The cold of Velcridorn never bothered her. Not when she was a child training in the ice-bound woods, nor when she stood atop the spires of the Mourning Vale, soaked in sleet and blood. But tonight, it crept in under her steel, under her skin, and into her marrow.

Because tonight, the princess would be given away.

And not to a man worthy of even brushing the hem of her gown.

Lady Myriah Vexleigh stood alone in her private quarters, high above the glacial towers of the palace, where frost painted every window like veins of grief. She had cleaned her armor twice over. Oiled the leather straps. Refastened the clasps on her sword sheath. Not out of need, but out of a desperate, silent ache to do something. Anything.

For she was helpless.

All her wars, her titles, her victories, the blood she had spilled, and the glory she had earned meant nothing against the weight of a King's decree.

The princess was to be given to him.

To King Caspian of Aurevel, the serpent-crowned butcher. A man who collected wives like trophies, whose hands strangled love into silence, whose kingdom bled gold and ash.

And Myriah, Thalravia's first female knight, its most decorated warrior, the soul of discipline and mercy, was to escort her there. To guard her body while her spirit was caged. To watch from the shadows while someone else laid claim to what was hers in everything but name.

She would not weep. She could not. Tears belonged to the living, and she had not been fully alive since the night under the mistletoe. Since soft lips met hers, tentative, trembling, and her world shattered sweetly.

That kiss was not a beginning. It was a binding. A secret vow that no gods or kings could see, but she had kept it all the same.

No one knew what the princess was to her. Not the king. Not the court. Not even the ladies-in-waiting who giggled in silks and gossiped like sparrows. But Myriah knew.

She was the ache in her chest at dawn. The warmth her calloused hands remembered even when they gripped a sword hilt. The reason she wrote poems by moonlight in a script so delicate, even she barely recognized her own hand.

And now? Now she was to ride beside the royal carriage, sword at her hip, jaw clenched, watching as the princess was handed like coin to a tyrant.

She entered royal chambers soundlessly. The fire was low, casting a golden hush across the sleeping quarters. Myriah did not wake the princess. Not yet. Instead, she stood at the foot of the bed, the candlelight dancing against her cocoa-brown hair and eyes the color of autumn leaves caught in dusk. Her face, stoic and unflinching in every battle she'd ever fought, softened ever so slightly.

Gods, how could a soul like hers survive a world where the princess was not near?

She allowed herself a moment, just one, to drink in the shape of her body beneath the velvet coverlet. The steady rise and fall of her chest. The delicate fingers resting close to her cheek. She ached to hold her, to bury her face in her neck and whisper poetry into her skin until dawn broke. But she didn't dare. The walls had ears. The floorboards remembered footsteps. And yet... she could not stop herself. Stepping forward, she knelt by the bedside and reached out, not to touch, but to hover. Her hand just inches from hers.

"Forgive me," she whispered, voice low, hoarse with emotion. "I should not be here. But the thought of you in Aurevel... chained to that monster... it corrodes my soul."

Her voice always woke her. No matter how brutal she was, she still had such a sweet voice. Yet, royal eyes remained closed and listened to her reckoning.

"They call me brave," she murmured, eyes locked on the sleeping face. "They sing of my victories. But none of that matters if I cannot protect you. What is the point of a sword if it cannot carve a path to your freedom?" She closed her eyes, sucking in a slow, painful breath.

And then, when she felt the warm bead rolling down soft cheeks, she leaned in, brushing her lips ever so gently against knuckles, no more than a whisper of warmth.

"To dwell in a world without you is to gaze upon the heavens stripped of sun, moon, and stars. My breath begins and ends with your name, your royal highness."