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The air felt too thick, like the calm before something wild. The griffins beyond the peaks were restless—whether from fear or something rarer, I didn’t know. No one ventured into the iced lands anymore. No one came back.

I hated the cold. But I hated visitors more. Not since Klaus’s death had I dreaded a knock more than I dreaded this one.

Father had warned me my letter was coming. But not during Thaw. Not with the chill still clinging to the air. When the mail carrier arrived, his footsteps too loud, I barely looked at him as he handed over three letters. But only one mattered.

One stood out—red ink scrawled across my name. Red meant death. These letters didn’t just deliver news. They chose us. If I was worthy, I would go to the Serpent Academy. If not, surely I’d be married off to a ruler and forced into a loveless marriage.

Out of five siblings, I was the last one left. The last to be chosen .

Cully glanced at me as the letters settled on the table. “Is that the mail?” he asked, his voice low. He already knew what he was getting—a routine assignment, the usual Valscribe journaling.

Knox, standing beside him, smirked. “Let’s open them on three, yeah? Then maybe I’ll have time to run before Charles drags me off to Malvoria to become a guard.” He tugged at the golden envelope in his hand, a gleam in his eyes.

Cully grinned, then shot a glance at me. “We could always burn them. Who’d know?”

Knox rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Right, because throwing them into the fire is totally going to work when Father’s wards fall apart when he has no heir?”

Cully eyed Knox’s golden letter, his glasses catching the light. “That doesn’t look like a Malvoria invitation. A golden letter? That’s from the Capital. What’d you do this time?”

Knox shrugged. “Let’s get this over with.”

I ran my fingers over the iridescent scales on my envelope, feeling the cold seep through my skin. “One…” Cully started, his voice pulling me back to the moment.

“Two,” Knox muttered, already tearing into his.

“Three,” I whispered, my breath shallow. “Serpent.” The word fell from my lips before I could stop it. The seal stared back at me. The academy had lost its mind, sending me.

Cully frowned at his own envelope. “Maybe we should just run.”

A sick feeling crawled up my spine, choking out the air in my lungs. Fear, mixed with something else—something like freedom, but too dangerous to be real.

Knox’s grin spread wider as he read his letter, disbelief giving way to excitement. “I got Serpent,” he said, voice low, almost reverent. “I’ve been chosen to compete for Father’s title. ”

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. “But you aged out last year,” I protested, my pulse hammering. I couldn’t face Knox in a battle for the throne. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t survive.

Cully and I exchanged a look, the weight of it settling between us. Blood versus blood. If Father had his way, neither of us would be chosen, but Knox wasn’t even looking at us anymore. He was already imagining the throne.

The door creaked open, and Charles stepped in, boots heavy with snow, his presence commanding. His gaze flicked to mine, and I knew—this was no ordinary letter.

This was my future. And Charles was here to ensure one of us became Father’s heir. This was turning into a family reunion sooner than I expected. Gods, why was Charles here?

He shrugged off his coat and hung it on the serpent-shaped hook by the stairs. Mother rushed to greet him like the golden son he was. “Charlie! My goodness,” she trilled, half-hugging his waist. “I’m so thankful you could come and celebrate with your siblings. We have two prosperous heirs chosen.”

Charles’s expression remained unreadable as he joined us in the kitchen.

His eyes scanned the torn envelopes on the table, lingering on mine and Knox’s.

“Well,” he said, his voice smooth, “let me be the first to congratulate you both. Given Father’s health, I pulled a few strings and secured Knox a chance at the Serpent Academy. ”

My breath caught, sharp and cold. “Most students don’t survive their first year at the Serpent Academy. What do you expect to happen between us?”

Charles smirked, ruffling my hair. “Lovely as ever, Severyn.” He turned to Cully, eyeing his scorned letter. “They’re sending you to journal at the prison again?”

Cully’s shoulders slumped. “I still haven’t had an article published in the Serpent Press. I expected this. It’s like Valscribe wants me to fail. ”

Most noble children attended the Serpent Academy, but anyone could, provided they had the courage to kill. Leaders weren’t born—they were forged, stripped to the bone until something stronger emerged.

But I was still sifting through the pieces of myself since Klaus’s death. This would be my death, just as it had been his.

In another life, I might have had a choice. Life. Death. To live. But here? Herding sheep was out of the question, and ruling a land felt as impossible as flying without wings.

