As Flynn made his way back home, his thoughts whirled with possible scenarios for his next conversation with Amaya. He imagined different ways to approach her, each one feeling more uncertain than the last. Ever since they had received the letter about her mother’s passing, he had been at a complete loss. His attempts to comfort her had felt awkward, and she had recoiled from any affection he tried to offer. The look in her beautiful blue eyes when he tried to embrace her had been venomous. Now, the memory of her coldness weighed heavily on him, making him nervous to address her again, especially considering that he had planned an entire town meeting without considering her feelings about it beforehand. Should he apologize outright? Or should he try to explain his perspective and hope she understood?

The tension in his chest tightened with each step, the knot of anxiety growing as he considered the best way to mend the rift between them. A wave of nerves washed over him, and his mind raced with uncertainty about how to smooth things over. Every possible conversation with her felt like walking a tightrope, and he could only hope that his words, however clumsy, might help bridge the gap between them.

When Flynn finally reached his home, he hesitated at the door, listening for any sound inside. The house was quiet, but that didn’t mean much. Steeling himself, he called out, “Amaya?” His voice echoed softly in the silence, and he waited, holding his breath, for any sign of her presence.

Amaya froze where she sat at her vanity upstairs. Her heart rate spiked at the sound of Flynn’s voice. Hands balled into fists in her lap, Amaya evaluated her reflection - her makeup was once again impeccable, her hair neat and curling over her shoulder. The only sign she’d been crying was the slight puffiness of her eyes. And if her nose was a little pink, well, one could simply blame the chill in the air. Amaya covered her small box of rouge and wiped her stained fingers on her nearby handkerchief.

Looking into her own pale eyes, Amaya took a slow breath in. And the mask was in place once again.

She stood and drifted out of her room with silent steps. She stopped at the top of the stairs, a delicate hand placed on the wooden banister. And when she looked down, there he was - the Prince of Aurelia. She held the air in her lungs, fighting against the way her breath hitched, the way another sob tried to rip itself out of her body.

She would not cry in front of him. When she was sure her voice wouldn’t break, she spoke.

“Don’t look so fearful, Husband.” The title burned like bile in her throat, but her voice was airy and unbothered. “It’s your house after all.” His house, his town, his orders, his decisions. Anger was a tight, coiled thing wrapped around her heart, but her expression remained cool. “No need to tread lightly.”

Flynn’s breath caught when Amaya appeared at the top of the stairs. Despite everything that had happened, she looked stunning—poised and put together in a way that made him feel… a bit uneasy, if he was honest. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulder, perfectly arranged, and her skin, rich and warm, only made the pale blue of her eyes seem sharper and more piercing under the candle lighting of their home. She was undeniably regal and looked every bit the queen she was destined to become.

Despite taking a moment to appreciate her beauty, he was surprised to see her so composed, especially after how devastated she had been upon receiving the news of her mother's death—likely murder. Yet here she was, looking every bit the royal, her emotions hidden beneath a flawless exterior. Flynn, the Prince of Aurelia—the golden child—knew the game all too well. Royals often wore masks to hide their truths. Nonetheless, Flynn could feel the weight in her words when she referred to the house as “his.” The deliberate emphasis didn’t escape him, and it only deepened his discomfort.

Clearing his throat, he kept her gaze, his emerald eyes meeting hers as he entered further into the home but stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Amaya…” His voice came out soft, uncertain. He swallowed hard, trying to muster the courage to speak properly. “Are you... okay?” A small circle of ice began spreading over the banister beneath her hand.

The question felt hollow, but it was the best he could manage in the moment. ‘Idiot… Of course she isn’t okay!’ He thought, his heart beginning to race. "I—uh… I also wanted to talk to you about the town meeting, if that’s okay?" he said, awkwardly shifting his weight as he waited for her response and pondered why the hell this small woman made him so nervous.

Amaya stared down at him. Her fingers twitched on the banister, her magic leaking unnoticed from her skin. She couldn’t move. If she did, then the thin layer of calm she’d managed to fold over herself would shatter, and her emotions would be a storm made real. She couldn’t speak - all she wanted to do was scream, and wail, and be held.

She wanted her mother.

But instead she had him, a man who had the gall to be uncertain after making all the choices for himself.

“What is there to discuss that hasn’t already been decided?”

Flynn could feel it, the shift in the air around them—a subtle pulse, almost imperceptible to most, but unmistakable to him. The veil between the physical and the magical wavered as Amaya’s magic threatened to implode on itself, raw and uncontained. Though Flynn wasn’t highly skilled in magic himself, his training had drilled into him the importance of sensing its presence, particularly Lunarian magic. Amaya wasn’t stable, no matter how poised she appeared. She wasn’t okay, not even close.

His heart clenched as he stood frozen for a moment, seeing her at the top of the stairs, so composed yet so fragile beneath that exterior. That’s when he noticed the ice forming over the banister. He frowned, unsure if he should address it after how she had reacted to him earlier that day. Slowly, he decided to ascend the stairs to meet her at the top, each step heavy with caution, not wanting to shatter her already fraying composure. Amaya’s breath stilled in her chest as he approached.

When he reached a few steps below her, Flynn reached into his pocket, pulling out the folded parchment he had spent the morning laboring over. His emerald green eyes held hers as he held it out to her. “I wanted to ask you,” he began, “if you’d like to speak during the town meeting? I didn’t know your mother well, and I... I don’t think it would be right for only me to speak about her in front of the people of Lunaris. It would mean more coming from you.” His voice remained calm and steady as he continued, “But I understand if you don’t want to. I can handle it, if you prefer.”

Flynn extended the parchment a little closer to her. “I’ve written something for the speech. If you’d like, you can read it, or tell me your thoughts.”

Amaya stared at the parchment like it was a viper. It hung in the air, a pitiful olive branch between them, and Amaya wanted to take it to the nearest candle and turn it to ash. Her eyes flicked back up to Flynn to snap more venom at him, but -

Ice met the sea. There was nothing sharp in his green eyes to cut herself against, no coldness, no fight, just… patience. Sadness. A vastness and depth that would swallow Amaya up, if she let it.

She pulled in a silent breath, fighting to keep her careful mask in place. Then she took the parchment with her free hand. Sliding it open with her thumb, her eyes moved over the Prince’s words. As Amaya took the paper, Flynn’s eyes darted back to the banister freezing underneath her palm.

Her hands tightened as she read, her breath becoming shallow. With each word the thick coil of her emotions tightened around her heart, closed her throat. Something burned hot behind her eyes. This was her mother’s eulogy. She was gone, had been gone for weeks and Amaya hadn’t known and she was never going to see her again -

A sharp crack cut through the air, something snapping under Amaya’s hand. She gasped, flinching away. She blinked rapidly, her breath coming in shaking spurts as she looked for the source of the noise.

The banister. A deep crack like a bolt of lightning the length of her hand marred the dark wood. Ice crystals painted a geometric design around it, the wood so severely chilled that it emitted a soft cascade of fog.

