Cassira pressed her palm against the frost-etched window, watching her breath cloud the glass as snow fell beyond the thick panes. The Northern Capital's towers rose like jagged teeth against the gray sky, their banners snapping in the wind.

  From her perch in the eastern tower's window seat, she could see the courtyard where servants hurried between buildings, their cloaks pulled tight against the bitter cold. Guards stamped their feet at their posts, and smoke rose from a dozen chimneys throughout the keep. The familiar rhythm of winter in the capital, predictable as the turning seasons.

  She pulled her knees to her chest, the simple wool of her dress soft against her skin. Unlike her siblings' elaborate court attire, Cassira favored practicality—gray wool trimmed with white fur, sturdy enough for the cold, plain enough to avoid drawing attention. The fifth daughter had learned early that being overlooked often meant being safe.

  The little one builds castles in the snow again.

  The memory surfaced unbidden, carrying with it the phantom warmth of childhood winters. She had been four, maybe five, kneeling in the courtyard with mittened hands shaping walls from packed snow. Her brothers had found her there, Sigvarr and Rurik returning from weapons practice, steam rising from their sweating forms despite the cold.

  "Look at our architect," Sigvarr had laughed, but not unkindly. He'd crouched beside her, his practice sword still strapped to his back. "What manner of fortress is this, little sister?"

  "It's not a fortress," she'd replied solemnly, patting another handful of snow into place. "It's a palace. For the winter spirits."

  Rurik had snorted, but Sigvarr eyes had brightened with genuine interest. "Ah, of course. And what do winter spirits require in their palaces?"

  She'd spent the next hour explaining her elaborate mythology while her brothers listened with surprising patience. They'd even helped, their large hands awkward but willing as they shaped towers and walls under her careful direction. When Solveig and Alva had emerged from their lessons, they'd found the three of them covered in snow, laughing as they added the finishing touches to an impossibly delicate ice palace.

  "You're all mad," Solvieg had declared, but she'd settled beside them anyway, her fine dress heedless of the cold ground. "Show me how you made those spirals."

  Those had been the golden years, before succession politics carved lines between them. Before her sisters learned to see threats in every shadow and her brothers discovered the weight of expectation. When she was simply the little one, indulged and cherished, building impossible dreams from snow and imagination.

  The day her class had manifested remained vivid in her memory—standing in the family's private chapel, eight years old and trembling with anticipation. Her siblings had gathered to witness the ceremony, their faces bright with curiosity and pride. Even her parents had attended, though they'd watched from the back with their customary distance.

  When the familiar warmth had bloomed in her chest and the words Frostbound Apprentice had echoed in her mind, she'd felt a rush of pure joy. Not a political class like her siblings, but something that was hers, a recognition of who she was, what she loved.

  She'd demonstrated her first skill right there in the chapel, frost spreading across the stone floor in delicate patterns that caught the candlelight like scattered diamonds. Sigvarr had whooped with delight, and even stern Solvieg had smiled.

  "Our little winter spirit," Rurik had murmured, ruffling her dark hair. "Finally found her calling."

  The seasons had turned, carrying away the golden years like snow melting beneath spring rain. By ten, Cassira had begun to notice the patterns—how conversations shifted when she entered a room, how certain doors remained closed to her while opening readily for her siblings.

  "Advanced tactical theory with Master Grimnar," Solveig would announce at breakfast, her tone bright with importance. "Father says I'm ready for siege methodology."

  "War council after the noon meal," Sigvarr would add, straightening in his chair. "The northern border requires attention."

  Rurik would nod along, already deep in discussions of supply lines and troop movements that meant nothing to Cassira. She'd sit at the table's edge, carefully spreading honey on her bread while her siblings planned futures she would never share.

  "And you, Cassira?" her mother had asked once, not unkindly but with the distant politeness reserved for honored guests. "How progresses your ice work?"

  "Well enough," Cassira had replied, her voice small in the vast dining hall. "I've learned to reinforce existing walls."

  A useful skill, they'd all agreed. Valuable in its way. Safe.

  The memory that crystallized her understanding came on a winter evening when she was twelve. She'd been returning from practice in the lower courtyard, her cheeks flushed from working with frost patterns on the training walls, when voices had drifted from her father's study. The door stood slightly ajar, golden lamplight spilling into the corridor.

  "The Imperial delegation grows impatient," a voice she didn't recognize was saying. "They speak of cementing the alliance through marriage."

