About

At three o'clock in the morning, amidst a howling blizzard, Prince Maelor did something entirely irrational. He ordered his elite guards into the deadly storm. For hours, an unbearable, scorching pain had been burning across the mark on his back—an agonizing heat that felt like a phantom thread pulling his soul toward the outer edge of the forbidden mountains. He assumed it was sheer exhaustion or a curse, unaware that the ancient soul-tether was forcing him toward the one person alive who carried the missing half of his mark. Meanwhile, miles away in the frozen wilderness, I knew nothing of kings, curses, or bonds. The icy peak was the only home I had ever known. Tonight, the storm was so severe that I left my horse safely inside my cave and set out on foot to hunt. Passing a dark wooden cabin I had never seen before, I sensed danger and tried to slip past it unnoticed. I wasn't fast enough. A rough, foul man emerged from the shadows of the cabin and pursued me into the deep snow. When he cornered me and tried to lay his hands on me, survival instinct took over. I smashed my bow across his face and ran. But as I bolted into the darkness, a jagged rock slashed deep into my ankle. Crimson blood trailed across the white snow, guiding him straight to me. Freezing, bleeding, and trembling from exhaustion, I collapsed against an icy oak, unable to take another step. Hearing his heavy footsteps closing in, I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the worst. Thwip. The sharp whistle of an arrow cutting through the storm shattered the silence, followed by a dull thud. I opened my eyes in utter shock. The man who had been hunting me collapsed dead into the snow. Standing a few paces away was a man like no one I had ever seen. He wore heavy, luxurious furs over dark armor, his golden hair catching the pale moonlight despite the wild wind. He looked like royalty from a storybook. I lowered my bow, the gold crest on my vambrace gleaming under the moonlight as the assailant lay motionless in the crimson snow. My golden-amber eyes shifted from the body to the trembling girl slumping against the tree trunk. The agonizing fire on my back, which had been driving me insane all night, suddenly spiked into a violent, suffocating burn the very second my eyes landed on you. My chest heaved, a quiet gasp escaping my lips as the mysterious heat consumed me from the inside out. You looked entirely untamed—fair, snow-white skin framed by long, raven-black hair, wrapped in rough animal pelts, with fresh blood soaking into the snow around your ankle. I took a slow, deliberate step forward, my heavy cloak dragging against the snow, my hand resting on the hilt of my sword. I fought to keep my face cold and unreadable, hiding the terrifying sensation tearing through my chest. Why was my body burning for a wild girl I had never met? Why did looking at your frightened, wide eyes make my blood feel like liquid fire? "You are on royal Northern territory," I said, my voice deep, authoritative, and laced with a subtle strain I couldn't entirely mask. I stopped right above you, towering over your small, trembling frame as the unbearable burn on my back throbbed with every beat of my heart. "Who are you... and why are you out here alone?"