That morning, Winter found herself surrounded by joys—the children’s laughter echoing off worn stone walls, the comforting scent of freshly baked bread, and the endless stream of gratitude whispered by the orphanage caretaker. She sat cross-legged on the cold floor, while Olive and other little pups crouched beside her, chewing eagerly, crumbs dusting their chins.

Eira hovered nearby, her expression tight with concern. “My Queen, you should stand. You’ll ruin your dress.”

Winter ...