Chapter 3 The BlackWood Nutcracker
The storm does not stop when four cursed warriors fall into my kitchen.
It pauses.
As if the entire world holds its breath.
Shards of frost glitter across the floor where the box exploded open. My curtains whip violently though every window is shut. The air crackles with magic and real magic, tasting like cold metal and crushed peppermint on my tongue.
I’m pressed against the wall, gripping the edge of the counter so hard my knuckles hurt. My heart thunders. My mind spins. But the four men standing in my ruined kitchen?
They watch me like I’m the danger.
Or salvation.
The Nutcracker lies in the center of the floor, glowing faintly, its jaw slightly open and like it’s still breathing. Like it’s alive.
Snow-scarred warrior, silver-eyed, furious, and tall, steps forward first. His coat hangs open, revealing armor that should not exist in the year 2025. His boots crunch over frost-hard tile. His presence is a storm made of flesh.
“You touched it,” he growls. “Tell me why.”
I blink. “I didn’t, I mean, I picked it up, because it opened itself, and then. ”
“Did you speak the vow?” the white-haired one interrupts. His voice is silky, amused, a purr wrapped in frost. His pale-blue eyes gleam like snowfall in moonlight.
“There was no vow!” I snap.
The golden-haired warrior gives me a gentle, heart-wrenching look. “If she had spoken it, we’d all feel the bond burning.”
Burning?
“Oh, lovely,” I whisper. “Fantastic. Burning bonds. Magical men in armor. A cursed nutcracker. Is this a stroke? Am I dying? Is this the world’s weirdest coma dream?”
The fourth warrior, the quiet, shadow-soft one with violet eyes he tilts his head. His voice is barely above a whisper. “You’re not dreaming.”
“Not helpful,” I choke out.
The white-haired warrior smirks, leaning casually against my fridge, as if my home isn’t being swallowed by a magical winter apocalypse. “She’s cute when she panics.”
“Shut up,” the silver-eyed one snaps.
“Both of you.” The golden one steps closer, warmth radiating off him in golden waves that make the frost on the walls hiss and melt. “You’re scaring her.”
The silver-eyed one turns his glare on him. “She released us.”
“You say that like she did it on purpose.”
I find my voice, thin, shaky, but mine. “Okay, time out. Freeze. Pause. Whatever. What do you mean ‘released’?”
All four sets of eyes land on me.
My stomach sinks.
The golden one answers softly. “You broke our prison.”
The shadowed one continues. “You woke the Nutcracker.”
“Which means,” the white-haired one says, pushing off the fridge with glacial grace, “the curse has begun to unravel.”
“And the Rat King will rise,” the silver-eyed warrior finishes, voice low and dark as a storm rolling over icefields.
My blood chills.
“I don’t know what any of that means,” I whisper.
The silver-eyed man steps closer until I feel the cold radiating off him like a living force. His presence fills my kitchen. Fills my lungs. He towers over me, shadow cutting across my face.
“Then listen carefully, Clara Winters.”
My name on his tongue feels like a spell.
“We are warriors. Cursed warriors. Bound to a throne of ice and a king of nightmares.”
The white-haired man adds with a lazy smirk, “We were creations once. Enchanted. Molded. Trained to serve.”
“To protect the queen of winter,” the golden one says.
“To destroy the Rat King whenever he rises,” the shadowed one murmurs.
“But he rose faster than expected,” Silver-eyes growled. “And we failed.”
The white-haired man touches his lips thoughtfully. “And then we were punished.”
“Punished… how?” I ask softly.
The golden one’s eyes drop to the glowing Nutcracker on the floor. “We were sealed inside him.”
Across the room, the Nutcracker gleams in acknowledgment.
A chill skates across my spine.
Silver-eyes continues, “Only the true winter heir could awaken us.”
My pulse stutters. “The, what?”
The shadowed one looks at me with violet eyes full of sorrow. “You, Clara.”
The room tilts.
My breath stumbles.
“No,” I whisper. “No, you’ve got the wrong person. I’m not an heir to anything. I’m barely heir to my own rent.”
The white-haired man hums. “Then explain why the Nutcracker opened for you.”
I shake my head. “Coincidence?”
The silver-eyed one steps closer, close enough that I feel the heat beneath his cold magic, the crackle of power sliding across my skin. “No such thing.”
“Magic answers blood,” the golden one says softly.
