The first sign that something had shifted in Frostmere came not with thunder or flame, but with silence.
Neris felt it the moment he crossed the threshold into the eastern wing of Aiseryn Castle.
The corridors were quieter than usual—servants moving too carefully, guards standing a fraction straighter, whispers dying the instant he passed. It was the kind of hush that came before disaster, not after.
He did not slow his pace.
The doors to his private chambers were already open when he arrived. Warm lamplight spilled into the hall, carrying the faint scent of frostbloom incense—Rhea's doing. She favored it, said it reminded her of home.
She was seated by the window when he entered, pale morning light threading through her silver-blonde hair as she read from a thin-bound book. She looked up immediately.
"Your Majesty," Rhea Icewyn greeted him with a bow, closing the book on her finger.
