Chapter 8: Battling at the Frost Cliffs

The thunder of hooves echoed across the frozen valley as Grim's black stallion plunged into the snowy clearing.

The mercenaries turned in shock, their torches casting frantic orange shadows across the white drifts. Before the lead attacker could raise his heavy iron spear, Grim's dark steel blade sliced through the freezing mountain air. The strike hit with brutal precision, throwing the attacker backward into the deep snow and snuffing out his torch.

Elodie reined in her mount near a cluster of glowing white Starlight Lilies. She raised her bronze crossbow with steady hands, sighting a mercenary who was raising a heavy flask of pitch toward a patch of unburned flowers.

She pulled the trigger. The heavy steel bolt whistled through the howling wind, striking the flask directly. Clay shattered instantly, spilling pitch onto the snow away from delicate petals.

"Duchess, behind you!" Grim's deep voice roared across the basin.

Elodie ducked low over her saddle as a broadsword swung wildly above her head. The mercenary grunted in frustration, raising his heavy weapon for a second downward strike.

Before the blade could fall, Grim's stallion closed the distance. Grim reached out with his bare left hand, grabbing the attacker by his iron collar and lifting him clean out of his stirrups. With a cold flick of his wrist, Grim hurled the man onto the frozen ground.

"Are you unhurt?" Grim asked, pivoting his stallion so his broad frame shielded her from the remaining men. His dark eyes burned with intense, protective fury, his chest heaving under his linen shirt.

"I am perfectly fine," Elodie said, quickly reloading another steel bolt into her crossbow. "Focus on the mercenaries near the northern cliff. They are preparing fire arrows to ignite the upper ridge!"

Three archers stood atop a flat granite boulder, drawing their bowstrings back with flaming arrows aimed directly at the largest patch of lilies.

Grim pulled his reins tightly, his face hardening into a terrifying mask of war. Black veins along his neck pulsed with violet light as his magical core surged. He did not suppress his aura this time; he allowed his dark mana to spill outward in a suffocating wave that made the air itself vibrate.

The snow beneath his horse melted instantly, turning into white steam. The three archers trembled violently, their hands shaking so hard flaming arrows wobbled off target.

"You dare burn what belongs to my wife?" Grim growled, his voice reverberating off canyon walls like thunder.

He leaped from his saddle, crossing snowy ground in three impossible strides. His dark blade flickered through the air like a shadow. Within seconds, bowstrings were severed, and archers were thrown headlong off the boulder into deep snowbanks below.

Elodie rode beside the boulder, aiming her crossbow at the last mercenary who was backing away in sheer terror.

"Drop the torch," Elodie ordered, her voice calm and absolute.

The mercenary dropped his torch into snow, his knees buckling as he fell onto his hands and knees. "Please! We were only paid to burn the plants! We didn't know the Grand Duke was here!"

"Who hired you?" Elodie demanded, keeping her bolt trained directly on his chest. "Speak clearly if you wish to see tomorrow's sunrise."

The man stammered, his teeth chattering from cold and fear. "Sir Cedric of Saintess Ariel's personal guard! He gave us three hundred gold sovereigns to ensure every white flower in this valley was reduced to ash!"

Grim stepped out from shadow, his dark sword dripping with melting frost. He stood behind Elodie, his bare hand coming up to rest lightly against the small of her back. Heat radiating from his palm burned through her thick cloak, anchoring her against freezing wind.

"Bind his hands," Grim commanded coldly as distant horn calls echoed from the mountain pass. Commander Waylon and the northern vanguard were cresting the ridge, torches lighting up the snowy trail as they descended into the valley.

Waylon rode up to them, his jaw dropping as he took in the scene of defeated mercenaries scattered across the snow. "Your Grace! Duchess! We rode as fast as the blizzard allowed."

"Secure the perimeter and detain surviving arsonists," Grim ordered briskly. "Ensure not a single flame touches remaining flowers."

Waylon bowed low. "At once, Your Grace!"

Grim turned back to Elodie, his icy gaze lingering on her face with profound warmth and admiration. He reached out with long fingers, gently brushing a dusting of white snow from her dark hair.

"You fought like a true northern warrior tonight, Elodie," Grim murmured softly, his voice meant for her ears alone.

"I fought for my husband's life," Elodie replied, looking up into his eyes with an unyielding smile. She reached down and carefully plucked a glowing, star-shaped Starlight Lily from pristine snow, holding the delicate bloom in her gloved palm. "And now, we have the primary ingredient for your cure."

Grim looked down at the glowing flower, then back at her. In silver light, he cupped her face gently in his hands and brought his forehead against hers.

"Then my life is officially yours, Duchess," he whispered softly.

Before Elodie could answer, dark purple mist suddenly erupted from the chest of the bound mercenary behind them, twisting into an ominous magic circle in the cold air.

"A cursesmith trap!" Elodie gasped, her eyes widening in alarm.