“And blood,” the shadowed one finishes, “answers legacy.”
A tight ache pulses behind my ribs. “My grandmother,” I whisper. “Eira…”
They all look at me.
The golden one’s voice gentles. “Your grandmother was the last winter guardian. The last to hold the Nutcracker’s key.”
My breath catches. “She… knew?”
The white-haired warrior’s expression softens but barely, but enough that it surprises me. “She protected the seal longer than anyone before her.”
Silver-eyes nods once, sharp and solemn. “But time caught her. And the Rat King, evil little bastard, had felt the crack in the realm the moment she weakened.”
The golden one steps closer, warmth brushing my chilled fingers. “Her death opened the passage.”
“And you,” the shadowed one whispers, “opened the prison.”
Silence settles over us like falling snow.
Thick.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
I wrap my arms around myself. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t even understand how ”
The golden warrior’s gaze softens. “Intent doesn’t matter. Only what is.”
The white-haired man taps the counter, amused. “Face it, sweetheart. You’re the winter queen.”
My stomach plummets.
The silver-eyed warrior steps even closer, crowding into my space. “And with your awakening comes the Rat King’s.”
As if summoned by the words, a low vibration thrums through the floorboards. The lights flicker again. Frost crackles across the ceiling like a spiderweb of ice.
“What was that?” I breathe.
The shadowed one closes his eyes. “He stirs.”
The golden one’s jaw tenses. “We don’t have much time.”
Silver-eyes grabs my wrist, not harshly, but firmly. His hand is large, calloused, and strong. A jolt of magic shoots through me, hot and cold at the same time.
My breath catches.
“What are—”
“We need your blood to seal the Nutcracker again,” he says.
My entire body goes cold.
“My… blood?”
White-hair grins. “Just a drop.”
Golden-hair sends him a warning look. “Gareth.”
“What? I’m explaining.”
Shadowed one steps forward, voice soft. “A drop now buys us hours. Maybe days. Enough time to train you.”
I shake my head. “Train me for what?”
All four answers at once,
like a prophecy spoken with one heartbeat.
“To survive the Rat King.”
The floor vibrates again.
This time harder.
A rumbling growl echoes through the walls, deep and bone-shaking. The lights explode with a sharp pop, plunging us into flickering darkness.
Panic surges through me. “No. No, what is that? What’s happening.”
Silver-eyes turns toward the dark hallway. His hand drops to the hilt of a blade strapped to his back. “He’s closer than we thought.”
Golden-hair’s warmth flares bright enough to illuminate the room with a soft amber glow. “Clara, look at me.”
I try.
I really do.
But the Nutcracker begins to glow again, brighter, hotter. Its wooden jaw cracks open wider. Magic floods the room, like a wind screaming with ancient hunger.
Shadowed one reaches me first.
His hands, cool, steady and cups my cheeks. His violet eyes lock on mine, soft and devastating. “You must choose.”
“Choose what?” My voice shakes.
“To accept the heir’s mantle.”
His thumb brushes my cheekbone. “Or the realm falls tonight.”
Silver-eyes turn sharply. “We don’t have time.”
And then the Nutcracker speaks.
In a voice like cracking ice and splintering wood.
“Clara Winters.”
I freeze.
My heart stops.
The Nutcracker rises and on its own, floating off the floor, glowing like a shard of a dying star.
“The Rat King wakes.”
“The throne waits.”
“Will you claim your inheritance?”
The lights drop out entirely.
Darkness swallows the kitchen.
Not quiet darkness.
Living darkness.
With the scent of decay.
And the scrape of claws.
I swallow hard.
“I… I don’t know how.”
The silver-eyed warrior steps behind me, his presence a cold, anchoring force.
“You don’t have to know,” he growls softly.
“You just have to say yes.”
White-hair steps in, breath cold against my neck.
“Say it, sweetheart.”
Golden-hair takes my hands, warming them.
“Say it, Clara.”
Shadowed one presses his forehead to mine.
“Please.”
And I.
I don’t feel strong.
Or brave.
Or chosen.
I feel terrified.
But I also feel.
The truth.
Like something ancient in me is finally waking.
My breath shatters the silence.
“Fine,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
The Nutcracker explodes with blinding light.
Snow erupts from nowhere.
Magic slams into my chest.
The world tears open.
And the Rat King rises.