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Prologue
Nothing survives winter land.
Flowers cannot bloom, nor can they flourish in the bare frozen earth.
Rivers refuse to run downstream, preferring to turn to stone, ensuring they trap the very life that swims underneath.
All that was, is, or could be, is shrouded under a cloak of white snow, patiently waiting for the swallow’s song to return and breathe life back into them.
All but one waits for such blessed tidings.
For there is one soul that thrives among the harsh winds of winter.
Frost chills the blood in her veins, while a crown made of icicles is placed on top of her royal head.
She is the queen of the north, ruler of all the kingdoms.
To her, men must bend the knee, or suffer damnation.
For fire is not the only weapon used to burn through one’s enemies.
Ice can be just as deadly.
Chapter 1
Katrina
The urge to suck my teeth in annoyance is overwhelming, yet somehow, I manage to keep my expression completely blank and emotionless as my father’s most trusted advisors continue on with their never-ending spiels.
They’re no longer your father’s advisors.
They’re yours now.
Remember?
My hands that have been strategically placed on my lap, begin to clench around the fabric of my gown, my back molars grinding at the cruel reminder as to why these high lords answer to me now and not to their true king—my father is long dead, his crown now heavy on my head.
Thankfully, none of the men standing before me in the royal hall take much notice of my sudden melancholy.
And why would they?
They’re far too busy loving the sound of their own voices, each one pitching their own solution to solve my kingdom’s problems, to pay me, their rightful queen, much mind.
The gods better give me patience, because if they shower me with strength instead, I’ll silence each and every last one of these useless buffoons once and for all just to spare me the sound of their irritating ongoing tangents.
“We should order a draft, Your Majesty,” Monad, my chief of arms, shouts from the top of his lungs, making sure that his voice is loud enough to be heard above everyone else’s who is currently residing in this great hall. “Order every man between the age of fifteen to fifty to enlist in your army and march east as fast as we can. I bet my last gold coin that once King Levi hears that our army’s numbers match his own, he’ll think twice before marching over our borders.”
Inwardly, I roll my eyes, while making sure my cold expressionless demeanor remains intact. The last thing I need is for everyone in this great hall to realize how his suggestion of a draft grates on my nerves.
Of course, war is Monad’s answer to everything.
A man who has not only made it a sport of killing on the battlefield, but also earned his lands and prestigious title from it, must spend every waking minute picturing the next time he’s called to arms. I wouldn’t be surprised if he snuggles happily into his warm bed late at night, excited to be lullabied to sleep with dreams of wielding his sword to the loud sound of drums and the foul stench of blood and decay infiltrating his nostrils.
A man such as Monad only knows peace with the suffering of others. And while the whole Kingdom of Aikyam might regard me as having a block of ice where a heart should lie, I’m not as bloodthirsty as my so-called trustee advisor. Unlike Monad, I’m not too eager to send young peasant boys and old feeble men to battle and die in my name.
Contrary to public opinion, my people’s lives are precious to me.
Monad’s, not so much.