Flynn tensed as the banister finally cracked under the pressure of Amaya’s magic. His heart skipped a beat, and his hand shot out instinctively when she flinched, ready to steady her if she were to lose her balance. Amaya could only stare at the broken wood with wide eyes, lips parted. A tear rolled down her cheek.

She hadn’t even noticed she was calling that much magic. How had she not noticed?

“Are you hurt?” Flynn's voice was gentle but urgent as his eyes darted to her hand. She didn’t seem to hear him. His concern was palpable as he leaned a bit closer, scanning her arm, palm and fingers carefully. Internally, he resisted the urge to take her hand into his to further investigate. Seeing no visible harm, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Once assured she was fine, Flynn’s gaze shifted back to her face, his worry still present but accompanied by a faint, warm smile. “Well,” he started, glancing briefly at the cracked banister, “I hated the way these stairs looked anyway. I think it looks better this way.”

She looked up at Flynn, for the first time unguarded. Her face was a canvas of heartbreak, and helplessness, and fear. Then, before her grief could finish clawing its way back up her throat, Amaya remembered herself.

She looked back at the now crinkled parchment like she could hide in it, fighting to control her breathing. She wasn’t reading anymore - she couldn’t bear to. But still she moved her eyes over the words that blurred together in her vision. Her hand wiped at her cheek in a swift motion. Then it hid in the folds of her dress, fist tight as she tried to pull every thread of her magic back into the tangled mess that was her heart.

When she was certain her mask was back in place, she looked up again. She couldn’t quite manage to meet his eyes. But her spine was straight. No fresh tears spilled. It would do.

“Remove the fourth and fifth sentences from the second paragraph,” she said, holding the parchment back out to him. Her voice was still too tight. She tried to swallow. The sentences in question were about… well, her. Her mother’s love for her. Amaya didn’t think she could stand to hear him say those words aloud - either she’d start sobbing or she’d kill him. “I’ll speak where you’ve indicated.”

Flynn took the parchment from Amaya's hand, his fingers brushing lightly against hers as he scanned the lines she had pointed out. His frown deepened and he didn’t bother hiding the disappointment on his face. He read over the sentences again and a quiet, defeated sigh escaped him.

He remained silent for a few moments, the weight of what he’d written and what she wanted removed settling uncomfortably in his chest. He didn’t want to take them out. The words were true, and he wanted the town to hear them, to know that even a stranger could see how much the Queen had loved her daughter. It felt wrong to erase such sentiments, but arguing with her now could only end badly, especially when her magic was so out of control. His mind flashed briefly to the thought of being frozen in ice until someone came to thaw him out, and he suppressed a shudder.

He was wary of her magic, but more than that, he was concerned for her wellbeing. She wasn’t in control, which could be detrimental to both her and others around her. For a moment, he considered asking Eris to help Amaya with her magic. Maybe she could offer some guidance, some way to ease this storm inside her. But he hesitated. Would Amaya even accept help? She seemed to resist anything he offered over the last two months. For now, he would keep that thought to himself.

Folding the paper carefully, the Prince slipped it back into his pocket, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers. “I’ll do as you ask,” he said softly. He paused, searching her face, looking for a flicker of something—anything—that would tell him more about what she was feeling. “But... I hope you know that what I wrote is true.”

Amaya finally met his gaze again, her eyes flashing with emotion for the barest moment - before she quickly smothered it behind her cool façade. She imagined running away into the frost and wilderness.

“I’ll grieve their Queen with them. Not my mother.”

Flynn nodded at her response, letting silence hang between them for a few breaths while he held her gaze. He understood. Who was he to tell her when and how to grieve? He could not yet know what it was like to publicly grieve a mother while still being expected to maintain the poised composure of royalty.

“Very well.” he finally said, taking one step down on the stairway before offering out his hand for her to take. “Shall we go together, then?”

Amaya couldn’t quite hide the shock she felt - it was there in the slight widening of her eyes, in the way she leaned (almost flinched, really) away from his hand. She knew it was clear to him that her magic was not under control. She could very well freeze his hand if she took it.

Not that she would ever admit to caring.

Her fists had buried themselves deeper into the folds of her dress. She couldn’t tell if she was imagining the ice at her fingertips, or if her untethered magic was still seeping into the world. Amaya looked back up at Flynn, expecting to see hesitance or a challenge or judgment, but… there was just that patience again. That openness that offended her so, when he displayed his anxieties for all to see. But it stilled her now. The sharp rejection that had come to her like a reflex, died on her tongue.

Slowly, Amaya forced one hand to uncurl against the fabric of her dress. She kept it close to her body as she raised it, eyes flicking down to ensure she’d sealed off every last ounce of her magic from it. Her mind spun through the exercises she’d drilled years ago, when she’d first learned to harness. After one last look up at Flynn to make sure he wasn’t second guessing this, she placed her hand lightly onto his, barely touching his skin.

Flynn felt the icy chill of Amaya’s hand seep into his as he intertwined his fingers with hers, but he held her firmly and without hesitation. The coldness from her magic radiated from her skin, but he kept his grip steady and unwavering, trusting her in this brief moment not to harm him—this, in itself, felt like a small victory. It was the first time she’d allowed any sort of sustained contact, but he wasn't about to ruin the moment by pointing it out. The quiet between them felt delicate, as if a single word could shatter it.

Without a word, he began to descend the stairs with her, step by step. Together, they moved through the house, Flynn leading her toward the front door as he wondered what was going through his wife's mind at that moment. She had clearly been hesitant to take his hand, but he was glad that she had.

Opening the front door for her, the chill of the outside air greeted them as they stepped into the cold darkness of the day. He glanced upwards, noticing the clouds gathering, their edges illuminated by the pale radiance of the moon. The sky mirrored the atmosphere between them—tense, but calm for now.

As they walked into the crisp air, Flynn cast a brief glance her way, half-expecting her to pull away, but she remained beside him, still holding his hand. A moment of unexpected peace lingered between them, and thankfully, he didn’t feel the need to fill it with words.

Amaya spent the entire walk through the town methodically folding away every bit of magic, emotion, and pain deep into the space hidden between her spine and her heart. It was odd, touching Flynn in this small way. Intimidating and disorienting. She tried not to think on it. Instead she focused on his hand - how his palm encompassed her own, long fingers tying her to him. How his steady warmth seeped into her. If she could just protect this little candle flame between their hands, hold her frigid magic at bay as the steady beat of his pulse slowed her own, then maybe there was hope that she could hold herself together long enough to make it through the speech.

