It’s a day like all the others… Or so I thought.

  The Birds are chirping and the early morning ray on lights fall on my face.

  I grow in displeasure knowing that my sleeping time comes to its end.

  It’s to get ready and go back to my duty as the vice captain of the Duchy of Arcane.

  After my bath, I put on my iron armor and my sword as I am ready to leave my house. My attendants are busy cleaning my house and walking in the corridor leading to the kitchen where I can hear mother giving instruction to the cooks.

  ‘' Hello Mother!’’

  ‘‘Hello son, You came home late yesterday! Did you eat something? Or did you just went to sleep On an empty stomach?’’ She said as she crosses her arm in front of her.

  ‘‘I ate before leaving the Duke manor, so don’t worry.

  You know They give us food there right?’’ I replied as gave her a kiss on the chick.

  She sits on a chair near the table Looking at me with a doubtful grin.

  ‘‘At least eat with me today before leaving will you?’’ She ask while the cook put a steaming plate of food in front of her.

  ‘‘I’m sorry mother, The Duke summoned me to a very important meeting.’’

  ‘‘Is there an other issue with the neighboring ducal house?’’ She asked worried.

  ‘‘No none at all! It’s concerning the young mistress of the ducal house. It seems She is leaving for the capital.’’

  ‘‘Oh! Lady Elara?’’

  ‘‘You now understand that I must go!’’

  She nodded to me as I bid her goodbye and I rush out of the kitchen in a hurry.

  The Citadel of Astrea didn’t just stand against the cold; it seemed to grow out of it. Black stone, jagged and unyielding, overlooking the frozen wastes that stretched toward the demon territories. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of beeswax and the heavy, metallic tang of oil.

  I stood at attention in the War Room, my shadow cast long by the flickering hearth. Across from me stood Captain Horen, a man who looked like he had been carved out of an iceberg. He was the Old Guard—scarred, grey-bearded, and missing three fingers from the winter campaign of the year 404 against the hordes beyond the frozen waste.

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  “It’s a fool’s errand,” Horen grunted, slamming a gauntleted fist onto the map of the Empire. “Sending the Lady south now? The passes are treacherous, and the rumors coming from the capital are… unsettling.”

  “Which is exactly why she must go,” a voice echoed from the shadows of the high-backed throne.

  Duke Astrea stepped into the light. He looked weary. The lines on his face weren’t just from age; they were from the burden of being the only wall between humanity and the darkness of the North. He held a scroll sealed with the Imperial Gold.

  “The Emperor has summoned her,” the Duke said, his voice dropping to a low rasp. “There are whispers in the court that the Northern Duchy is hoarding its strength, that we are no longer loyal. If Lady Elara does not present herself to the throne, they will declare us traitors. They will cut our supply lines and leave us to rot in the snow.”

  The Duke turned his gaze to me. It was a heavy thing, that look.

  “Kaelen,” he said.

  “You are the best I have. Your father was my shield, and you have become my sword. I am giving you twenty of our finest. You are to take Elara to the Capital. You are to protect her with every drop of blood in your veins.”

  “With my life, My Lord,” I replied, the oath coming as naturally as breath.

  “It’s more than your life, Kael,” Horen interjected, stepping closer. His one good eye searched mine. “If you lose her, the North falls. If the North falls, the Empire is a feast for the crows. Do you understand?”

  “I do.” I replied.

  “Then prepare,” the Duke commanded.

  “Depart at dawn. Take the mountain road. Avoid the main trade routes until you pass the border. The shadows have ears.”

  The next few hours were a blur of cold efficiency. I spent them in the courtyard, overseeing the preparations.

  “Check the horses’ shoes!” I barked at the squires. “Double the grain rations. I want every man carrying three weeks of dried meat. We don’t stop for supplies until the neighboring territory.”

  Sir Joric was there, as always, leaning against a stone pillar and tossing a dagger into the air. “You’re wound tighter than a ballista, Kael. It’s just an escort. A month on the road, some fine wine in the capital, and back before the heavy snows hit.”

  “Captain Horen has a bad feeling about this one. ” I said, cinching the saddle on my mare.

  “Horen has a bad feeling about breakfast,” Joric joked, though he straightened his stance. “We’re the Iron Guard, Kael. Nothing in this Empire is stupid enough to touch us.”

  I wanted to believe him. I wanted to feel the pride I usually felt when I looked at our silver-and-black banners.

  “Mount up!” I ordered.

  The heavy iron gates of the Citadel groaned open. The twenty knights formed a double column, their armor gleaming in the first light of a bruised-purple dawn. At the center of the formation was the carriage—a black, armored box on wheels, reinforced with iron bars.

  The door opened.

  A girl stepped out, escorted by two handmaidens. Lady Elara. She was fifteen, but dressed in the heavy, somber furs of a high-born woman of the North. Her silver hair was pulled back tightly, emphasizing the paleness of her skin.

  As she climbed into the carriage, she stopped. She didn’t look at her father, who stood on the balcony above. She didn’t look at the cheering servants.

  She turned her head and looked directly at me.

  “Captain.” she said, her voice small but strangely resonant.

  “My Lady.” I bowed my head.

  “Be careful of the shadows today” she whispered. “They’re longer than they look.”

  She disappeared into the carriage. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind. I raised my hand, the signal for departure.

  “Forward!” I shouted.

  The horses moved.

  The iron-rimmed wheels of the carriage crunched against the frozen earth. We rode out of the gates, twenty-one men and one girl, heading south.