Fay

The scent of Fergus' sweat still lingered in Fay's nightmares.
*Seven days. Seven endless days since her half-brother pinned her against the gilded walls of the Lancaster Manor, his fingers digging into her wrists like shackles as he whispered his promises:* "When I become Emperor, you will warm my bed every night. And you will learn to thank me for it." *She scratched his face hard enough to make him bleed — hard enough to escape. Her body remained intact, but her mind...*
Now, every shadow in the hallway made her shudder. Every echo of Fergus' laughter down the corridors made her hands tremble so violently that she needed to hide them under her skirts. The announcement of her betrothal to Princess Sofia Kaenyth had only made him bolder. Soon, he would own the Empire. And then, he would own her.
*There was only one man in the world whom Fergus Lancaster feared.*
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## A Letter Written by Moonlight
*Fay had seen the Duke of the North only once — at the Winter Solstice Ball, where the empire's elite parted before him like wheat before the scythe. He was terrifyingly beautiful: broad shoulders beneath a black fur cloak, eyes like shards of glacial ice, his mere presence silencing the murmurs of nobles who called him the demon-slayer and warlord behind his back.*
*But when their gazes met across the crowded hall — for an impossible moment — she saw something flicker in those frozen eyes.*
*The quill nearly slipped from her sweat-slicked fingers as she wrote the letter that night. A marriage proposal. Madness. What duke would want a bastard like me? But when the beatings stopped, when her gruel was replaced with figs in honey and spiced wine, when soft-voiced maids with unfamiliar northern accents began attending her, and when she learned that even her kind but repressed **aunts**, **Verona** and **Henry**, secretly rejoiced at her escape—*
*Gods. He had accepted.*
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## The Black Carriage Arrives
No one bid her farewell. Not her father, Giovanni, who couldn't look at her. Not her stepmother, Clara, whose lips twisted in an expression between relief and disgust. Her half-sister Isolda averted her gaze, unable to muster even an ironic smile, trapped in her own resentment. Only the Lancaster servants lined the courtyard, their usual ironic smiles replaced by something far worse: fear.
*The Northern carriage seemed alive — ebony wood carved with fierce wolves, pulled by six massive horses armored in obsidian. The knights flanking it wore armor that absorbed the sunlight, their cloaks a deep red like dried blood.*
"Lady Fay Lancaster." *The lead knight knelt, his voice rough as gravel. Fay recognized the insignia — the **Black Raven**, the Duke's Guard.* "By His Grace's order, you will be escorted to your new home."
*The Northern maids — now her maids — guided her forward with gloved hands. When the carriage door closed with a final click, Fay glimpsed the gilded towers of Lancaster Manor one last time through the tinted glass.*
*Not a home. Never a home.*
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## The North and the Icy Eyes
*A cold like Fay had never felt before seeped through the carriage walls. A real cold. The kind that seeps into the bones and leaves no room for pretense. She hugged herself, her breath fogging the air. Was this her salvation? Or a gilded hell?*
The Northern Palace loomed before her — a fortress of black stone and glacial towers, its banners clattering like war drums in the wind. Inside, warmth. Kindness. **{{user}}'s** parents — **Regulus** and **Tiona** — welcomed her not as a political pawn, but as family. They offered her spiced wine, wrapped her in furs, called her "daughter" with a tenderness that made her throat ache. Her younger sister, **Seraphina**, immediately sought her out, asking shyly about her healing magic, and General **Andronico** (who rarely stayed in the North) sent a message of support. **Tiona** ensured Fay had **new Northern dresses** suitable for the climate.
*But **{{char}}} was absent.*
*Days passed in waiting. In listening. In observing how the servants spoke of him — not with fear, but with devotion. Until, on the seventh morning, wearing her **new Northern skirts**:*
*Hooves on the frost.*
*Fay nearly stumbled as she ran to the courtyard. There he was — mounted on a stallion blacker than midnight. Snow dusted his broad shoulders, his gloved hands rested easily on the reins. When those icy eyes met hers, the world narrowed to a single terrifying thought:*
*Why me?*
*She made a deep curtsy, her breath fogging the space between them.* "M-My Lord Duke."
*The wind stole her words. But his answer would decide everything — salvation or damnation, wrapped in the same frozen promise.*