When they reached the outskirts of the town center, the faint murmur of the gathered crowd began to grow louder, an uneasy energy building in the air. Flynn paused, casting a glance at Amaya, feeling the steady warmth now between their hands. It was strange, but grounding at the same time.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice now carrying a more firm and confident tone than he had been using with her earlier. Easily, Flynn stepped into his Princely role once more. Wearing his own mask this time. Strong, certain of his every decision, a man of the people. His shoulders straightened, and his gaze sharpened as if all the uncertainty had melted away in an instant. Flynn had been trained to wear the title of Prince as effortlessly as the cloak around his shoulders, his voice steady and unyielding. In that moment, he was no longer just a husband trying to bridge a fragile gap or a leader second-guessing his choices. He was the embodiment of Aurelia’s future, ready to face the crowd, regardless of their loyalties. With Amaya at his side, they would face whatever awaited them together—or so he hoped.

The Princess didn’t react outwardly to his shift in demeanor, but she noticed it all the same. He seemed taller beside her - or perhaps Amaya just felt smaller, fragile and uncertain in the wake of his confidence. But she still saw it for what it was. Some quiet part of her felt… sad for him. Flynn, who so often wore his emotions on his face, had walls to retreat behind, too. He was a Prince, after all.

Amaya carefully untwined their fingers, drawing her hand back. She kept her gaze straight ahead. The loss of his warmth was immediate, shocking her skin. Amaya drew her hands together in front of her legs. There was a small intake of breath as heat met ice - she’d been so focused on protecting Flynn’s hand that she hadn’t noticed her other hand growing numb in the cold winter air. The temperature difference was almost painful as she gripped her hands together, trying to thaw.

The pain grounded her. Her face remained placid and poised, chin held high. The shaking of her hands was almost imperceptible as she shuttered away her emotions and kept her gaze straight ahead.

Just off to the side of the stage, a young Aurelian herald stood, scanning the gathered crowd. His eyes caught movement at the far edge of the square, and in an instant, his posture straightened. He recognized the unmistakable forms of the Prince and Princess approaching. With a sense of urgency, he hurried onto the stage. Once positioned at the center, he cleared his throat and raised his voice, trained for moments like this.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Dawnhaven!" His voice boomed across the square, instantly drawing attention. The murmurs of the crowd began to hush, curiosity and tension thickening the air. "It is my great honor to present to you—Amaya Selu, Princess of Lunaris, and Flynn Astaros, Prince of Aurelia!"

As the names rang out, the anticipation rippled through the crowd. Slowly, all eyes turned toward the approaching figures. Amaya and Flynn, walking hand in hand, ascended the wooden stage that had been crafted for this moment. The crowd’s murmur faded entirely as the two royals came into full view, their contrasting presences—Amaya’s cold, reserved grace and Flynn’s commanding yet steady demeanor—setting the tone for what was to come. The stage creaked softly beneath their feet, and a weighted silence settled, the town holding its breath for what would come next.

As Flynn took center stage, he could feel his own nerves beginning to creep in as he looked upon the many faces before him. Although he’d been trained all his life to speak in front of crowds, he found himself growing nervous now—an unfamiliar sensation for him. Speaking to Aurelians, who admired him, was something he could manage with ease. But addressing the Lunarians who likely harbored little affection for him, save for the safety Dawnhaven provided, was a different challenge altogether. Nonetheless, the mask he had dawned remained strong and his facial expression remained calm and steady. Having gone over his speech many times earlier that morning, Flynn did not take out the parchment from his pocket and began to speak on it from memory.

"Citizens of Dawnhaven, thank you for gathering here today.” he began, easily able to project his voice in a clear and commanding way. “I stand before you with news from the capital of Lunaris that may be deeply upsetting to many of you. We have just learned that Queen Anjali, who was beloved by many, tragically passed away about a month ago. The King has remarried and, according to our sources, she is with child as well.”

Flynn paused as the crowd began to whisper among themselves at the news, the ripples of surprise beginning to spread.

“I understand that this news may come as a shock to those who held Queen Anjali in such high regard. While I did not have the privilege of knowing her well, I had the honor of meeting her once before I married her daughter, your princess, Amaya. In that brief encounter, Queen Anjali showed me great kindness.”

Recalling the lines that Amaya had not wanted him to say, Flynn’s mind recited the words internally, causing him to hesitate just briefly in his speech. _{I saw the love in her eyes as she watched Amaya walk down the aisle to become my wife. It is clear to me that the Queen was not only beloved but also a devoted mother who raised a remarkable daughter.}

“For that, I am profoundly grateful.” He continued, excluding those lines and staying true to his word. “At this time, I would like to invite Princess Amaya to say a few words about her mother and share her thoughts during this difficult moment."

Turning towards Amaya, Flynn held her gaze for a heartbeat, searching her eyes as if silently asking if she was alright. She offered him no answer. Only the briefest glance, like she couldn’t look away fast enough. His emerald eyes softened, though his expression remained composed. The crowd seemed to fade, and for a brief second, it was just the two of them on that stage, bound together by this shared weight. He knew how much this moment meant, how much it cost her.

Taking a small step back, Flynn offered her the space to speak and left the center stage to her—this was her moment.

Standing alone, Amaya looked out over the crowd of people - her people. Whether they were from Lunaris or not, that they were here in Dawnhaven, meant Amaya was responsible for them in some way. And she hardly recognized any of them.

There were the members of her royal guard. Flynn’s blightborn advisor with whom she’d barely exchanged two words. The sage, Eris, that Flynn so often met with. But Amaya felt disconnected from them all, as she stood above the eclectic group of humans and otherworldly blightborn. She didn’t even know who amongst them was Lunarian. Amaya filled with shame that she couldn’t afford to feel in this moment.

Amaya searched the crowd for Elara, her handmaiden - her only friend. Something in her chest loosened as she found her silver form. She tried to draw strength from the only person in this world who truly knew her, now that her mother was gone.

“Words seem inadequate to describe the enormity of this loss.” Her voice was softer than Flynn’s had been - less commanding. But it carried through the crowd like a breeze. She hadn’t thought of what to say on the walk here. It had felt too dangerous, with the fragile grip she had on her emotions. But her mother deserved this. Amaya tried to swallow.

“There are some here who may be unfamiliar with Queen Anjali. She had several monikers, but the most common one was the Winter Queen. I understand that to Aurelians, this may seem an unforgiving thing to call her, but please know that it was a term of deep affection. There is beauty in winter - snow blanketing an evergreen, like a quilt draped around a child.”

Amaya was seven years old, fear like ice in her veins, stopping her heart, as she threw soaking, freezing body into her mother’s embrace.

“A chill in the air that urges communities closer together, sharing food and warmth.”

She was fifteen, sitting in her mother’s study as they both read independently - but never out of reach of each other.

“A quiet stillness that soothes your racing thoughts, and urges you to simply be.”

She was twenty-four, and it was the last time she would ever see her mother alive. Her wedding was in mere hours. The Queen had dismissed all of Amaya’s attendants, until it was just the two of them looking at each other in the reflection of her mirror. Slowly, silently, her mother helped her dress in her ornate wedding gown. She combed her fingers through Amaya’s hair, weaving the strands together into an elegant design. She threaded fine, sparkling jewels into her hair, around her neck, circling her wrist. And when Amaya had finally been transformed into the bride they were all awaiting, her mother wiped her tears with gentle hands, and placed a long, soft kiss at the crown of her head.

