Chapter 10: Chapter Eight – Fire Beneath Snow

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The Northern Wing of Lysenia House was quieter than most noble estates in the capital. Here, far from the glittering marble halls of Veradell’s court, silence was cultivated like a rare and potent wine.

It was here that Amara had summoned him.

Kael Ravaryn.

The infamous Dark Duke of the North had arrived not in pomp or parade, but cloaked in a shadowed gray overcoat, the steel accents of his uniform dulled by ash-colored fur at the collar. His stride was deliberate, unreadable. But Amara could see it — the calculation behind his steps, the discipline behind his silence.

She met him not in a salon or dining room but in the war room — the old Lysenian study, lit only by oil lanterns and a fire slowly devouring a pine log. Ancient maps lined the walls, one of them pinned with red silk markers. A single table stood in the center, scattered with scrolls and ink-stained parchments.

He stepped inside and paused, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

"You've called," he said simply. His voice was low, even. But not unkind.

"I don't summon," Amara replied, not looking up from the parchment she was annotating. "I invite."

Kael’s gaze swept the room, his expression unreadable beneath the calm lines of his face. “I’m unused to invitations that feel like battle formations.”

“Then perhaps you’re unfamiliar with how women in my position survive,” she said, finally looking up. “Charm is for courtesans. Strategy is for survivors.”

Kael approached the table, his eyes flicking over the documents with subtle interest. “And which are you?”

Amara’s quill stilled. “A survivor with no time for flattery.”

Something passed between them — an unspoken recognition. Not affection. Not yet. But a mutual respect earned, not given.

“Tell me, Duke Ravaryn,” she said, “how much do you trust the Crown?”

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Kael didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned toward the fireplace, his face cast in the flickering amber glow. “The Crown is a title. Men wear it. Men can bleed.”

“You didn’t deny your loyalty to it,” she noted.

“I said nothing of loyalty.” He glanced back at her. “I said they could bleed.”

Amara smiled — not sweetly, but with sharp satisfaction. “Then we understand one another.”

She laid a scroll flat upon the table. On it, ancient noble sigils and inheritance lines branched out like veins, many of them marked with tiny red crosses. “This,” she said, tapping the largest circle near the center, “is Duke Marryn Vexis. Third cousin to the Crown Prince. Lucien considers him loyal.”

Kael’s brow furrowed faintly. “He’s not.”

“He’s terrified. Of me.” She looked up. “I made him sign a revised estate will last week. Under duress. Entirely legal. Entirely binding. And entirely devastating if Lucien loses his financial foothold in the West.”

Kael studied her a moment longer. “You don't swing swords.”

“I cut deeper,” she replied, voice quiet. “With ink. With law. With truths they’ve buried so deep they’ve forgotten they ever existed.”

He took a step closer to the table, shadows playing across the angles of his face. “And what do you want from me?”

Amara didn’t hesitate. “Your silence. Your reach. And your soldiers.”

A beat passed.

Then Kael answered: “You’ll have them. But I’m not your protector.”

“I never asked you to be,” she said.

Another beat.

Then, as though the fire between them had shifted from embers to kindling, something subtle shifted.

“Why do you fight him?” Kael asked, eyes piercing through the dimness.

"And you, Kael?" she countered softly. "The Duke of the North, secure in his fortress. Why risk it all?"

"You ask why I fight?" His gaze grew distant, fixed on the fire. "My younger sister, Elara, served as a royal scribe. She discovered discrepancies in the Crown's financial ledgers and was foolish enough to take her concerns directly to Lucien, believing in his reformist mask." His voice turned to ice. " Her body was found at the bottom of a ravine a week later. The official report called it a riding accident. But I believe it was a verdict without a trial." He looked at her, the fire reflecting in his eyes. "Now, I am given a chance to avenge in form of You."

Amara held his gaze. And then, for the first time, she let a flicker of something vulnerable show. Not weakness — but the raw, burning echo of another life.

“Because he killed me once,” she said softly. “And this time, I’m returning the favor. But slower.”

Kael didn’t flinch. He didn’t laugh. He simply nodded — the same way a soldier might salute another before the storm.

“You won’t win through fire alone,” he said.

“No,” she agreed. “That’s why I chose snow.”

And just like that, the contract was sealed — not with ink or blood, but something stronger:

Mutual vengeance.

And perhaps, somewhere beneath the frost, the first whisper of something that neither of them had yet dared name.

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