Faerthryne steps out onto the balcony, as she has done every year, same day, same time, same place, for the past 890 years; but she loves the feeling she gets looking out above the sea of peasants, stretching as far as she can see—the feeling of knowing how dependent they are on her, and in turn, how little she cares about this dependence.

  The bell at the top of the college's bell tower rings. She prefers the tuned bells at the Temple of the Second Moon, more musical—perhaps she will put in a request with Gyrshke; this single note will grow annoying if Arn impresses her.

  She loosens each finger of her gloves and pulls them off, carefully tucking them into the back pocket of her monochromatic plaid wide-legged tweed pants. Fixing her hair, she pushes it back out of her face and shakes it out. Smiling as the peasants who are close enough to see her well gawk, some women taking notes; the finest fashion trends of the Ianian winter are always hers to set—she shall enjoy seeing how the Crown fares after.

  The bell stops; waiting a moment just to make sure, she takes the cotton wads from her ears and places them into her pocket.

  She steps closer to the railing. Rolling her shoulders, she straightens her back; while tall already, she must make sure she has done everything she can to ensure that everyone will see her.

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  “Citizens of the Crown and those who are not and have come to visit for H?rfende, I trust you have all enjoyed the end of my dear sister Morziwayn’s reign?” People cheer and shout in response. They quickly go silent again as she keeps talking through the crowd. “I’m sure the real reason you have gathered here today is to witness the first snow in the Crown—from the peak of Iania—to witness the start of winter, to witness the start of my reign. If you are here to drink and party and not appreciate the frozen wonderland I, Faerthryne, bless upon you, I suggest you ask someone next to you what happens when you place me second to anything.” She pauses, now allowing people to talk to each other; crossing her arms behind her back, she watches, looking for those who did as she suggested and asked what happens—annoyed and angry reactions quickly spread through those who do as beer freezes inside their steins.

  Her blue eyes start glowing as she extends her arms beside her. The clouds above the college begin to swirl together into spiral patterns before grey tendrils shoot across the blue moonlight horizon, splitting apart and seeding the sky. “Bear witness to what has made your society; bear witness to what has forced you forward; bear witness to the threat of desolation you shall know if you forsake me! Speak my name only in reverence; live in my world only in reverence; set your ephemeral gaze upon my sky only in reverence.” The clouds grow thicker, covering Luhnylla’s Great Moon, submerging Iania in an overcast shadow. “I gift you solace in my kingdom.”

  Faerthryne turns on her heel and returns inside the Great Hall.

  Snow sprinkles down; winter has begun in Iania.