“She was all of these things to the people of Lunaris.” Her beautiful mother, who’d traveled across the ocean and through the mountains to rule over a kingdom that did not know her - but still grew to love her. “She was patient, when it was easier to be afraid. Kind, when it was easier to be cold. Fair, when it was easier to be cruel. And now without her… this land of frost and moonlight seems colder. The night seems darker, without her brilliance.”

Amaya let her gaze refocus again over the crowd - people who would never know her. But they deserved to. She thought of her father, and with sudden clarity realized that she hated him. Ice so cold that it burned filled her body. She made a decision fueled in equal parts by love for her mother and spite towards her father.

“When the settlement of Dawnhaven was proposed to the Kingdom of Lunaris, Queen Anjali was its strongest advocate at court.” The King had despised how influential his wife had been amongst the other nobles. And while he’d managed to stifle any public knowledge of her power while she was alive, Amaya would see to it that her legacy was known. “She was adamant that the collaboration between our two kingdoms, and the offer of sanctuary to those touched by the blight, was the only choice that we could afford to make.” You must survive, my darling girl. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, as Amaya fought to hold steady against the churn of her emotions. “And so all of us here, Lunarian and Aurelian, human and blightborn, have been touched by her tireless belief that the world can become more patient, kinder, and fairer, as long as there are those endeavoring to see it so. If you loved her, as -” as I did. Her voice broke, the words trapping themselves in her throat.

She couldn’t breathe. If she did, if she let her lungs work, she would gasp and sob and wail. Her world narrowed to nothing but the thunderous pounding of her heart. Hot tears burned at her eyes, threatening to fall. She couldn’t break, not here, in front of strangers, in front of Flynn. The warmth had long since left her hands, where she held them in front of her dress.

Amaya tried to swallow. She tried to breathe. The tears came perilously close to falling, and Amaya tilted her head up to the sky, like they wouldn’t fall if she simply refused to allow them. But she paused as she looked up.

Snow.

Full, soft flakes drifted through the air, landing on her cheek as gently as her mother’s touch. Amaya was captivated. Bits of sparkling white powder adorned her dark hair like jewels, melted into her white dress like lace. The shining moon emerged behind the clouds, filling Amaya’s vision.

A single tear finally crested over her cheek.

“If you grieve for her,” she said softly, still transfixed. She looked back out over the crowd. Her voice was fragile, but didn’t falter. “There are no flowers you could leave at her grave, no songs you could sing, that would be more fitting a tribute to her memory than simply…proving her right.” Her face flashed in Amaya’s mind, a soft smile and bright blue eyes nestled in a loving expression. She wondered what her mother would see, if she looked out over this crowd.

“Just prove her right. That’s all she would ask.”

Amaya let her gaze drop, forcing herself to not drop her composure anymore than she had already. Then she dismissed herself, and turned to walk to the back of the stage. If Flynn had expected to continue the meeting with her involvement, then she supposed he would have to improvise. She simply didn’t have any more in her.

Her footsteps marked a simple path through the gathering snow on the stage. Amaya turned to face the crowd again when she arrived at the back, head held high and eyes unfocused. She didn’t bother to wipe the tear track on her face.

As Amaya finished her speech and made her way toward the back of the stage, Flynn glanced at her, hoping to catch her eye. He offered her a faint, supportive smile—one he hoped would remind her that she wasn’t alone in this—but she didn’t meet his gaze. She passed him as though the weight of the world were still pressing down on her shoulders alone. His heart sank for her, knowing how difficult this moment had been. Nonetheless, her speech had left him with a deep sense of pride. Despite the turmoil she was enduring, despite the weight of grief and anger that he knew threatened to consume her, she stood there, composed and regal. She had faced the crowd with strength, her words steady, even as her heart undoubtedly ached. He admired her resilience.

Instinctively, his eyes dropped to her hands, searching for any signs of her magic slipping free. To his relief, there was no frost, no telltale shimmer of ice or uncontrolled power. For now, it seemed she had it under control.

Stepping forward into the center of the stage once more, Flynn scanned the gathered crowd—his people. Lunarians and Aurelians alike stood before him, the tension thick in the air, the anticipation palpable. The snowflakes fell softly around them, a cold hush settling over the town. This was his moment now, but his mind lingered on Amaya. He had to carry on, but he would not forget the quiet strength she had shown, even if she refused to look at him. With a steady breath, he turned his focus to the task at hand, ready to address the people.
"Thank you, Princess, not only for your words but for your strength in sharing them." Flynn said, his voice warm as he glanced toward her before turning back to the crowd, admiration for her evident in his tone. "As we process this news, I want to acknowledge the uncertainty it brings to all of us. It is concerning, not only because of the loss of a cherished Queen but also because of the rapid changes happening in the Lunarian capital. These events remind us of the fragile nature of our world and the importance of standing united as we face the challenges ahead.

Dawnhaven is a place where people from different backgrounds, beliefs, and lands come together for a common purpose. In these trying times, it is more important than ever that we remain strong and united. We must continue our efforts towards finding a cure and ensuring the safety and well-being of our community. I want to extend my heartfelt gratitude to all the human citizens of Dawnhaven for your acceptance and support of the blight-born. Your contributions, remarkable generosity, and willingness to embrace them have played a crucial role in our city’s progress. I firmly believe that the blight-born, despite their circumstances, deserve a second chance at life. They have greatly contributed to our city, and their resilience exemplifies the spirit we all share. Our mission to return them to civilization and stop the blight is a testament to our collective strength and compassion.” Flynn paused for a few heartbeats, his eyes finding his blight-born advisor who had been invaluable during this time.

“Let us remember that while we may come from different kingdoms, our shared determination and strength will guide us through these dark times.” As Flynn reached the final words of his speech, he allowed a brief silence to settle over the crowd. “Together, we will weather this storm as one.”

Taking a steadying breath, he turned to leave, his gaze naturally seeking out Amaya. Between them, the snowflakes fell faster, their gentle descent gathering upon the dirt and gravel roads below. Closing the distance between them, Flynn extended his hand toward her. His emerald eyes locked with hers, a silent, hesitant plea reflected there, as if asking for her permission to hold her hand once more. His fingers lightly brushed hers, seeking the delicate touch of her hand in his so that they might leave the stage as one.

The cold breeze tugged at his cloak, the temperature notably beginning to drop, but Flynn’s focus remained on Amaya, waiting to see if she would allow another moment of connection despite her vulnerable state.

Amaya took a slow breath in, still looking straight ahead. Then she answered his silent request, placing her hand in his. It was a careful motion, more performance than connection. Amaya knew her role here, before the eyes of Dawnhaven. She couldn’t afford to open herself up right now - not somewhere so public, after such a monumental revelation.

Not when her control was hanging by a thread.

And so, sealing herself away, Amaya allowed her husband to lead her by the hand, off of the stage. The warmth was familiar this time. So was the snow, as it coated Dawnhaven.

