The lower cells of the Frostlands palace were the coldest place in the palace, not the sharp cold of the outside snow, but a damp, heavy chill that sank into bones and stayed there.

The walls were thick black stone. The air smelled of wet earth and rust. Water dripped somewhere far away, each drop echoing like a slow heartbeat.

The young servant sat curled on the floor of a narrow cell, her knees pulled to her chest, her head bent down. her wrists were locked in iron cuffs, the heavy chain ...