The castle loomed like a frozen dream against the mountain sky, its towers sheathed in a dusting of new snow and banners bearing the black leopard crest of House Veyren rippling in the wind. Nevara tilted her head back to take it all in, her breath puffing in visible clouds. Okay, wow. Definitely fancier than the shepherd's hut. And so big I could get lost three times before dinner.
She bounced a little on her toes, the crunch of snow under her boots loud in the otherwise hushed courtyard. Orren walked at her side, tall and imposing, his long black coat dusted with frost, his golden eyes fixed ahead like a sentinel. "Try not to wander off," he said, voice as flat and cold as the stone underfoot.
"Me? Wander? Never," she replied cheerfully, already mentally mapping where the best hiding spots and snack stashes might be. Her eyes darted to every detail—the hanging gardens draped in frost, the carved gargoyle beasts perched over archways, and the big, dramatic staircases practically begging to be slid down in a laundry sack. The cubs—currently in human form—trailed at her heels, Aurelia clutching her hand and Thoren stealing quiet, adoring glances at his father.
Inside, the grand hall shimmered with candlelight reflecting off polished marble floors, the air warm with the scent of spiced wine and burning cedar. Beastfolk and humans alike moved between clusters, dressed in rich fabrics and furs, their voices a low hum of court gossip. Nevara was introduced to a tall lionfolk steward named Kaelis, his mane braided with gold cords, his deep voice resonating as he welcomed her. Then came Lady Myra, a hawk-eyed human noblewoman whose smile didn't reach her eyes, her fingers heavy with rings as she assessed Nevara like a curiosity for sale. Every introduction was a new layer of judgment, curiosity, and subtle political probing.
Orren's court was a world of cool glances and whispered speculation. No one here knew she was an ice mage, and she liked it that way. If they knew, they'd look at me like a weapon, not a guest. Just another dangerous thing to be locked away or used. So she smiled brightly, chatted about weather and travel routes, and played the fool when it suited her.
Later, as they walked a high balcony, the earlier hum of voices fading into the crisp mountain air, Nevara found herself leaning into the serenity of the moment. Snow-dusted ivy clung to the stone balustrade, the breeze whispering through the arches like a lullaby. Below, the courtyard stretched quiet and still, broken only by the occasional flicker of movement from patrolling guards. The cubs chattered in soft voices, their laughter drifting in short bursts, and Orren's steady footfalls kept a slow, deliberate rhythm beside her. It was the kind of calm that made her shoulders loosen—right before the world decided to snap it in two. lined with snow-dusted ivy, the mountain wind whispering through the arches, Nevara kept pausing to peer over the edge.
Then it happened—Aurelia leaned out over the railing to point at something below, and the old wood gave a sharp crack. There was no pause, no decision—Nevara simply moved. Cold surged up her spine, into her veins, and out through her hands in a rush of silver-blue light. Frost exploded from her touch, shaping into a gleaming ramp that curved under the falling girl, guiding her in a smooth, dizzying slide right into a cushioned drift of snow-covered bushes below.
The little girl let out a startled yelp at first, her hands clutching at the icy surface as the slide caught her. But the fear melted almost instantly into laughter as she picked up speed, the smooth frost carrying her down in a graceful curve. By the time she tumbled into the snow-covered bushes, she was giggling uncontrollably, snowflakes clinging to her lashes.
Nevara leaned over the rail, her heart hammering against her ribs, one hand pressed to her chest. "Aurelia!" Her voice cracked with worry.
Orren had already vaulted over the balcony steps and was sprinting down to the courtyard. Nevara forced herself to breathe, then descended after him. When she reached the bushes, Aurelia was sitting up, shaken but unharmed, thanks to the ice slide.
The children rushed toward Nevara, but she held up her hands, backing slightly. "Wait—don't touch me yet. I'm still too cold. You might get a burn." Her voice was gentle, but her breath still curled visibly in the air. "Just give me a minute to warm back up."
Aurelia's lip wobbled, but Nevara smiled, keeping her distance until the sharp frost around her skin faded. The children thanked her in small, earnest voices, Aurelia whispering, "You caught me, Mama Neva." Nevara blinked, startled by the sudden title—Mama Neva?—and for a heartbeat, her breath caught in her throat. Thoren's eyes were wide with awe, and she caught him whisper to Aurelia, "She's so cool," in a tone that made her heart squeeze. When she'd warmed enough, she crouched to hug both cubs tight, wrapping them in her arms and holding on a moment longer than usual.
Orren's eyes stayed on her the entire walk back inside. Instead of returning to the hall, he guided her to his office, a room lined with maps, ledgers, and the faint scent of ink and cedar.
She stood by the hearth, rubbing her arms, her gaze drawn to the flames. The heat seeped into her skin, but the deep-seated cold within her bones clung stubbornly. Her heart was still uneven, each beat echoing the rush of fear and relief. "I'm an ice mage," she admitted quietly after a long pause, eyes fixed on the fire. "My powers can be…unstable. When they surge, I can't always stop them, and that terrifies me more than it scares anyone else. I didn't want anyone to know because the moment they do, I'm no longer a person in their eyes—just a tool, a weapon. I've heard too many stories of mages being bound to service, pressed into armies, or worse."
Orren leaned back against the edge of his desk, the leather of his coat creaking softly in the quiet room, arms folding over his chest in a deliberate, controlled motion. The firelight caught on the fur trim of his collar, outlining him in a halo of flickering gold that made his shadow loom long and sharp against the wall. His gaze was steady, predator-bright, studying her as though measuring both her strength and the cost of it. "And you think hiding it will keep you safe?"
"It's kept me safe so far," she said, lifting her chin with quiet defiance. "If people see what I can do, they'll start weighing my worth in battles, not in who I am. I've seen it happen. Mages used, discarded. I'd rather be underestimated than caged."
His golden eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger—more like a predator assessing something rare and dangerous. "You just saved my daughter. That isn't something I'll forget."
Nevara felt a flicker of pride and relief, the words "Mama Neva" reverberating in her mind like a bell she wasn't ready for. It made her chest ache in a way she couldn't quite name—part joy, part disbelief, and a deep-seated worry that her power might one day hurt the very children who now clung to her. In her past life, no one had ever depended on her like this, and the thought that these cubs saw her as a safe place both thrilled her and made her fiercely protective in ways she'd never imagined. Beneath it all swirled a knot of vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to feel. The title "Mama Neva" still echoed in her head, loosening something in her chest she hadn't realized was bound. Part of her feared that showing too much of what she could do would ruin moments like this, would change how the cubs saw her. She kept it behind a faint smile. "I didn't do it to earn points with you."
"I know," he said finally, his voice low, the edges roughened with something warmer than she expected. Inwardly, he admitted—if only to himself—that was exactly why it mattered.