“Do not seek what has destroyed my family. Leave this place, for your own sake.” Signe held his gaze, her own resolve hardening like the mountain stone around them. “I will not leave. Not until I understand. Not until I find a way.” Valerik’s face remained a mask of sorrowful warning. He turned, a whisper of movement, and retreated into the deeper shadows of the corridor, leaving her alone once more with the silence and the locked door. The heavy iron door felt like a challenge now, rather than a mystery. Her fingers traced the cold, pitted surface, an invisible barrier between her and the truth. Valerik’s words, though meant to protect, only deepened her conviction. She wasn’t a woman who fled from what scared her; she was a woman who faced it head-on, especially if it meant securing a future for Rila, or for the quiet, cursed lord who now claimed her name. Before she could consider a means of entry, a distant rumble echoed through the hold, a sound that vibrated more in the floor than in the air. It was a rhythmic thud, growing steadily louder. Boots. Many of them. And then, the clang of the main gates groaning open, a sound that had not been heard in years, unless Old Helmi was bringing in winter stores. Signe moved towards the grand entrance hall, her steps quickening. A gust of icy wind, sharp with the scent of pine and snow, swept through the Hold as she approached the threshold. Two men, heavily armored in the distinctive grey and silver of the Purifier Guard, stood just inside the massive doors. Their helms were off, revealing hardened, wind-chapped faces. Behind them, through the open gates, she could glimpse more armed figures, mounted, their breath pluming in the frigid air. Between the two guards, a third figure stood, taller, broader of shoulder, his dark fur cloak trimmed with silver threads that caught the sparse light. His face was starkly handsome, framed by dark hair that fell just so, perfectly disheveled, above eyes the colour of glacier ice. A smile, easy and practiced, played on his lips. This was no ordinary guard. This was a commander. This was Kaelan, the lead crusader of the order, feared across Kirsikka for leaving no anomaly unburned. Her father had spoken of him with dread—a zealot who tracked the tainted across the snowy reaches. “Lady Varis,” Kaelan’s voice was a rich baritone, carrying just enough warmth to be disarming, yet holding an undeniable edge of authority. He bowed, a shallow, respectful dip of his head. “A pleasure to find you well. I hope my unannounced visit does not cause too much inconvenience. Merely a routine welfare check, as is our duty to the realm’s new noble bride.” His gaze, however, was not on her face, but sweeping past her, dissecting the desolate hall, lingering on the moth-eaten banners and the dust motes dancing in the cold light. Signe stiffened, her posture straightening instinctively. “Commander. The inconvenience is minimal, though I confess I was not expecting company.” Her tone was cool, betraying none of the sudden knot of apprehension in her stomach. “Is there a particular reason for this ‘welfare check’?” Kaelan chuckled, a low, pleasant sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “A new bride, to a lord long isolated. Our orders are quite clear on monitoring such unions, ensuring the decay does not… spread.” His eyes finally met hers, sharp and unwavering. “Lord Valerik, I presume, is in good health?” At that moment, Old Helmi emerged from a shadowy corridor, her wizened face impassive. “The master is well, sir. He awaits you in the dining hall. I have prepared a midday repast.” Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but Signe caught the subtle tension in the set of the old woman’s shoulders. Kaelan’s smile widened, a predatory flash. “Excellent. Lead the way, then, Old Helmi. My lady, if you would join us?” It was not a request. Signe led the way into the vast, cavernous dining hall, its immense, dark wood table stretching like a silent accusation. The air here was even colder, trapped by stone and high ceilings. Old Helmi had laid out a sparse, but meticulously arranged, meal: rye bread, a hard cheese, and a weak, watery stew in plain earthenware bowls. Valerik was already seated at the head of the table, his posture stiff, his eyes downcast, fixed on his empty bowl. He looked like a statue carved from shadow. Kaelan took a seat directly opposite Signe, placing himself at the midpoint of the table, his two guards standing rigidly behind him. He watched Valerik with an unsettling intensity. “Lord Valerik,” Kaelan began, his voice surprisingly gentle, “it has been many years since I last saw you. You have… changed.” Valerik slowly raised his head, his gaze meeting Joren’s briefly before flickering to Signe. His voice was a low murmur. “Time changes all, Commander.” “Indeed,” Kaelan agreed, picking up a piece of bread. “But some changes are more… profound. Tell me, how fares your unique condition?” He tore a piece of the bread with his fingers, offering a small, unassuming chunk to Signe across the table. “Please, eat.” Signe reached for the bread, her fingers brushing the coarse crust. Just as her hand closed around it, Valerik moved. It was a sudden, jarring lurch of his chair, scraping loudly on the stone floor. He pulled back, away from the table, away from Signe, his stare wild with terror. The movement was so abrupt, so violent, that the fragile earthenware bowl before him rattled, threatening to spill its contents. His breath came in a ragged gasp. