The Frostlands palace was quiet that night, guards stood stiff at every corner, their spears bright under the torchlight, their gazes sharp and cold. Every shadow seemed to move under their stare.

Anthea walked slowly, her heels clicking against the stone floor. Each step echoed faintly, swallowed by the silence. Her pale blue cloak trailed behind her, soft like mist. Her chin was lifted high, but inside her chest a restless unease gnawed at her.

Mara had vanished.

It had been three weeks since ...