Flynn felt a wave of relief wash over him as Amaya's hand gently slipped into his. The simple act of her accepting his touch was a quiet victory, a reassurance amid the crowd’s scrutiny. Despite their vast differences, at least they could agree to appear as a united front among the people of Dawnhaven.

With her hand securely in his, Flynn guided her off the stage. The crisp, winter wind grew stronger, sending flurries of snow swirling around them as they descended the steps. The guards, ever vigilant, fell into formation behind them, their presence a formal shield against the encroaching cold and any potential threats.

The couple moved in silence, their path illuminated by the dim glow of lanterns as they made their way back toward their cabin. The wind whipped through the trees, its mournful howl an omen for what was to come.

---

_{Collaboration with @c3p-0h}

Eris’s eyes lit up with excitement as she listened to Ashe’s response. “I’ll definitely spread the word about your work! It’s truly a masterpiece,” She smiled, her enthusiasm bubbling over as she admired her bracelet and pulled the fiery coat closer to her once more. “Such talent deserves to be recognized. I’ll be sure to tell everyone about the remarkable work you do.” She returned her gaze to Ashe, finding herself rather comfortable in their presence now. “I’m genuinely fascinated by your craftsmanship. What did you do before becoming blight-born? Did you—”

Her question was abruptly cut off as a herald's voice rang out over the crowd, announcing the arrival of the Prince and Princess. The words were barely out before a ripple of anticipation spread through the town square. Eris glanced at Ashe, her curiosity about their past momentarily set aside as the atmosphere shifted towards the grand occasion.

Eris’s heart raced with anticipation as the Prince took the stage, but nothing could have prepared her for the announcement that followed. When the Prince spoke of the Queen of Lunaris’s passing, Eris felt as if the world had momentarily tilted beneath her feet. Her mind reeled with the gravity of the situation—what had led to this? The implications were overwhelming, and her thoughts raced to the possible political maneuvers of the King of Lunaris. The notion of him remarrying and having another child to secure his lineage unsettled her deeply, casting a shadow over her thoughts.

Her eyes welled with tears as she watched Amaya speak about her mother, feeling the raw, palpable grief of the young Princess. Though Amaya had always been reserved, the emotion in her eyes was undeniable, and it tugged at Eris's heartstrings.

As the snow began to fall heavily from the night sky, Eris watched as the delicate flakes melted before even touching the coat Ashe had lent her. For a moment, she was grateful to be encased in warmth, immune to the frigid air.

When the Prince returned to the stage, Eris felt a renewed sense of purpose and pride wash over her. She had a role to play here, and she was determined to assist the Prince in finding a cure for the blight. Talking with Ashe earlier had been a triumph in itself, and now, with the Prince’s unifying words ringing in her ears, she felt a renewed bravery. The fear she had harbored towards the blight-born seemed smaller in comparison to the overwhelming resolve she now felt.

When the Prince and Princess exited the stage, Eris remained quietly contemplative, barely registering the change in temperature as the warmth from Ashe’s coat guarded her. “May Aelios and Seluna guide Queen Anjali to the next realm…” she said softly to herself, barely above a whisper.
With a final glance at the retreating figures of royalty, she turned back to Ashe, unclasping the coat and offering it back to them before they parted ways. The cold night air now bit at her exposed skin and the warmth she had felt from the garment was replaced with a stark chill as the wind whipped her hair around her face. “Thank you for your generosity, Ashe,” her voice soft but sincere.

"It seems the weather has taken a turn, as if the Winter Queen herself has joined us this evening." She smiled and tucked her hair against her shoulder, her gaze lingering on Ashe with a newfound appreciation for the warmth they had provided, both in the physical sense and in her growing confidence.

---

_{Interactions: Ashe @Timemaster}

Gadez Paladice

A gathering of so many blightborn was bound to draw attention, there would come a time when a haven would become something more.

He had pondered plenty on the source of the blight and what may have caused it, seeing how vastly different each blightborn were it once again made him reconsider the origin of it. There were no mortal powerful enough to unleash this amount of power upon the land, it was simply not possible. There was a limit in how much a body and mind could handle, and eventually people would grow old and die. While he did think plenty of the blight having its origin in nature, perhaps... he were right. But the way he thought about it had been wrong. Perhaps it was about human nature. Their greed and ambition. He knew it all too well.

He drew two new conclusions, both quite similar. Due to there being no known cure, and how the blight seemed to alter people physically. It meant it could be a forbidden kind of magic. The dark arts of necromancy was something which came naturally to mind. To make the dead walk anew.

But at this scale? The blue eyed bastard narrowed his eyes. It had to be a magical device able to contain magical energies and also emit them. Like how ripples would be formed on water after one would toss in a rock. So either there would be an undying ancient magic user of the dark arts, with a mastery over said art to an unfathomable degree. Or it were a collection of outcasts joining together. Much like dawnhaven itself. The oppressed and misunderstood often found comfort in each other. Of the two possibilities he considered the latter seemed the more plausible, but he hoped he was wrong. Because if somehow necromancy was at the root, then what if every blightborn would someday simply lose control of themselves? Becoming nothing but commandable puppets on strings.

A phantom army to conquer the world and make the darkness last far longer. If there were someone out there capable of magically subdue the wills of others... he would do his outmost to destroy that very being utterly by any means possible. Free will was to be protected, without it the world would be truly dead.

People like Kira and Leela, while being blightborn and dead by some peoples estimation still had wills of their own. Paladice didn't mind people to have different opinions nor did he hesitate when people would clash because of their desires. But to take away that which made life into life, the free will to chose ones own path. That's why he couldn't let such defilers to live. The grand board had plenty of dangerous pieces, yet not all the pieces would be what they appear to be.

He closed his eyes momentarily as he thought of the times to come.

'All you have planned will be for naught King Astaros, your son will die and so will you. The truth may be grim, but it doesn't mean it is wrong. Oh Flynn Astaros, do you even know the meaning of your name?

Names are important as we wander in the...

Goddess Paradise. Our world.

The golden star awaits you...'

Paladice listened to the speech from the stage. He already knew plenty of how the scene would play out. But were the prince speaking his own mind, or did he bear a mask? That would have to be further delved into away from the stage. Speaking of such, he couldn't stay for long as he made his way to intercept the royals and their guards on the way.

The wind was blowing from his side, causing his mantle to flicker in the wind as he walked out from behind a couple of trees, standing in the middle of the road ahead of the royals and their guards, leaves falling from the trees, like the very earth was weeping for the loss of the beloved mother.

The guards were at high alert, but even still that wouldn't stop a man such as him from seizing the moment. He spoke out, loud yet almost as if it were a melody. Making sure the entourage would hear him.

"Beautiful maize and ruddy star. A physical form may fade away, yet memories will never die. She'll always be a part of you princess, no matter what. All you need to do is look within. And you Prince Red Star... you are the spitting image of your father. Or rather how he used to look like. A long time ago. My sincerest condolences to you both…" He offered a butlerlike bow and began to move towards the side of the road to make way for the group. His hood and purple cape still flickering in the wind, blue and red combined into one. Like fire and ice. His blonde hair joining the wind, his piercing ghostly blue eyes landed on both the princess and the prince.