I was good at talking, spinning words into shields, daggers, or distractions. But fear had stolen my voice. All I had left was anger, guilt, and grief—ever since Klaus died at the same academy Knox and I had been invited to.

We’d become strangers in our own home. Awkward banter and forced smiles were all we had left. Father spent his days locked in his study, researching ways to keep his shield strong, as though it could protect him from the past.

Knox’s hunger for power burned in his eyes as he reread his acceptance letter. He didn’t see the death waiting behind it—only the future it promised.

“How soon until the Academy expects us?” I asked, watching Mother ladle garlic and evertree soup into bowls.

Charles shrugged off the last of the snow from his hair. “Three days. Lorna and I will escort you both.”

“Three days?” I repeated, the words hollow. “That’s too soon.”

Charles slammed his hand on the table, rattling the dishes. “It’s a two-day trek. You don’t have a choice, Severyn. Our land’s survival depends on one of you claiming Father’s title.”

I scoffed. “Well, perhaps the letter could have arrived earlier.”

Cully spoke quietly, “Learn the lands, Severyn. The library will be your greatest ally. At least you won’t have to write in a dungeon for three months. ”

“Words won’t keep me alive,” I muttered.

Charles’s grin returned as he unsheathed two frost-tinted daggers, handing one to each of us.

“The handles are carved from the glaciers of our lake. They’re warded never to melt.

Father gave Mother her first dagger at the Academy.

I hope this will be a tradition for years to come when your children are called to claim the throne. ”

I stared at the blade, cold in my hand. “I won’t survive a week there. Let’s not pretend this isn’t an invitation to my death.”

“You will survive,” Charles said calmly. “You don’t have a choice, Sev. This is your calling.”

“And was it Klaus’s calling to be murdered in cold blood?” I hissed. “Or have we forgotten the fifth Blanche who never returned?”

Mother’s lips tightened. “Don’t be ungrateful, child. People would die to be in your place. You’re a legacy.”

Frost traced patterns on the windows, and for a fleeting moment, I wondered if I’d miss the North—its comfort, its sunless days. Twenty-one years of preparation, and now only three days remained.

Daggers meant blood. They meant fighting. And I’d spent two years grieving, my entire life hoping one of my older brothers would claim this burden instead.

The hours between the letters and the never-ending fear seemed skewed. I remembered tasting the garlic in the evertree soup, the clunk and whirl of metal scraping against the bottom of our bowls.

Mother’s words to Knox and me still echoed from the live-edge dining table: “Your father is the last iced Serpent to bear an heir. We don’t need some scavenger coming onto our lands and taking our name.”

After dinner, Mother lit the candle for Klaus. He was citrine and cinnamon this week. But I was out of hellebores to place on his grave. And Father always ensured we had seeds during Thaw. Their petals—sometimes purplish with pink spurts—were the only vibrancy our land ever saw.

And this year, they wouldn’t grow.

The day the Serpent delivered Klaus’s death felt like this: suffocating, inescapable, and cruelly familiar. Perhaps that’s why I’d always hated blue eyes, for the poison I’d heard spew beneath them. Every time a visitor came, my heart shattered.

I said my goodnights as Charles regaled Mother with tales of his latest travels.

I passed Father’s study, where he was buried in a book about Winter shields.

He’d made it clear long ago that he wasn’t to be disturbed.

In truth, none of us ever disturbed him.

I wondered if he even cared how fearful I was of becoming his heir.

Hours turned into a restless night. The nightmares of the academy kept me awake until iced swirls cracked against my window. It wasn’t the fading sun that startled me, but the sound of caws and heaves from golden wings as Charles’s griffin prepared for flight.

I made my way to the kitchen, bracing for another family argument over breakfast. Instead, I found silence. Mother wasn’t in her usual place by the fireplace with a mug.

Knox tugged my arm. “We’re going to be late for Father’s speech because of you,” he said, opening the iron door.

“A speech?” I asked. “For who?” A cold gust dragged through my parted lips as we hurried down the mountainside.

“The civilians. Father must announce us for the run to become the next leader here,” Knox said, fixing his sleeves .

“I don’t remember Klaus having one,” I said. I would have remembered—I’d replayed that snowy morning endlessly, watching him leave with only a limp bag and a smile.

He never knew he would die.

Frail figures gathered below as we stood before the Seventh Frozen Valley. Knox shushed me, hands laced behind his back.