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the scrape of Valerik’s chair. Kaelan’s smile vanished. His pale blue eyes narrowed, taking in Valerik’s retreat, then Signe’s frozen hand, still hovering over the crust. He paused, a deliberate beat, before smoothly picking up the bread himself and taking a bite, his gaze never leaving Valerik. “A delicate constitution, it seems,” Kaelan remarked, his voice devoid of its previous warmth. “Or perhaps, a peculiar aversion to… shared sustenance.” The meal continued in strained silence, punctuated only by the clink of Kaelan’s spoon against his bowl. Valerik remained withdrawn, barely touching his food, his eyes fixed on some distant, unseen point. Kaelan watched her constantly, a probing pressure that left her skin prickling. After the meager meal, Kaelan requested a private word with Signe. He led her to a small, seldom-used parlor off the main hall, its windows overlooking the snow-covered courtyard. The soldiers he commanded were already moving about, inspecting the crumbling outbuildings, their presence a stark reminder of their power. “Signe,” Kaelan began, his tone softening, almost a whisper. He moved closer, placing a hand gently on her arm. His touch was firm, comforting, yet it felt like a trap. “You are a brave woman, accepting such a fate. But bravery does not negate danger.” His gaze, when it met hers, was full of concern, almost pity. “The taint that afflicts your lord is not merely a curse; it is a contagion. A disease of the spirit, one that twists and corrupts. It spreads. Slowly, insidiously, until it consumes everything it touches.” Signe pulled her arm back subtly, breaking his touch. “My husband’s condition is a curse, sir, not a contagion. And I am well aware of the risks.” Kaelan sighed, a theatrical display of regret. “Are you? Do you truly believe that? He cannot touch you, cannot share a simple meal with you without fear. How long before that fear turns to resentment? How long before the rot, which withers all life around him, begins to wither *you* from the inside?” He leaned in, his voice dropping further, conspiratorial. “You are an innocent in this. A sacrifice. But you don’t have to be. I can offer you salvation. Protection. A way out of this gilded cage before it becomes your tomb.” His eyes held hers, earnest and intense. “Lord Valerik is an abomination, a living plague. It is our duty, the Purifiers’ sacred duty, to cleanse the realm of such evils. And I will, Lady Vinter. I will destroy him, with fire and steel, if he cannot be… cured.” Signe felt a cold fury bloom in her chest, pushing back against his smooth words. This man sought to destroy Valerik, the quiet, melancholic lord burdened by guilt, the man she was bound to, the man she was committed to saving. Her loyalty, once a quiet river, now surged like a winter flood. She took a step back, putting distance between them. Her voice, when she spoke, was clear and cutting, carrying more authority than she knew she possessed. “Commander Kaelan,” she stated, ensuring her voice carried beyond the parlor, knowing his men were likely within earshot. “You speak of salvation. I see only slander. You speak of contagion, yet you are the one spreading poison. I am Lady Vinter of Frostfang Hold. My husband is Lord Valerik Vinter. And my loyalty, unlike your unsolicited counsel, is absolute.” She met his shocked gaze, her own eyes blazing with an unwavering defiance. “Now, I believe your ‘welfare check’ has concluded. I bid you farewell.” Kaelan’s handsome face flushed, the easy smile dissolving into a tight, almost imperceptible grimace. His own men, she noted with satisfaction, shifted uncomfortably, having clearly heard her sharp rebuke. The humiliation was clear on his face, though he quickly masked it with a return to his cool composure. He bowed stiffly, a movement devoid of grace or respect. “As you wish, Lady Vinter. But mark my words.” He turned to leave, pausing at the threshold, his voice dropping to a low, chilling promise that carried no pretense of concern. “When the curse consumes him, and you with him, know that I gave you a chance at salvation.”

A Knight at the Gates