The most protected room in Winter Castle, despite being insulated from the storm outside, held an atmosphere so heavy and bleak it felt like a funeral parlor.
The fire in the hearth was feeble, its fuel almost spent, casting long, shivering shadows into the corners of the chamber.
Cecilia Frosthelm sat sadly in the middle of her magnificent, silver-embroidered bed. Shrunken beneath the thick quilt she had pulled over herself, she had drawn her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around her legs.
She was trying to shield herself from the outside world, from her responsibilities, and from the cruel truths Cassian had spoken to her.
Tears streamed silently from her eyes, dropping onto the silk surface of the quilt. Her sobs were caught in her throat; it was as if she lacked the strength even to make a sound.
Cassian's words... they kept echoing in her mind.
