The room smelled of sex and firewood.
Thick velvet curtains swayed lazily with the night breeze slipping through a half-cracked window.
Shadows danced on the stone walls ...cast by the hearth fire that still burned low and steady.
The bed, massive and draped in translucent silver canopy, looked like it had survived a storm. Sheets tangled. Pillows half on the floor. A wine goblet knocked over on the rug.
Sylas Skyborne lay flat on his back, breath slowing, eyes fixed on the swirling patterns above him.
His platinum hair, damp with sweat, clung to his forehead in unruly strands. His skin gleamed faintly in the firelight, lean muscle stretched and relaxed, still humming from the pleasure they'd just finished sharing.
The woman beside him stirred.
Elara Caerwyn stretched like a cat, her bare skin brushing his as she slid a hand across his chest. "Still thinking?" she purred.
Before he could answer, a knock echoed from the door.
Sylas didn't move. "Enter."
A servant stepped in, eyes fixed on the floor. "A letter for you, my lord. From Caelmont."
At the sound of those words, that got his attention. Sylas's eyes flicked to the letter in the servant's hands.
Sylas sat up slowly, not bothering to cover himself, the sheet slipping down to reveal intricate tattoos swirling along his collarbone and arms ... the sacred markings of House Skyborne, etched in wind-ink, delicate and ancient, and reached for the scroll.
He took the letter and broke the seal without a word. His eyes skimmed the parchment quickly, scanning the content with narrowed eyes.
A low chuckle escaped his lips, almost amused. Dry. Almost bitter.
"It seems," he muttered, "the Lord of Winter finally decided to make it official."
"My lord?" the servant asked, unsure if he should respond.
"Nothing that concerns you," Sylas replied sharply, folding the letter.
"Tell the Prime Minister I want him in my chambers at first light. There will be a meeting tomorrow."
The servant bowed again and disappeared, the door closing softly behind him.
A feminine hand snaked around Sylas's torso, pulling him back to the warmth of the bed.
He tossed the scroll onto a nearby table and leaned back, arms resting behind his head again.
Elara Caerwyn ....daughter of the Galesreach Prime Minister ... rested her golden head on his chest.
Elara tilted her head, fingers trailing lazily over the wind-mark tattoos etched along his collarbone. "What's happened?"
"The engagement between Neris and Azarion's daughter," he said. "He wants out. Took it to the Circle."
"The Lord of Winter, Neris, seeks to annul his engagement to Lady Aurelia of Emberhold," he said, his voice laced with mild disbelief.
"But Azarion, that old, relentless dragon, refuses. He demands that the union be honored. Neris, in turn, has taken the matter to Caelmont, pleading for the Calestarch and the Circle of Accord to intervene, for peace to reign."
"Didn't that happen years ago?" Elara asked, brows arched.
"He tolerated the idea for years," Sylas replied. "Now he's clawing his way out of it. Azarion's refusing, of course. Says it's dishonorable."
"Elara sat up, the sheet slipping down her body. "Because she's cursed, isn't she? That's what the whispers say."
Sylas turned his head slightly, watching the firelight flicker against her skin. "Cursed. Deformed. Hidden away. Whatever the truth is, it's no longer a secret."
Elara lifted her brows, lips twisting in amusement. "So, the great Aurelia has become a burden no one wants to bear?"
Elara's smirk deepened. "How tragic, poor thing. They say she was the most beautiful woman in all the realms. A red-haired goddess. Now shes's nothing.It's no wonder Neris wants out ....no man would want a ruined prize."
He didn't answer immediately. His jaw ticked once.
"You sound pleased," he said at last.
"I just find it amusing," she said with a shrug. "A woman like that brought low. It reminds us that no one's untouchable."
Sylas sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The wind tattoos caught the light again ....pale silver, elegant, curling down his arms like smoke.
"She wasn't just beautiful," he said quietly. "She was terrifying. The kind of woman who looked you in the eye when she rode into battle. The kind of woman who didn't need a man's name to be remembered."
Elara's expression tightened. "You speak as if you still admire her."
"I admired what she was," he said simply. "What she might still be."
The room fell into silence, save for the pop of firewood.
Elara rose from the bed and walked over to pour herself a goblet of wine, not bothering to dress. "And now?"
"Now she's being used like a broken piece on the board," Sylas said. He stood and walked to the window, the wind rustling his hair.
"Neris wants peace without blood. Azarion wants revenge disguised as honor. And the Circle of Accord has called all the Lords to Caelmont to pass judgment."
"If Caelmont doesn't resolve this wisely," he said slowly, "we may see a war unlike any other… fire and ice clashing in a storm of vengeance and pride."
Elara took a long sip of wine. "Will you go?"
"I have no choice," he said.
She leaned against the table, eyes sharp. "Will this war touch us?"
"Not directly," he replied. "We're in the west. Let fire and ice tear each other apart if they must ....we'll watch from the mountains. But if Caelmont fumbles this… peace may be lost for good."
She stepped closer to him now, wine forgotten. "Take me with you."
Sylas glanced over his shoulder, amused. "To witness a woman's ruin up close?"
Elara's lips curled. "I'm curious, is all. I want to see what the world's goddess looks like… now."
You mean to mock her," Sylas said, his tone flat.
"You'd never have dared to speak to her or even look her in the eye before the curse.," he said. "She burned too brightly. Men worshipped her. Women feared her.
She was fire incarnate. The fiercest knight in Emberhold. She commanded legions, shattered siege lines, and rode with the fury of a tempest. Whatever she looks like now, she deserves respect."
"And you?" she asked, stepping closer, eyes narrowing. "Did you worship her too?, did you pine for her?."
Sylas didn't answer at once. He stared out at Galesreach ....its rooftops dark against the sky, torches glowing like scattered stars. Wind swept across the balcony, stirring the silver drapes.
Sylas gave a faint smile ... one that didn't reach his eyes.
"Once… perhaps. Many did. When I saw her at the Summer Solstice in Caelmont, she stole the breath of every man there. Hair like flame, eyes like molten gold. I was no exception."
"She had a presence," he said. "Like standing too close to lightning. You never forget the first time you see it strike."
Elara's jealousy flickered in her gaze. "Well, lightning fades."
He turned to face her. "Yes. But the burn it leaves ..... some never heal."
"But that was the past," Elara said, voice sharp. "She is nothing now. Hideous. A husk."
She walked toward him, her voice slipping into a seductive lily, slowly, deliberately, and placed her hands against his chest.
"Let me come with you. Please, my lord. I want to stand by your side… and perhaps, see the fall of a goddess with my own eyes."
She pressed her body against him, her soft skin brushing his chest. Her lips found the crook of his neck as she whispered, "I'll be good. I promise, I'll make you glad you said yes."
He let her linger there for a moment, studying her face. Sylas's smirk returned. He cupped her chin and lifted her face to his.
"Maybe," he said, voice low, teasing. "Depends on how well you please me tonight."
A mischievous smile spread across her lips. "Then I'll make sure you forget every cursed woman you've ever known."
Her mouth found his again .... hungry, demanding. Sylas let the thoughts of war, curses, and ancient alliances fade .....just for a little while.
In the highlands of Galesreach, the winds whispered of coming storms. But tonight, behind closed doors, there were other storms brewing.