Mira's POV
Cold. Everything was cold.
I woke up shivering, my head beating like someone had hit me with a hammer. My mouth tasted like metal and chemicals. For a confused moment, I thought I was back in my tiny servant's room.
Then I felt the silk against my skin.
My eyes snapped open. I was wearing a dress—not my rough cotton servant uniform, but a real dress made of smooth, expensive fabric. My hands flew to my hair. Someone had washed it, styled it, pinned it up with what felt like gems.
Panic burst in my chest.
I sat up too fast and quickly regretted it. The world spun. I was in a carriage—a fancy one with velvet seats and curtained windows. The wheels rattled beneath me, moving fast over rough road.
"No, no, no," I whispered, rushing to the window. I yanked the curtain away.
Endless white. Snow everywhere. Dark forests that looked wrong—the trees were twisted and black, nothing like the green forests near the castle. The sky was gray and heavy with clouds.
This wasn't the South anymore.
I was already in the North.
"Mama!" I screamed, throwing myself at the carriage door. It was locked from the outside. I pounded on it with both hands. "Let me out! Please! I need to go back! My mother—"
The door suddenly opened. I tumbled forward and would've dropped face-first into the snow if strong hands hadn't caught me.
A guard. He wore the royal armor of my father's land, but his face was cold and bored. "Sit down, Your Highness. You'll hurt yourself."
"I'm not—" I started to say "I'm not a highness," but he shoved me back into the carriage hard enough that I hit my head on the opposite wall.
"We've got three more days of travel," he said simply. "You can either sit quiet, or I can tie you up. Your choice, Princess."
He slammed the door shut. I heard the lock click.
Princess. They were calling me Princess.
I looked down at myself again. The dress was the color of cream and gold—Vivienne's favorite colors. On my finger was a ring I'd never seen before, heavy and ornate with the Castellan family crest. And pinned to my chest was a brooch I recognized instantly.
Vivienne's ornament. The one Father gave her for her eighteenth birthday.
They'd dressed me up like her. They were sending me North claiming to be her.
My hands shook as I reached into the folds of the dress, looking for pockets. There—a piece of paper, folded small. I pulled it out with shaking fingers and read: Dearest "Sister," By the time you read this, you'll be well on your way to your new husband. Congratulations on your marriage! I'm sure the Dragon King will be absolutely thrilled with his bride.
A few rules for you:
1. You ARE Princess Vivienne Castellan now. Answer to that name and that name only.
2. You will marry the Dragon King as agreed in the contract.
3. You have one year to make him fall in love with you. (We both know you'll fail, but do try.)
4. If you tell anyone the truth, your mother dies. If you try to flee, your mother dies. If you displease the Dragon King and he sends you back, your mother dies.
5. When you inevitably fail and the Dragon King kills you for being inadequate, Father will have his reason for war. Your death will actually mean something for once. You're welcome.
Enjoy the cold wasteland! — V. P.S. Don't bother trying to be smart. Lord Thorne has men watching your mother. One word from me, and she's dead.
The paper slipped from my numb fingers.
They were going to let me die. They'd planned it from the start. I was never supposed to survive this.
Something broke inside me then—something that had been cracking for twenty years. All those times I'd told myself that maybe, if I was good enough, quiet enough, helpful enough, someone would see me as human. Someone would care.
But I was never human to them. I was just a tool. And when tools broke, you threw them away.
Hot tears burned down my cold face. I curled up on the plush seat and cried until my throat was raw. I cried for my mother, locked in a prison because of me. I cried for the life I'd never get to live. I cried because I was twenty years old and I was going to die scared and alone in a frozen country, married to a monster.
Hours passed. Maybe days—I couldn't tell anymore. Guards brought me food and water but wouldn't talk to me. The scenery outside got colder and stranger. I saw things moving in the woods that definitely weren't animals. Once, something with too many legs and bright eyes watched the carriage pass.
I stopped crying. Crying didn't help. Instead, I started thinking.
They expected me to fail. They expected me to die.
But what if I didn't?
I'd spent my whole life watching and learning. I knew how to read people, how to stay quiet and watch. I'd learned four languages just from listening at doors. I'd taught myself to read from stolen books. I wasn't schooled like a real princess, but I wasn't stupid either.
If I could live one year—just one year—the treaty would be complete. And maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to save my mother and myself.
It wasn't much of a plan. But it was all I had.
On the fourth day, the wagon finally slowed. I heard guards yelling outside. The door opened, and freezing wind blasted in.
"We've arrived at the border, Your Highness," the guard said. His voice sounded nervous now. "The Northern delegation is here to escort you the rest of the way."
Northern group. My heart hammered.
"Fix yourself up," another guard muttered, pushing a mirror at me. "You're about to meet your new people."
I looked at my mirror. I looked nothing like myself—hair styled, face makeup, dress perfect. I looked exactly like Vivienne.
The guards helped me out of the carriage. My legs shook from days of not moving.
And then I saw them.
Seven riders on horses—but not normal horses. These horses had frost on their manes and ice in their breath. The riders wore black gear that seemed to absorb light. Their looks were beautiful but wrong, too perfect, too sharp.
Not human. Definitely not human.
The leader dismounted and approached. He was tall with silver-white hair and eyes that glowed pale blue. When he smiled, his teeth looked too pointed.
"Princess Vivienne Castellan?" His voice sounded like wind over ice.
I couldn't speak. Terror had stolen my voice.
"I asked you a question, human." His smile vanished. "Are you Princess Vivienne Castellan, daughter of King Marcus Castellan, promised bride of King Kaelen Frostborne?"
This was it. My last chance to tell the truth. To say no, I'm not the princess, this is all a mistake.
But then I thought of my mother in that prison. I thought of Thorne's men with their blades.
I lifted my chin and lied through my teeth. "Yes. I am Princess Vivienne Castellan."
The silver-haired man studied me for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then he nodded. "Good. Mount up. We have three days' hard ride to the Frostspire Citadel. Try to keep up, Princess. The things that hunt in these woods don't care about royal blood."
They gave me a horse—one of those frost horses with cold breath. As soon as I was seated, we took off at a gallop into the dark bush.
The trees closed in around us. The temperature dropped so fast I could see my breath making ice crystals in the air. And everywhere, just beyond the edge of my view, I could feel things watching us.
Hungry things.
We rode for hours. I was so cold I couldn't feel my fingers. So scared I couldn't think straight. The silver-haired boss kept looking back at me with those strange glowing eyes.
Finally, as the sun was setting—or whatever passed for sunset in this twilight place—we stopped in a clearing to make camp.
"Rest now, Princess," the boss said. "Tomorrow night, we reach the Frostspire. Tomorrow night, you meet your husband."
I snuggled by the fire, trying to warm my frozen hands. Around me, the Northern riders spoke in a language I didn't understand, their voices like ice cracking.
One of them walked past me to fetch water. As he did, I heard him whisper to his companion—in the Common Tongue, which he clearly didn't know I understood: "She doesn't smell right. Something's wrong with this one."
"Think she's a spy?" the other whispered back.
"Maybe. Or maybe the humans sent us a faulty princess." He laughed coldly. "Either way, the King will figure it out fast enough. He can smell lies like blood in water."
My heart stopped.
The Dragon King could smell lies.
And I was about to meet him tomorrow, dressed in his dead wife's clothes, pretending to be someone I wasn't, lying with every breath.
He was going to know. The moment he saw me, he was going to know.
And then he was going to kill me.