The sapphire door didn't just open; it shattered under the weight of Vera's intent. She stepped into the guest quarters like a storm made of copper hair and emerald fire, her bare feet leaving glowing, violet footprints on the frost-dusted obsidian floor. The room was a tomb—a clinical, suffocating cell designed to drain the life from the man she loved.
In the corner, slumped against the massive ice pillar that formed the Spire's foundation, was Kassian.
He looked like a ghost. His silver hair, usually a brilliant mantle of light, was dull and matted with frost. His skin, the color of weathered marble, was translucent, showing the faint, frozen traceries of his veins. He was wrapped in thick lynx furs, but his body was racked with tremors so violent they made his teeth chatter. The Northern Seals in the room were humming at a deafening pitch, glowing a triumphant, predatory blue as they sucked every stray calorie of heat from his core.