  "Let them speak." Her father's voice, calm and measured. "Alva is young yet, but promising. Beautiful, charming, and her class shows political acumen. She would serve well as a bridge between courts."

  "And if they prefer the elder?"

  "Solveig has her strengths, though her tongue sometimes cuts too keenly for southern tastes. Still, either would serve."

  Cassira had pressed closer to the wall, her heart hammering against her ribs.

  "What of your youngest?" the stranger had asked. "The one with the ice magic?"

  A pause. Then her father's measured response: "Useful enough, but not a piece to wager. Better to keep such assets in reserve—loyal, capable, but removed from the primary game. The Empire would find little advantage in her, and we lose nothing essential by keeping her close."

  The words had struck her like a physical blow. Not a piece to wager. Nothing essential.

  She'd crept back to her room in silence, closing the door with trembling hands before sinking onto her bed. In the darkness, understanding had bloomed like frost across glass—clear, sharp, and utterly unforgiving.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  The next morning, she'd built snow castles in the courtyard as always. But now her hands moved differently, shaping walls with military precision rather than childish wonder. These weren't palaces for winter spirits anymore. They were practice fortresses for wars she would never command, built by hands the family had deemed safe enough to ignore.

  Each carefully placed stone of packed snow became a reminder of her position. The system had given her ice magic—not because it reflected her true nature, but because it was what the family could allow. A useful tool, but never a weapon. A support, but never a leader.

  Her siblings still visited her constructions, still praised her growing skill. But she saw their kindness differently now—the gentle affection one showed a favored pet, or a talented servant whose loyalty was never in question.

  "Remarkable detail work," Rurik had said that day, crouching beside her latest creation. "You could make a fine architect someday, little sister."

  She'd smiled and nodded, but the words had tasted like ash. Architecture implied building for others, shaping spaces others would inhabit and rule. Even her brother's kindness carried the assumption that she would create, but never command.

  That night, walking the keep's corridors after the overheard conversation, Cassira had felt the cold differently. Not the crisp bite of winter air that made her magic sing, but something deeper and more pervasive. The stones beneath her feet seemed to radiate chill, as if the very foundations had absorbed decades of careful calculation.

  She'd paused at the great window overlooking the main courtyard, where two banners snapped in the wind. The Imperial dragon flew highest, its golden scales catching torchlight from the wall sconces. Below it, the Northern wolf—their ancestral banner—hung smaller, subordinate.

  Even the wind knows its place here.

  The North had bent the knee thirty-seven years ago, she'd learned from her tutors. A "peaceful assimilation," they called it, as if words could soften the truth of surrender. Her Father had negotiated cleverly, preserving clan structures and customs while accepting Imperial oversight. A masterful political maneuver that saved lives and traditions.

  But standing there at twelve years old, watching those banners dance their careful hierarchy, Cassira had understood what her tutors never said: the North had learned to smile while swallowing its pride. Her family ruled because they'd proven they could be trusted to rule as the Empire wished. Loyal vassals wearing crowns of snow.

  The realization had settled into her bones like winter chill. The snow didn't belong to her childhood anymore—it belonged to the Empire now, along with everything else she'd once thought was hers.

  Present day

  Now, at fifteen, Cassira pressed her palm harder against the frost-etched glass. The cold bite felt familiar, almost comforting. Three years had passed since that night of understanding, and she'd learned to navigate the currents of half-spoken truths with growing skill.

  Her siblings still visited her when duties allowed. Sigvarr and Solveig would pause in their diplomatic preparations to discuss ice patterns with genuine interest. Rurik would seek her counsel on matters requiring patience and observation—never strategy, but the small details that revealed larger truths. Alva would curl up beside her on evenings when court politics grew too exhausting, dropping her perfect mask in the one place where she felt safe to be simply a girl.

  Their affection was real. But it was also the affection of wolves for a rabbit who lived safely within their den—warm, protective, and utterly without threat. They loved her because she posed no danger to their ambitions, no challenge to their carefully mapped futures.

  She didn't blame them. In a world where siblings could become enemies with a single miscalculated word, having one sister who would never compete was a gift. They could confide in her, trust her, even depend on her—secure in the knowledge that she would never use their secrets against them.

  Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside her chamber, accompanied by hushed voices. Cassira tilted her head, trying to catch who was at the heavy door when she heard a knock.

  "Come."