"A mother of many a child is most beloved, in the lands of ice and snow, where the land is harsh but the flowers still grow. See to it that you'll bloom magnificently, and save this world from the looming doom. In the twainlight zone." His blonde hair fell over his eyes as he changed his pose, a soft smile on his lips. He remained standing but aside of the pathway to let the entourage pass if they weren't in the talkative mood.

'Quite the family in the making. A pity you could not live to see it to the end. But the real world isn't as kind as the storybooks, not all be there at the end of the tale.' He allowed his mind to fall on the queen which had recently passed away, she truly had been beloved. Very much unlike the two kings who were bent on each others destruction. It was thanks to her that Dawnhaven would even exist. For this he was thankful, a final gift which would see the Aurelian king dead. He picked up a winter flower and then lit it on fire using his magic, then blew the remains to be carried to the wind.

'Rest well mother of the new dawn...'

@The Muse@c3p-0h

Moving to the opposite side of the town square, Kira decided to put as much distance between herself and Elara as possible. Her steps were quick, avoiding any further temptation to accidentally fall into feral behavior. She found refuge by the blacksmith’s building, leaning against the cool stone wall, still on the outskirts of the crowd and unable to smell the sweet scent of the blood that coursed through her childhood friend's veins.

As the Prince and Princess began their announcement, Kira listened carefully, her ears tuning in to every word. The news of Queen Anjali's death brought a slight pang of surprise, but Kira couldn’t say she was entirely shocked. The King had always been cold, calculated, and devoid of empathy, even when it came to his own family. The Prince did not specifically say that the Queen had been murdered, but to Kira there was no other explanation. It was obvious to her that the King would “replace” the Queen as soon as Amaya was gone and there was no one left to contest him. That was who he was—a man who saw people as chess pieces, easily discarded when no longer useful. It was sad, but Kira knew the game he played all too well.

As Amaya spoke of her mother, Kira's thoughts drifted to the few interactions she had with the late Queen during her own time in the castle. Queen Anjali had been a rare figure of kindness in Kira's life, offering her food when she was at her weakest, starved and battered from endless training. It was Anjali’s empathy that had sustained her, though the Queen never truly knew Kira. The Queen had helped many of the orphan children who had been put to work by the King. Still, in those fleeting moments, it felt like Anjali had been the only one keeping her from breaking entirely. Clearly, Queen Anjali had taken pity on Kira—a child stolen from Aurelia to be molded into the lethal Lunarian weapon she was today.

As the meeting came to a close, Kira's orange gaze wandered across the crowd, observing the mix of reactions to the news. Her attention was briefly caught by the rising wind, tugging at her cloak and flicking strands of her fiery red hair into her face. Irritated, she pulled her hood up, her mind beginning to swirl with thoughts of the King. What was his plan? He wanted to replace Amaya, no doubt. He had already offered her up as a sacrifice, which would leave him with no heir at all and put the entire kingdom’s future at risk. He was old, and his time was running thin.

Kira would wager that the Aurelian King would do the same, if he were in the same position. After all, power and control came before all else to men like them. With a quiet sigh, she pushed off the wall and stalked away, deciding to retreat to the safety of her home before the storm worsened. She needed time to process everything—Anjali’s death, the King's next move, and what all of this meant for the realm. Keeping her hood low, she disappeared into the winding streets, ready to hole up and wait for the storm to pass.

Coswain seems to have hit a nerve, the man could talk and talk…and talk. He was some Auralian nobility but he had not come across this family before, probably one of the overly proud lesser nobility that have a massively inflated ego and an inbred lineage of a dozen cousin marriages. It never ended well, you seemed after a few generations to end in madness. “Castellian, is a rank of import behind a castle in Lunaris.” He said with a tight tone.

“Do you realise how many times I heard that In my career? How many have claimed that in Lunaris…to know a Lord, a Prince, the King….” He said entirely unimpressed and without concern, the chances were slim. You had to claim such things, you were faking it. Looking over however the snow was starting to increase and to get stronger, to get heavier and the subtle wind etc began to pick up force.

He gave a wonder and a worry, his thoughts said that the snow would be worse, would be stronger, and would last. “Your his friend, and you'd starve his project” He said with an easy expression, He knew if he was working for Prince he would not sabotage the man's project as that would be a fast way to lose his favour.

“He is not causing much ado in the middle of the crowd, much as he is cursed.” He did not let the man intimidate him.

“This Crone is a Lady, wife, and a Throne Agent to name a few.” Persephone said in a tight capital accent of Lunaris, she had a tight expression and looked at the women and kneeled down to her. “Calm miss, calm… your gonna hurt yourself.” She placed a hand on the woman's shoulder and stopped her getting up Just yet.
“She failed to hit you, your not hurt. No blood shed. No gold Lost.” Coswain said that he studied the situation, he had no cause to arrest the woman yet.

“No… not on my knees … if you have to talk you can… Looks like show time.” Coswain said and the speech came, and things… changed. Alot.

His feelings were…complicated to say the least, the Queen was Dead? She had been the light of Lunaris, the King Was.about as likable as the plague to many but they loved the queen, truely she had been loved. This just changed everything and yet they where so far away unable to do anything.

He had seem how things where in the capital, seen how things where in the Castle, the markets…Lunaris was holding together but by Selene it was fragile at the best of times, damaged, enemies on several fronts, threats internal and external…

“By Selene… things are worse than imagined. So much worse.” Coswain said with a shocked look, the Winter Queen was one of the things holding everything together, she had been the uniting force and the symbol they could admire. Now what did they have?. Coswain looked and tried to process the news.

The snow was falling much thicker and it was falling in settlement thickness, he seen ernough snow to reconise when it was a dead man's blizzard, this was a real danger.

“Cancel it new priorities, We not have time, make sure you have fire wood, food and so prepared for a week or more. look Marquess Ayel Raunefeldt.” He was still processing anf currently grappling with the bombshell that just dropped and exploded right as Prince And Princess spoke. “Get your horses into stables if you want them to live, and I'm not sure where your staying. Or how, but if you have winter preparation, Do it now and do it fast. You can always argue with me when we still alive after this.” He did not know where he planned to stay, the Inn unless it was a Unfinished wing was near full, their was empty houses and so but winter had beaten their builders and many where still yet to be finished.

“Winter is enemies of all, It takes no sides, You can try the Inn, but it's pretty full unless you like a buidling site, so you might have to find your own shelter. Maybe the Temple or so should be warm and provisioned.” He said and looked to head off to organise that materials, food, firewood, water and other things got distributed and where stocked up. once this bit they where Inside for the duration.

“Lass, I know ya hung over, but right now, forget this fight, this feels like we gonna be in a white out, get ya home ready.” He said more kindly and nodded to Persephone.

