Chapter 163: Snowstorm

Blanche, for her part, lowered her eyes for a brief moment to regain her composure.

Her cheeks were burning.

Her breathing was still slightly uneven.

She found herself absentmindedly smoothing the wrinkled fabric of her dress, as though the simple gesture could somehow restore order to the chaos he had just created inside her.

Breathless, she whispered words she had never dared to say before:

"I don't do exclusivity... I am not one man's woman."

"Too bad," he replied, stepping away. "I don't share."

He licked his swollen lips and adjusted his clothes and hair, somehow still flawless despite everything.

"Even for you, I would not make an exception," he said, turning his back to her and returning to his desk.

"Is that what you already told me in 1646?"

Blanche stopped breathing.

Time seemed to freeze around them.

Her heart, however, continued its frantic rhythm, pounding so hard against her chest that she had the absurd certainty Sebastian could hear it.

She remained motionless, unable to tear her gaze away from him, as though the slightest movement could break the fragile balance that had just formed between them.

Sebastian held her gaze for one more second.

Then something changed almost imperceptibly in his expression.

Weariness.

Resignation.

Or perhaps simply the realization that he had gone further than he had intended.

He stepped back without urgency.

His shoulders, previously perfectly straight, lowered slightly as he returned to his chair. He sank into it with a quiet sigh, as though the tension that had kept him rigid for the past several minutes had suddenly left his body.

The chair creaked loudly beneath his weight.

A deep, almost theatrical groan that seemed to protest against the treatment it had just endured after being so abruptly pushed aside.

The sound nearly made Blanche smile.

For a fraction of a second, the old wood's complaint felt strangely human, as if the furniture itself were offended that this suspended moment had come to an end.

Sebastian ran a hand over his face, then through his hair, slowly regaining his usual composure.

When he looked back at her, his gaze had recovered that nearly impenetrable control that made him such a difficult man to read.

Only a faint flush at the base of his neck, almost invisible, still betrayed the turmoil he had just contained.

Blanche, meanwhile, only realized then that she had started breathing again.

Slowly.

As though she had been deprived of air all this time.

"Another era, another time... Come back when you have learned how to change your hair color with magic. Perhaps then I will tell you that story."

Blanche took advantage of the distraction to escape into her son's bedroom, where he was still lying there, completely stunned.

"So?" he asked, impatient and fully awake despite the late hour.

"Your father, Sebastian, just asked me to become Queen of the Vampires... before giving me one hell of a kiss."

Not expecting that at all, still focused on her conversation with Asher, Argy immediately sat upright, alert, before shouting a resounding:

"What?!"

Fortunately, the room was soundproof.

After explaining everything again, in a little more detail but without leaving anything out, the two of them fell asleep in the same bed.

As always, Argy curled up in her arms, an eternal child in her eyes.

The cold of winter struck her in the middle of a snowstorm.

Thousands of snowflakes were thrown horizontally with unimaginable violence, lashing her face like a rain of tiny frozen needles.

It was impossible to keep her eyes open for more than a few seconds.

Every breath burned her lungs with biting cold, while the wind swallowed every sound beneath its endless roar.

The landscape disappeared.

Snow accumulated on her at an impossible speed, even though she had only just arrived.

The branches of the fir trees, crushed beneath the weight of the snowdrifts, bent dangerously before snapping back under the assault of the wind.

Every gust lifted the powdery snow already covering the ground, mixing the old snow with the new until it became impossible to distinguish between earth and sky.

She could not see more than five meters ahead.

The entire world seemed swallowed by an endless white void where landmarks no longer existed.

Shadows disappeared.

Colors disappeared too.

Only the blinding white of the snow and the gray of an invisible sky remained.

Even the silence had changed.

It was no longer the peaceful silence of ordinary snowfall, but a constant roar — the sound of furious winds forcing their way everywhere, making the air itself vibrate and the trees groan.

The storm felt alive.

A primitive force.

Blanche felt it in her bones.

With visibility reduced to nothing, she tried to orient herself by remembering the place where she had finished her mission.

She pushed herself back up, only to collapse beneath another violent gust.

On all fours, she crawled through the snow, her hands freezing.

Blowing on them in an attempt to warm them, she struggled back to her feet.

I'm coming. Hold on.

The powder was so deep that it swallowed every step she took.

With every stride, her leg sank up to her knee, sometimes deeper, forcing her to pull herself free with all her strength before repeating the motion a few inches farther.

The wind intensified.

The snowflakes struck her face with dull impacts, instantly sticking to her hair, eyelashes, and coat before being replaced by another wave.

Very quickly, she lost sight of the path.

The hill was nothing more than a succession of white slopes without shape or definition, where every step could hide a stone, a root, or a hole buried beneath the fresh snow.

Blanche lowered her head, protecting her face as best she could with her forearm.

The cold bit through her skin despite her clothes.

Each breath burned her throat, while her cheeks, battered by the gusts, slowly lost all sensation.

Her hair, weighed down by wet snow, stuck to her scarf and collar, where tiny ice crystals were already beginning to form.

Step by step.

She kept moving anyway.

Her boots sank heavily into the powder, her breath forming quick clouds of vapor immediately torn away by the wind, and her muscles protested against the endless effort required for the climb.

Every meter felt like ten.

The storm gave her no respite.