Chapter 6: Frost Beneath the Moon

The night refused to rest.

Even after the palace candles had been snuffed out and the corridors emptied, Seraphina lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The faint hum beneath her skin would not fade. The mark in her palm throbbed softly, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat, as if something unseen was calling to her beyond the walls.

Finally, she rose.

Her chamber was cold. The air carried the thin scent of rain and stone. She draped a cloak over her nightgown and slipped into the hall, feet silent on the marble. The guards changed shifts at midnight; she remembered their routes. The corridors between the guest wing and the gardens were rarely patrolled.

Moonlight spilled across the floors, pale and watchful.

When she stepped outside, the air struck her lungs, sharp and fresh, filled with the sound of rustling leaves. The gardens stretched wide and silver under the moon, the roses glistening with dew. The fountain in the center murmured softly, its water clear and smooth as glass.

She stopped before it.

Her reflection trembled on the surface, pale face, silver hair peeking from beneath the hood. The mark in her palm burned faintly.

“You’re restless too,” she whispered.

The water stirred though there was no wind.

She touched the surface.

The ripples froze instantly. Frost spread from her fingertips, racing outward in delicate patterns, curling across the basin like lace. The air grew colder; her breath misted white.

Startled, she stepped back. “Stop.”

The ice kept growing, climbing the stone, creeping up the carved edges of the fountain. She clenched her fist, trying to will it still. The glow in her hand flared brighter, then dimmed. The frost halted, but the roses behind her had turned to glass.

The garden was silent, every leaf coated in a thin shimmer of ice.

Her pulse quickened. If anyone saw this, she was finished.

A sound cut through the stillness.

“Who’s there?”

The voice came from behind her, steady and alert. Metal shifted, the soft scrape of a blade leaving its sheath.

Seraphina turned slowly.

Cale stood at the archway, a lantern in one hand, sword in the other. The orange light caught his features, sharp jaw, dark hair ruffled by the night wind, and eyes that softened when they recognized her.

“Lady Seraphina?” he said quietly, lowering his blade. “What are you doing out here?”

Her heart thudded. “I couldn’t sleep.”

His gaze flicked past her shoulder to the frozen fountain. “The frost…”

She turned slightly to block his view. “It must be the weather. The temperature dropped.”

“It’s the middle of spring.”

She had no reply. The air between them hung cold and tense.

Cale stepped closer, raising the lantern. The light caught the frost shimmering on her cloak. “You’re freezing,” he said softly. “You should go inside.”

“I will,” she said, but her voice came out too faint.

He hesitated, then moved past her toward the fountain. When he reached the edge, he touched the rim and drew back sharply. “It’s solid.”

Seraphina’s stomach dropped.

His eyes lifted to hers, searching, not accusing but seeing too much. “This isn’t normal.”

“No,” she said quietly. “It isn’t.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The night pressed close, the garden glittering like crystal around them.

Cale sheathed his sword. “Are you in danger?”

The question startled her. “What?”

“You’re trembling,” he said simply. “And the frost, it doesn’t feel like something you meant to do.”

She looked at him, uncertain how to answer. No one had asked her that before. Not what she was. Not what she’d done. Only if she was guilty.

“I don’t know what I am anymore,” she said at last.

He studied her for a moment longer, then knelt by the fountain. He took a handful of snow-like shards and crushed them in his gloved hand until they melted. “If anyone else sees this, they’ll call it sorcery,” he murmured. “Or worse.”

“I can handle it.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You shouldn’t have to.”

His conviction caught her off guard. He looked up at her again, his expression serious but not afraid. “Go back to your chambers. I’ll deal with this.”

“How?”

He stood, brushing frost from his gloves. “I’ll say the pipes burst. The cold air from the mountains caused condensation. Nobles believe anything if it sounds expensive.”

Despite herself, she almost smiled. “You’d lie for me?”

He shrugged slightly. “I’d protect someone who doesn’t deserve to be blamed again.”

Something in her chest shifted. The world had been cruel and sharp for so long that kindness felt foreign, like warmth after too much cold.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He nodded once. “Go before the patrol returns.”

Seraphina lingered for a moment, then turned toward the archway. The frost under her feet cracked quietly as she walked. Before stepping inside, she glanced back.

Cale stood by the fountain, lantern light haloing his form. The frost around him was already beginning to fade, as though the night itself bowed to his steadiness.

When she reached her chamber, the mark on her palm had cooled. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, letting her breath slow.

The frost had obeyed her, then disobeyed her. It frightened her how natural it felt, how easy it had been to command.

She moved to the window and looked toward the horizon. The first hint of dawn painted the sky pale gold.

Then she heard it, faint but distinct, the tolling of bells.

Not the palace bells. The church bells from the city below.

Three slow chimes. A pause. Then three more.

A summons.

A warning.

The Inquisition’s signal for an unnatural disturbance.

Her blood ran cold.

Somewhere beyond the walls, priests would already be lighting incense, scribes drafting decrees, inquisitors sharpening their questions.

They had felt her.

A knock came at her door.

“Lady Seraphina,” said a guard’s voice. “A messenger from the Church has arrived. The Crown Prince has called for you to attend the morning audience.”

Seraphina closed her eyes and exhaled.

Of course he had.

She opened the door, her face calm, her posture perfect. “Tell His Highness I’ll be there shortly.”

The guard bowed and left.

When the hall fell silent again, she looked down at her gloved hand. Beneath the fabric, the mark pulsed once, faint and steady, not afraid.

“Then let them come,” she whispered.

The frost on her window shimmered like a smile in the rising light.