major assignment. Yet doubt crept in immediately. But Marcus’s words left a small ache in her chest. Yes, she was only a freelancer at the company , a talented but still unseen in the world of journalism—but she was sure of one thing: she would do the job right, and she was willing to learn in every way she could. “This is huge,” she whispered. “I don’t know where to start.” “That’s the point,” Marcus said. “You fly tomorrow. Pack light. Camera, recorder, notebooks. Draft in a week. This could define your career. Even if the premise is insane.” “But Marcus… you know I can’t do this alone,” Ariel said quietly. Marcus took a deep breath, then gave her a small, almost apologetic smile. “Ariel, the truth is… this assignment was given to you because no one else wanted to take it. The boss made a decision that whether you like it or not, it’s yours. But who knows, maybe this is where you finally break through if you pull it off.” Ariel couldn’t respond. She knew she hadn’t proven herself yet, but hearing it said so plainly still hurt. Her chest tightened, and all she could do was lower her head in silence. That evening, she sat in a small café near her apartment, stirring lukewarm coffee. Her best friend, Madeline, slid into the seat across from her. “You look like someone handed you a winning lottery ticket and a heart attack at the same time,” Madeline said. Ariel sighed. “Marcus wants me to fly to Norway. A castle assignment. Ghost stories. It sounds amazing and weird but… I don’t know. I barely keep up with deadlines here.” Madeline grabbed her hands. “Ariel. This is the opportunity you’ve been killing yourself for. You’ve been working nonstop in that old apartment, drowning in freelance work just to survive. This isn’t just a job. It’s a break.” Ariel looked down at her coffee, watching it swirl. Maybe she’d been living so long in fear of failing that she didn’t recognize success when it was in front of her. “I’m scared,” she admitted. “Everyone is,” Madeline said. “But you’re Ariel Froswyn. You survive every storm. This one? This is your chance to walk into something bigger.” A long breath. A slow nod and she sips onto her mug of coffee. That night, Ariel called Marcus. “I’ll do it,” she said. “I’m going to Norway.” Marcus chuckled again. “Good. Just remember, the castle’s old, closed off, locals say it’s haunted.” A beat. “Which is insane. Ghosts aren’t real. But the boss wants spooky vibes, so… enjoy.” Ariel hung up. Her worn-out suitcase waited by her bed. The journey ahead was terrifying, absurd, and completely unreal. But for the first time in a long time… she was ready to take the leap and spend her holiday in Norway.