Chapter 69 The Road Ahead
“I’m leaving,” I say, watching Ashlyn’s expression freeze halfway between a grin and disbelief. “Tomorrow at dawn.”
“You’re what?” she blurts, blinking fast. “Leaving? Where? With who? And why does it sound like I missed an entire season of plot development?”
Before I can answer, Damien crosses his arms behind me. “We’re leaving,” he corrects evenly.
Ashlyn’s gaze flicks between us, her grin returning like a sunrise. “We? Oh, well, that changes everything. Where are we going, and how much trouble are we in this time?”
“North,” I tell her. “To the Glacial Sanctum.”
She frowns. “That sounds like somewhere people go to die dramatically.”
“Close,” Damien mutters.
Ashlyn looks between us again. “Okay, someone explain before I decide you’ve both joined a cult.”
I sigh, rubbing my temples. “It’s not a cult. It’s a curse.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, that’s so much better.”
“Let me finish,” I say, trying not to smile. “It started with my people—the Frostborn. A long time ago, our emotions shaped the weather. Love made blizzards. Rage froze rivers. Naturally, the kings of the realm didn’t love that, so they banished us. The ones who couldn’t control their power were sent to the Glacial Sanctum, far in the north.”
Ashlyn whistles softly. “So basically… emotional therapy but make it exile.”
“Exactly,” I say dryly. “But it got worse. One Frostborn—one of us—had her heart broken. She froze an entire city, and when the gods tried to stop her, she made a bargain for immortality. Her heart stopped beating, but she kept her power. Now she hunts anyone like her—anyone who dares to feel again.”
Ashlyn’s jaw drops. “Wait, so this immortal ice witch goes around killing people for… having feelings?”
Damien nods once. “Specifically, love. It’s what could break her curse.”
“Okay, so let me make sure I understand,” Ashlyn says, raising a finger. “You two fall in love, she gets jealous, and now you’re going to her frozen murder cave to kill her before she kills you?”
“Essentially,” I say.
“Brilliant,” she says, clapping her hands together. “I’m coming.”
Damien groans softly. “Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely yes,” she shoots back. “You do realise I’m the one who got little Snowflake here across the world, right? Without me, she’d be frozen in a tower or eaten by a kraken.”
“Hey,” I protest. “Gilfred and I were doing just fine.”
Ashlyn pats my arm. “Of course you were, sweetheart.”
Damien looks like he’s debating whether to argue or breathe fire. “You have no idea how dangerous this will be.”
She raises a brow. “You mean more dangerous than the last two months? I’ve survived cursed forests, collapsing boats, and Bella’s cooking. I’ll manage.”
The dragon’s voice hums through my mind, warm and amused. She’s fierce. I like her.
I snort before I can stop myself.
Damien frowns.
Ashlyn asks, "What?"
“Nothing,” I say quickly, lips twitching.
Ashlyn looks between us suspiciously. “You two are doing that creepy silent communication thing, aren’t you?”
Damien groans. “Not by choice.”
She narrows her eyes. “Right. Well, you tell your overgrown lizard I like him too.”
Damien just mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like “this is my personal hell.”
By mid-afternoon, the castle is a storm of activity. Servants dart through the halls, carrying bundles of cloaks, supplies, and enough weapons to arm a small army. Damien has slipped effortlessly into king mode—commanding, precise, and infuriatingly calm. I swear every time I blink, someone else is bowing or running off to do something “urgent.” Ashlyn’s already left to pack and say goodbye to her seven dwarves—apparently they will be “devastated but supportive,” whatever that means. Meanwhile, Marius trails Damien like a nervous ghost, trying to keep up with the rapid-fire list of orders being given.
“Rations for two weeks,” Damien says. “And tell the blacksmith to reinforce the wagon runners for snow. We’ll need guards on rotation—four at least.”
Marius scribbles notes so furiously I’m amazed the parchment doesn’t catch fire.
“And the Queen’s wardrobe?” he asks breathlessly.
“Handled,” Damien replies.
Translation: he’s ordered half the capital’s stock of clothes to be delivered. I’ve seen the piles already—silks, fur-lined coats, boots that look far too pretty to survive actual dirt. When I tried to tell him I could just wear what I had, he gave me a look so flat it could have ironed fabric.
“You’re travelling as my Queen,” he’d said simply. “You’ll look the part.”
I’m still not sure if that made my heart melt or my temper flare. Maybe both. And me? Well, I’m doing what any newly bonded, still-recovering ice elemental would do while her overachieving mate organises an expedition. I’m curled up in the library with a truly excellent book. The shelves here stretch higher than any I’ve ever seen—rows upon rows of leather-bound stories and ancient records. Sunlight slants across the marble floor, catching dust motes that drift like glitter. It’s warm for once, the fire crackling cheerfully nearby.
Gilfred lounges beside me on the arm of the chair, his tail flicking lazily every few seconds. “You know,” I tell him quietly, “I think I could get used to this.”
He flicks his tongue, which I take as agreement. The book in my lap is one of the old histories Marius found while digging through the archives—a faded record of elemental lore. Half the writing is missing, but it’s strangely comforting to read about Frostborn who lived before the curse twisted everything. They weren’t monsters. They were artists, gardeners, healers—people who used their powers to nurture, not destroy. My fingertips brush the page where a sketch shows fire and ice intertwined in harmony. The script below reads: Only balance can temper the storm.
My chest tightens at that. Balance. Fire and frost. Him and me.
The dragon stirs faintly in the back of my mind, his voice soft for once. He’s still working. He doesn’t know how to stop.
“I know,” I whisper back.
You should remind him that warmth isn’t found in plans and maps.
“I will,” I murmur, closing the book. “After I finish this chapter.”
He huffs, a sound that’s almost fond. Stubborn, both of you.
Evening settles slowly, painting the castle in gold and shadow. Through the library windows, I can see the thawed gardens glimmering in the fading light. Somewhere beyond, Damien’s still giving orders, still making sure every possible threat is countered before we even step foot outside. But for once, I let him. For once, I stay here, wrapped in quiet, letting the world soften around me. Tomorrow will bring danger and frost and whatever waits for us in the north—but tonight, for the first time in forever, there’s peace and warmth.
I stretch out my legs, smiling faintly to myself. “Rest today, adventure tomorrow,” I whisper. “I can live with that.”
Gilfred flicks his tongue again, curling closer. Somewhere down the hall, I can hear Damien’s voice, low and steady, mingling with the distant laughter of his people. The castle hums around me, alive and whole. Maybe this is what thaw feels like—not the end of the storm, but the beginning of something new.