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Father’s trembling hand rose slowly before the crowd.

“My children have been called to claim their right. Yet only one will lead our nation. The Blanches have ruled North Colindale for a hundred years, and I do not doubt my children will endure the sacrifices and strength to maintain that standing.” His hand lowered, resting on Knox’s shoulder.

“My heir will save our land. I promise my child’s blood on it. ”

Not even a tree rustled a branch.

I never imagined Knox, the boy who once fashioned a snow necklace that melted before it touched my skin, would become my rival. But as he nodded and smiled at the civilians, my heart sank.

“If chosen as heir, I vow to protect my people,” Knox declared.

I waited for Father’s calloused grip, but deep down, I already knew which child he wished to claim. His hand lingered on Knox.

They said blood was thicker than water, but desire was unyielding.

I glanced at Knox beside me. His chin was steady, not bobbing like mine, his gaze unblinking as he stared beyond the peaks.

Our hair matched, down to the white streak in our bangs and the birthmarks brushing three lashes on our left sides.

Even our lips curled the same. But Knox was calculative and cunning—over seven feet tall, a tower of Blanche bravery coursing through his veins like the ice in Charles and Father.

He hunted and fought, driven by an insatiable need to prove himself .

Title children, or legacies, had no understanding of the civilians’ struggles—their hunger. Yet when three voices chanted Knox’s name, I bit my tongue. The last son of the Seventh Frozen Valley would claim Father’s heir.

I whispered just low enough for Father and Knox to hear. “They want you.”

I was the daughter destined for a political marriage, a trade deal pawn. The stories had already been written.

The ceremony ended, and I took the long way home.

The frozen railway tracks groaned in the distance. The train, laden with seeds, should have been hauled across the frozen land, but the tracks remained iced over. Sivil, our aide, could use my plot for whatever she desired. She’d need it to keep her family fed.

The hard ground meant life or death. I was too young to remember the famine—the starved villagers pleading for anything to feed their families.

A snowflake landed on my forehead, melting into my cheek as I stared at the dusted sky. It was a soft tug of dreams, a land I had no choice but to love and accept. My heart ached for these frozen streets. The sun faded yearly, as though the captive rays froze with the harsh winters long past.

People would die. My people would die if the cold didn’t relent. Farmers dug their hearts out, sweat dripping down their overalls as their shovels cut through the hard dirt.

We needed sunlight.

Father needed an heir to hold his shields high.

My laces dragged through the fresh powder beneath me. The steel gate screeched open, and two griffins snapped their beaks, rattling the chains tied to their leather reins.

Charles waited beside Setrephia, while Father gazed toward the sun, silent, with Mother at his side. Knox leaned against the fence, wearing a new leather jacket with our family name etched near the collar.

“Did you wish every snowflake goodbye?” he snickered. “Seriously, you’ll permanently engrave a frown on your face.”

I rolled my eyes as Mother embraced me, whispering low, “Remember, you will always be Winter’s children. Be proud of your roots, my dear.” Her black eyes held mine, and for a moment, I saw her pain—the mother who had lost a child, sending two away to the same fate, all for the sake of a legacy.

I nodded. “Soon enough, I’ll be able to create snow like Father.”

She hesitated before touching my shoulder. “Just keep it away from the North for a while. I’m a bit weary of the frost not melting.”

Mother seldom hugged. I believed the last time we embraced was when we learned Klaus had died. Perhaps death and fear burrowed the same pain. Father held me with an awkward half-hug. That affection was nearly as rare as an all-purple hellebore sprout.

A misted breath leaned in. Each word tumbled through the wires of his ashen beard. “You will always be my warmth, Severyn.”

It felt like a funeral. I swore they expected me to die.

“I’ll miss you,” I said, pressing my fingertips against the smooth velvet of his coat.

It would be years until I came home—if I survived.

Charles cleared his throat. “I’ll take Severyn. Knox, you can ride with Lorna and Jullian.”

A huff of laughter escaped me. “You expect me to fly on that bird?”

Charles’ tight-lipped expression made it clear—flying on the griffin was not up for negotiation .

He rummaged through his bag, pulling out a hunter-green cloak and draping it over my shoulders. “Father gave Knox his riding jacket from his academy days… this was Klaus’s. Keep it.”

I fisted the fur-lined inside. “Thank you. I wanted something to remind me of him.”

“I kept it safe for you.” He smiled, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Now, would you please get on Setrephia before we’re late for your first day?”

I waved a final goodbye to my home. To my iced fortress before I fought to become its next ruler.