The snow falls silently across Eryx, thick and endless. It muffles the crunch of boots and the clang of steel, as if the land itself wishes to keep its secrets buried beneath ice. High above the courtyard, black banners bearing the sigil of House Eryx whip violently in the wind—two wolves, back-to-back, jaws open in eternal warning.

Duke Ajax Eryx stands at the steps of the keep, a shadow against the storm. His great black cloak billows behind him, fur-lined and heavy, the only hint of warmth in his austere silhouette. The courtyard is filled with soldiers standing in perfect formation, unmoving, armored, loyal. None speak. None dare.

Beside him stands Cedric, his long-serving butler, silent as always. Just behind, Lord Castor leans on his cane with a grim expression, whispering something to General Bronn about how foolish it was to receive a bride from a kingdom they had nearly crushed.

Ajax says nothing.

He hears the wheels of the Lumina carriage before he sees it—slow, careful, almost cautious as it crosses the icy bridge leading to Eryx Castle. Gold and ivory trim flash against the steel gray of the sky, a soft glow in a kingdom made of stone and shadow. It looks fragile. Breakable.

Much like its occupant, if the rumors are to be believed.

The carriage halts. Ajax descends the final step alone, his boots crunching in the snow as all eyes follow. The wind catches his cloak, sending it snapping like a banner behind him. His expression never changes—no curiosity, no excitement. Just grim necessity.

A footman hesitates at the carriage door before Ajax's command cuts through the silence. The door creaks open to reveal a shadowed interior—warm, perfumed, unfamiliar. A gloved hand appears first, then a small boot stepping carefully onto the snow. A figure emerges, veiled and wrapped in pale fabric that seems far too thin for the cold.

The Princess of Lumina. The Saint no one knew.

He sees none of what he expected—no monster, no curse, no hideous ghost. Just someone small. Quiet. Hidden. The veil obscures her face, but her posture surprises him—no trembling, no flinching. She looks up at him—not with fear, but something unreadable.

A strange silence falls. Even the wind holds back.

"I am Duke Ajax Eryx," he says at last. "You are here as part of a treaty I did not request, nor require. I will not ask if you are cold. You should be. You are no longer in Lumina."

He turns without waiting for reply, walking back up the steps.

"Follow."

And with that, he disappears into the shadowed mouth of Eryx Castle, expecting obedience—just like from every soldier, noble, and soul in his domain.

But even he doesn't know: the girl behind the veil is not just a bride.

She is the last flame of a dying kingdom.

And fire melts ice.