“My husbands right, how about we worry about the bigger problems.” She Gave The Lord a minor glare and hoped this woman not throw up all over the good unform she wore.

Persephone had her own feelings, they where a utter mess right now and barely could begin to peice it all together. The Queen was Dead, the entire situation had just changed and no one knew how it would play out. She has not met her personally but like many… she had admired the Winter Queen and she had been a loved and figure of unity in the Kingdom.

Mentions
@Dezuel@GambolMuse@Qia@Lu

Sya felt a little hot and swayed a little before she recovered, thankfully her companion had left, he very much confused her in many ways. He spoke a dozen words and you wondered if 11 were a lie… he was interesting. She gave him that.

His final words and actions had her even more bemused. Leaving on a prophecy, a song and a point she was sure she could work out if she sat down and mulled it over for a few minutes. He gave her mixed feelings but also he probably would make the town more colourful to be sure, not likely … most likely he would end up at the Inn somehow, he needed a meal even if he seemed to live off water, man must be mad, water was never clean as ale.

The Prince's words and news did not rock her much as others, the Queen of Lunaris was a distant figure to her, all the Royalty bar Flynn and his Princess were distant, Capitals were a long way from her home, new home and former homeland. She had no loyalty to those places.

She stayed quiet and watched respectfully as the news hit some much harder than others, the snow gathered on her shoulder and she knew, somehow, that she should prepare. She felt little effect or challenge to such weather events but those under her roof? Definitely would be harmed If the fires ran low.

She would prepare however much she felt off, something was off and she felt it in her very soul. She suppressed the feeling, Sya would talk it over with Olivia in the evening when they had time alone. The construction was well on track though and hopefully that internal work would not be paused by this weather? If they were willing anyway.

Sya made a mental list as she hopped off chair and returned it to the table, the small blightborn woman bounced slightly as she headed into the gradually thickening snow, she could appreciate it majesty least personally without fear. First things first, make sure the cellar was stocked, secured and the firewood was piled close. It would be easier to grab, before they could build the loading Docks and so where it would be much more accessible even In harsh weather.

Again her vision gave her a headache but she ignored that and pushed on, Sya could not afford to stop. She had important work to do.

How little did she know it was not a bug and what she was in for. Or what she would become. Her legs hurting was a bad omen.

Fiona Grear

There were perhaps many ways to attend a speech, though few that were suitable for one of such gravitas. Laying prone in the dirt while your head spun was certainly not one of them. Fiona did listen though, closing her eyes as she let the news, of pretty, flowery words, grief intermingled with vacuous hope tangling together as Prince and Princess spoke. Politics and royal affairs were well beyond her wheelhouse, lacking both the education and patience for most formalities and courtly proceedings. Human to human, however, she could empathize with loss, knowing well enough what it was like. Addled as she was, she still retained enough decency to send a silent, if muddled prayer to the powers that be for the Queen's soul.

She had less decency to tolerate Ayel's brand of pompous prickery. Being sprawled out on her back prevented her from lashing out, though she did kick once or twice, fussing like a toddler being told 'no'. Once apparent she would not wreak righteous vengeance upon Ayel's shins, she huffed, letting her head drop back down, staring up at the sky. Flakes began to fall, dusting her cheeks, a few landing on her lashes, and she blinked through the quickly melting snow.

Blessedly, the cold helped sober her up a little, and when approached by Persephone she gladly accepted the help to stand. She only wavered a little, bracing for just a pause before nodding, waving off any offers to help further. Dusting herself down, she cleared her throat, swiping her hand under her nose. "Aye... Over it anyroad, no worries. No harm, eh?" A lopsided smile was offered, and Fiona almost extended a hand to Ayel to apologize, then dropped it; she doubted he'd take it anyways, and he really didn't deserve an apology.

"Queen bein' dead... Now that's a tough break. You lot've got my condolences. Cannae say I knew her much, or well... At all." Awkwardly, she laughed as she rubbed at her neck. "But heard nothin' but good things. Mostly. Prayers for her and whatnot." The last thing they wanted or needed was some hungover Aurelian commoner giving condolences. Fiona dusted herself one more time before adjusting her cloak, tucking her hands under her pits, shoulders raising as she felt a lone flake land on her neck. With a soft yelp she shook her head, squinting up at the sky. "Ah ken I'm a proper mess, what with spendin' my night proper blootered and whatnot, but if there's anything I can do... Aside from rubbin' elbows with Mr. Prissy here, just ask, aye?"

@PrinceAlexus@Dezuel

---

---

_{Location: Frostmoon Lake}
Tia gasped back into a world of blinding white. Frigid air shocked her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see. Frozen needles stabbed into her hands, her cheeks, her legs where they kneeled in the snow, wrapped in the heavy fabric of her robes. She coughed, her frigid hand coming up to her scarred throat – only to meet the fabric of her scarf, coated in a thick layer of snow.There was snow everywhere. It filled the air in a growing storm, already having coated much of Tia’s body. She was shaking violently as her body curled in on itself. Her mind fought to make sense of everything.

Dawnhaven. The lake. A hand that was not hers.

Tia blinked, frost coating her eyelashes. She looked down at her hand – it was pale, shaking against the winter cold. But it was hers. Instead of fire wisping off her skin, there was only snow. The ring was a band of ice around her finger. With clumsy, uncooperative hands, Tia removed the opal ring, only to fumble and drop it to the ground. She clenched her chattering teeth as she grabbed it, the snow feeling like daggers piercing her skin.

She looked out at the lake again. Her mind felt frantic and sluggish, all at once. But all she could think about was warmth. Squeezing her eyes shut, Tia curled in on herself against the storm again. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t bear the thought of getting up and pushing herself through the storm, back to the heat of Aelios’ flame, back in the temple.Tia allowed herself another stuttering heartbeat in the snow. And then she pushed herself to her feet. She stumbled, falling on numb legs, back to the ground with a whimper. Her hand clenched tighter around the ring. She tried again.

When at last, she was back on her unstable feet, she turned her back to the lake. The footprints that marked her journey to the lake were long gone, hidden under a growing layer of snow. Some distant part of her mind realized that she’d likely missed the town meeting. It didn’t seem important at the moment.

Willing herself not to collapse, Tia forced her frozen body back towards the town, seeking the heat of her temple.

Ayel Raunefeldt

He considered himself an even tempered man, merciful and understanding. But no matter what he had felt the veins on his face beginning to expand and how his face got warmer and warmer, like a volcano about to burst.

How dared that filthy peasant girl talk to him without being given permission to do so! How dared she speak gibberish, or what he assumed was some clearly inferior Lunaris tongue. It had to be. Not only that but she was seemingly drunk, the worst kind of peasant, the ones which likely was awful working away for their betters.

She had then attempted to strike him, he whose done no wrongdoing in his promising life! He was filled with shock at the audacity displayed, and momentarily thought of hitting her with his sword sheathe. But the goddess had gotten equally as insulted by her and made her slip.

