Finally, Kristina stopped at a set of double doors at the very heart of the suite. The silver handles were carved into the shape of interlocking wings. She paused, her hand hovering over the latch, her voice dropping into a tone of careful, professional neutrality.
"The Imperial bedchamber," Kristina said.
She pushed the doors open, revealing a room of magnificent, terrifying scale.
The Imperial Bedchamber was not a room; it was a manifestation of the North's predatory grace.
Under a vaulted ceiling where ornate plasterwork mimicked the swirl of a gathering blizzard, the space unfolded in shades of cream, silver, and a blue so pale it was almost white.
At its center, raised on a dais of polished marble, sat the bed... a sprawling landscape of midnight silks and the heavy, plush furs of mountain wolves.
But it was the floor that stole the breath. A thin, magical layer of water, barely an inch deep, carpeted the entire room.