  Cassira straightened, expecting one of the household servants with an evening meal or perhaps clean linens. Instead, her mother stepped through the doorway, closing it softly behind her.

  Queen Cassiane rarely visited her children's chambers. Such intimacies were left to nurses and tutors, while the Queen maintained her careful distance—present at formal meals, visible during ceremonies, but never lingering in private spaces. Her appearance here, unannounced and alone, sent a flutter of unease through Cassira's chest.

  "Mother." Cassira rose from the window seat, offering a respectful curtsy.

  "Sit, child." Cassiane's voice carried its usual gentleness, but something beneath it seemed strained. She moved to the window seat, her deep blue gown pooling around her as she settled beside her daughter. "There's no need for ceremony between us."

  Cassira resumed her place, acutely aware of her mother's proximity. Cassiane reached out, smoothing a strand of dark hair behind Cassira's ear with fingers that trembled slightly.

  "How progresses your frostwork? Master Valdris tells me you've advanced to crystalline reinforcement."

  "Yes, Mother. I can anchor ice to stone now, make it hold longer against heat." Cassira kept her voice steady, though her mother's unusual attention made her wary. "The practice walls in the lower courtyard bear my work."

  "Good. And your health? You eat well? Sleep soundly?"

  The questions felt too careful, too deliberate. Cassira studied her mother's face—fine-boned features that mirrored her own, pale skin that spoke of Imperial blood, eyes that held shadows Cassira had never learned to read.

  "I am well, Mother."

  Cassiane's fingers lingered in her hair, and Cassira realized with a start that this was the longest they'd been alone together in years. Of all her children, only Cassira carried her mother's coloring—the dark hair that marked them both as different in this land of golden northerners.

  "You are so like me," Cassiane murmured, almost to herself. Then her voice strengthened. "Which is why your father has decided you will go to Stoneglass Hold."

  The words hit Cassira like a physical blow. "What?"

  "To the Academy there. You'll study advanced frost shaping, magical theory, perhaps find mentors who understand your particular gifts." Cassiane's hands stilled, folding carefully in her lap. "It is an honor, Cassira. A gesture of trust to the northern clans."

  Cassira's mind raced. Stoneglass Hold—the Old Capital, where ancient clan traditions still held sway despite Imperial oversight. "I don't understand. Why now? Why me?"

  "The wolf shows its faith in the North by sending its own blood to study where the clans still hold sway." The words sounded rehearsed, political. "The Academy is Imperial-built, yes, but its placement in the Old Capital makes it a symbol that the North still matters."

  But Cassira heard what her mother didn’t say—that this was exile dressed as honor, a chance to clear the board of a daughter who posed no threat. Sending her cost nothing, and that was why the choice had fallen to her."When?" The word came out smaller than she'd intended.

  "Within the fortnight." Cassiane's composure cracked slightly. "The Empire built its Academy there not for pride, but for what lies beneath the mountains. Remember that."

  "You think I cannot handle it."

  "No." Cassiane turned to face her fully, gripping her hands. "I think you are the strongest of my children, though you don't yet know it. Being overlooked is not a curse, Cassira—it is a shield. While your siblings fight for position and glory, you have learned to watch, to endure, to see what others miss."

  Cassira stared at her mother, stunned by the sudden intensity.

  "You will not go unprotected," Cassiane continued. "Cassimar will accompany you. Mar has stood at my side all my life. Now he will stand at yours."

  The Queen's personal guard—a man who'd protected Imperial princesses and northern queens with equal dedication. His presence would mark her as someone under direct royal protection, not merely a student sent to study.

  Cassira remembered him as a silent mountain at her mother’s side, always present, never speaking. To have that presence shift to her felt like carrying a piece of her mother into exile.

  Cassiane cupped her daughter's cheek, thumb brushing across her skin. "I would keep you here if I could. But remember—wherever you go, you are mine, and you are the North's."

  She leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Cassira's brow. The gesture carried a finality that made Cassira's throat tighten.

  Then her mother was gone, the door closing with barely a whisper.

  Cassira returned to the window, pressing her palm against the frost-etched glass once more. But now she didn't see childhood snow castles in the courtyard below. Instead, she envisioned the Academy rising from the mountains of Stoneglass Hold—Imperial banners flying above ancient stone, yet somewhere beneath it all, the wolf enduring.

  Her palmprint began to fade from the glass, leaving only the frost.

  Thanks for reading!

  Chapter 43 drops Tuesday!