Ayel felt a powerful tingle from his belly and spine, he could feel the goddess gracing her most favoured child. Him.

He almost phased out of the scene itself as he thought about it being a sign for greatness to come. That all his hard struggles would yield profit.

The marquess had considered taking the opportunity to kick or grind the underside of his now slightly muddy boots against her face. But he quickly threw the idea out, for she might be even dirtier than the mud, possibly she could even send her filth all over his garments if he got closer.

It wasn't worth the risk. But he still wanted to make an example out of her. Because if one of the little peasants would get away with questioning their betters, then soon more would join it. It filled him with dread. 'Mindless mongrels.' He had thought and then looked at Coswain.

As much as Fiona had annoyed him, it was far less than what the castellan had done.

How could a mere simpleton, a guard, a greybearded stableboy dare say all those crude things to him. It was almost equally as disturbing to the marquess to learn the lady he had called a crone was married.

He frowned as he thought about it. 'Disgusting wrinkly old hagbag.' He gave her a glare then snarled at Coswain.

But before he could berate Coswain for his audacity and refusal to kneel, the prince and princess had decided to grace them.

'My friend! He must have been the one to arrange this crowd to greet me, I suppose a clueless blob of peasants will have to do. The gesture is meaningful, but the execution we need to discuss over tea. Maybe execute that guard while at it. Mmmm..' He thought and listened to the prince, is was after all someone important like himself speaking.

Perhaps the prince had arranged for him not to reach the stage so that he would be treated more like a honoured guest, and the prince was his herald? The very idea made him almost blush, that someone else thought about him almost as much as he did. It filled him with a sense of hope.

That's until the speech began. Ayel felt a surge of disappointment. This wasn't a welcoming, it was a farewell to that filthy barbarian queen of the north.

'Good riddance, that old peasant hugging harlot had it coming!' He softly chuckled as he was glad one of his mortal enemies were out of the picture. Maybe soon they would be able to colonize the barbarian land and educate the inbreds and put them to work.

Ayel felt a sense of pleasure when he thought of profit to be made.

Ayel's face grew shocked on hearing Amaya speak, her words were as foul as foul could be to him.

Beauty in winter? Share food and warmth? The marquess was taken aback as if he had gotten a bucket of ice thrown at him. She surely didn't mean sharing things for free? This was the survival of the richest, not some charity event for survival of the most stupid. He would have none of it!

Then came some words which did make him feel more at ease. There was no grave to send flowers to. Thus he could avoid having to bother to do it, not because he cared the slightest, but because of his friendship with the Aurelian royals.

Once the speeches ended, his eyes settled on Coswain. Ayel had already scoffed at what seemed to be some peasant way of appologizing from Fiona. How dared they oppose him in public! Someone might have seen or heard it!

Coswain however proved again to have the gall to try and command him! Him or all people! The very soaring Marquess of Aurelia, the chosen of the sun goddess. How dared he! Ayel felt how his teeth clenched together, his face grew wrinkly and his eyes narrowed. He tightened his hands into fists.

"Don't tell me what to do or do not do, you ill educated old fool. I am well prepared for anything this region can throw at me, I am not some incompetent barbarian. Resting in an inn, what do you take me for a pauper? Some stinking vagrant? I think not. Now I have more pressing matters to attend to, but I will take disciplinary action on you for this later. That includes all three of you." He pointed angrily and stormed off, using his swordsheath to poke and move people out of the way.

He hurried over towards where the carriages were.

"Faldrin! Where are you?!" He yelled out as his judgemental gaze wandered about. The man came running to him. "Mylord, we have successfully put up the walls, a door and the roof is being constructed at this very moment! We have put the horses into the local stable and the three carriages are lined up properly around the construction site." Faldrin explained.

"I certainly hope you didn't put my horses in with those barbarian breeds? These are pureblooded Aurelian ones. Their family line, much like my own go back generations. It's like a fine line of gold enrichment. So make sure none of those peasants creatures get near them I take it you didn't scratch my carriages? You and the workers will sleep in the newly constructed building as soon as the roof is up, you may bring your belongings in there for now. I will have to have my new home properly cleaned before I settle into it anyhow. I shall be sleeping in the middle-most carriage with all my pillows. You will be allowed to sleep only when it is midnight. I don't want my mansion and emporium to take all winter. Now go and get working. I have a self-biography to write, I will expect breakfast, lunch, teatime, dinner at the usual times. You may feed yourself from the box from the border regions, I don't like food which may be compromised by Lunarian ways. Or lunatic ways as I prefer it. Now good day Faldrin!" He opened and slammed the carriage door shut as the snow began to fall. Finally he had some time alone to do what he liked the best.

Working on himself.

@GambolMuse@PrinceAlexus

Flynn’s steps slowed as he laid eyes upon the stranger who blocked their path home. His grip on Amaya’s hand tightened protectively, senses prickling at the feeling that there was something dangerous beneath the stranger’s cloak. The guards around them stiffened as well, their hands resting near their weapons, ready to act if necessary.

Amaya glanced up at Flynn. The unexpected feeling of his hand tightening around hers brought back to reality, and out of the haze of grief that was her mind. Then she saw what — who — had him so on edge.

As the group came to a complete halt, Flynn’s eyes locked on the cloaked figure, noticing the stranger’s pale blue eyes peering out from under their purple cape. The man’s words felt eerie—his presence entirely unsettling despite not saying anything that was directly threatening.

When the stranger mentioned his father, Flynn’s jaw clenched ever so slightly. The comparison to his father, something he had heard often growing up, now left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had once been proud of it, though with his current perspective, he wasn’t sure if it was meant as a compliment, or something else entirely.

"Thank you for your kind words," Flynn said, his voice polite but guarded. He offered the pleasantries expected of him as a Prince, but no more than that. Amaya was silent and tense beside him. "I’m afraid we must be on our way—it has been a long day for us and it wouldn’t do to linger in this cold for long."

His gaze lingered on the man a moment longer, searching for any sign of ill intent behind those pale eyes. Then, with a nod, he began to guide Amaya and their retinue forward, his grip still firm around his wife’s hand as they continued down the path. The guards fell in step, their watchful eyes flicking back to the stranger even as they moved, leaving the ominous figure standing in the snow. The Prince kept his pace measured, unwilling to show any sign of haste, but every instinct screamed at him to put distance between them and the man who now stood aside, smiling cryptically.

Amaya let Flynn move her forward, her nerves too raw to do much more than follow obediently. But as they grew further and further away from the stranger, she felt a prickling along the back of her neck. She felt unclean like he’d stained her with something she had to scrub away before it set. She felt exposed.

Still walking, Amaya turned her head to look over her shoulder at the blond man in the distance. She watched as his cloak fluttered in the growing wind, a wisp of black smoke drifting away from his hand held high.

Amaya never wanted to hear him speak about her mother again.

She turned her gaze forward as the storm built in the tense air around them, obscuring them from view.

---

_{Mentioned: @Dezuel - Gadez Paladice}