The wind was no longer the warm breath of Pyranthos. It had grown colder, sharp with a whisper of frost that had no place in the heart of a flame-forged kingdom. A chill seeped through the golden banners fluttering above the palace towers, through the obsidian-bricked walls, into the bones of those who dared to believe peace had finally been won.
But peace was a fragile illusion.
It began with a dream. Mira stood in a field of ash, embers pulsing like dying stars beneath her bare feet. The air tasted of iron, the sky streaked with streaks of ice that cracked like glass. In the distance, she saw a figure cloaked in frost, his breath curling into tendrils of mist.
"You let the flame crown you," he whispered, voice layered in echo. "But winter remembers what fire stole."
She awoke with a scream, clutching her womb. Kael stirred within her, a soft surge of heat like a heartbeat responding to an old enemy.
Jaxon was beside her in moments, his palm against her spine, his breath laced with concern. "What did you see?"
"A war not ended. A betrayal still breathing."
---
It had been weeks since the Binding Ceremony, and Pyranthos was still basking in the glory of the Crowned Princess of Flame. Mira wore her crown like an extension of herself—not heavy, but burning, forged of volcanic glass and set with the eternal ember of the Flameheart.
Courtiers sang her praises. Kingdoms sent tributes. Water and fire had found unity in Mira and Jaxon, their Binding having softened tensions between ancient houses.
But beneath the celebration, Lord Thael, the high chancellor of the Flame Court, furrowed his brows over a scroll sealed in pale blue wax.
"My lady," he said when he came to Mira's solar. "We received a message from the Northern Wastes. From a name long thought lost."
Mira looked up. "Say it."
"The Frost King. Ashar of House Vrel. He lives."
The name hit like a blade across the room.
Ashar Vrel, once betrothed to Mira in childhood before his family's betrayal during the Frost Rebellion, was cast into the Inbetween by Pyranthos' flames decades ago. He was presumed dead. Banished. Broken.
Yet the scroll bore his icy sigil.
And the message was clear: I return not for vengeance. But for what was promised. A crown, a bride, and balance.
---
That evening, Mira and Jaxon convened with the council. The great Flame Table flickered with enchanted light, carved with elemental runes that pulsed under stress.
"This is madness," growled General Sira. "Ashar Vrel cannot walk the mortal realm. The Inbetween does not release prisoners."
"Unless something, or someone, disturbed the veil," Jaxon muttered.
Mira stood silent, hand pressed protectively to her growing belly. Kael was stirring again. Her connection with him had deepened in recent weeks. He whispered emotions more than words. And now, she sensed fear.
"What would he want from Pyranthos now?" asked Lord Thael.
"Me," Mira said. "He wants what he believes still belongs to him."
The council erupted in argument, but Mira already knew what had to be done. "Send envoys to the Northern Border. We will not strike first. But we will prepare."
---
Days passed. Then came the snowfall.
It blanketed the Flame Fields in white—impossible, unnatural snow. Farmers found their crops frozen, livestock frostbitten overnight. The Temple of Embers saw its sacred flame flicker for the first time in a thousand years.
Worse still: one of the scouts returned, half-mad and raving of a fortress made of ice that had risen in the northern ravine.
"He walks again," the scout cried, frostbitten lips cracked. "Ashar has made a pact with something older than gods."
That night, Mira climbed to the top of the Flame Spire, the highest tower in Pyranthos. There, Jaxon found her, wrapped in her cloak, face turned to the wind.
"Kael dreams of him," she whispered. "He dreams of ice that bites like venom."
"Then let us end the dream. Before it reaches the waking world."
---
Plans were made in haste. Thalor emissaries arrived, offering aid of the sea. Stormwalkers, mages who commanded tempests, pledged to stand by the princess of fire.
But within the palace, something stirred.
Aryan.
Mira's old friend. Her once-betrothed before the Binding with Jaxon. He had returned weeks ago, claiming neutrality, but always with a shadow in his gaze.
He stood now at the edge of the war room, arms crossed.
"You trust the sea so easily," he said to Jaxon. "But what do you know of those who come bearing waves?"
"Better a wave than a knife in the back," Jaxon shot back.
Mira stepped between them, but her stomach twisted. Something in Aryan's words hinted at deeper knowledge.
And then the dream returned.
This time, Kael spoke through her dreams.
He is not alone, mother. One wears your face, one drinks your fire. Trust no mirror.
Mira awoke, gasping. And beside her, Jaxon stirred, groggy.
"Did you say something?"
"Not me," she said, holding her womb. "Kael did."
---
The next morning, the Frost Emissaries arrived.
Clad in white and silver, they entered the throne hall like ghosts. At their head, a woman with skin of alabaster and hair like woven snow.
"I speak for the King in Ice," she said, bowing. "Ashar Vrel offers peace. A treaty."
Mira narrowed her eyes. "By demanding I break my Binding and return to him?"
"He says you were never truly bound. That a flame built on stolen time can be extinguished."
Jaxon stood, fury trembling in his voice. "Tell Ashar this: the flame of Pyranthos does not yield."
The woman smiled coldly. "Then you will burn."
---
That night, someone set fire to the inner archives.
But the fire didn't spread. It froze.
Books turned to ice sculptures. Scrolls shattered like glass. And on the wall was carved in frost:
Promises broken. Flames forsworn.
It was no longer a matter of if Ashar would strike. Only when.
---
But worse, still, came the betrayal.
Aryan was gone.
His chambers ransacked. His armor missing. And a note left behind, marked with the sigil of Vrel.
Forgive me, Mira. I loved you once. But not even flame can burn forever.
She collapsed to her knees, the weight of betrayal pressing against her ribs. Jaxon caught her before she could fall fully.
"We end this," he whispered. "Together."
Mira nodded through tears.
Outside, snow fell again. But beneath it, Pyranthos burned brighter.
War was coming.
And this time, fire would not wait to be struck first.
---
End of Chapter 31