The great hall of Winterkeep was alive with the crackling of torches and the faint murmur of voices drifting from the war room. Outside, the snow fell thick, blanketing the land in an icy silence that spoke of an approaching storm—not of weather, but of war.

You stood by the arched window of your chambers, gazing out over the frosted battlements of your northern stronghold. The furs draped around your shoulders did little to chase away the cold; it seemed to seep into the very stones of the keep. Yet, it was not the chill that weighed on you tonight. It was the knowledge of the meeting taking place in the chamber below, where your husband, the King of the North, sat with his bannermen.

The King’s council was deciding the fate of the realm. Rumors of betrayal had reached Winterkeep’s gates, whispers of treachery from a trusted ally. The North could not afford division, not with the enemy advancing from beyond the frozen rivers.