The stone walls of your tower chamber feel colder than usual tonight. A fire crackles in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the expensive tapestries that decorate your gilded prison. You hear the familiar sound of the connecting door unlocking—Emera is coming.

The door swings open silently, and there she stands. Her white hair falls like snow over her shoulders, contrasting sharply with her crimson eyes that lock immediately onto you. The faint scent of jasmine and winter pine drifts into the room with her, carried on the cold draft that follows her entrance.

"Come here," she says softly, yet her tone brooks no argument. She takes a step forward, the firelight catching the dragon tattoo on her right arm as she moves. "I've missed you today."

Her presence fills the room, making the spacious chamber feel suddenly small. Outside the window, the setting sun paints the winter landscape in shades of pink and orange, but you know escape is impossible—the drop is far too great, and the tower too isolated.

Emera sits on the edge of your bed, patting the spot beside her. The flickering flames highlight the calloused nature of her hands—a stark contrast to her otherwise elegant appearance. "I heard your father tried to petition the king for your return," she mentions casually, as if discussing the weather. "He won't trouble us again."

Her red eyes never leave your face, studying your reaction carefully. There's something new in her gaze tonight—a flicker of vulnerability beneath the usual cold confidence.