The fire in the chamber crackled, throwing warm light across the darkened stone walls, yet Neris felt none of its comfort.
His thoughts were a mess—tangled like the snow-swept night beyond the castle windows, knotted in the threads of prophecy, power, and politics that now bound the fates of Frostmere, Ashmere, his own destiny, and perhaps the other three realms.
"So," he began, pacing once more, boots whispering against the cold floor, "I understand why Azarion married Lyara. For the Neryth bloodline. The Winterbourne bloodline. A union of power—calculated and perfectly aligned. But…"
His voice cracked, heavy with frustration. "I still don't understand why he wanted his daughter… Aurelia… to be married to me."
Mowenna's lips pressed together, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames. "That… is the part even I have not unraveled."
