Feodor’s words, a silken threat, left a chill that cut deeper than the draft from the grand hall’s archways. Rina held his gaze, the remnants of her defiant adrenaline still humming through her veins. “What does it say about you?” she echoed, her voice quiet, almost a challenge. “Perhaps that you’re destined to ask too many questions of the wrong people, Prince.” His perfect smile returned, a mask so convincing it almost made her forget the predator beneath. “A dangerous answer, Cipher. But intriguing.” He straightened, the spell of their intimate confrontation broken as other courtiers began to circulate, their murmurs turning from the elder chancellor's humiliation to the enigma of Rina Svechova. Kazimir was already striding away, his back a rigid line of disapproval. Mikal remained, his eyes still wide with a blend of shock and something she couldn’t name, his earlier sneer forgotten. Olek, however, continued to stare, his analytical gaze like a physical weight, dissecting her. “The royal hunt commences at dawn,” Feodor announced to the room, his voice once again resonating with his usual charismatic charm. “A fine opportunity for our esteemed guest to witness the splendor of Vysnia’s traditions, wouldn’t you agree?” His eyes, however, were fixed on Rina, a silent dare. She felt a prickle of unease. Nothing in the tome mentioned a royal hunt, let alone her participation. Sunrise painted the frost-rimmed Alabaster Citadel in hues of rose and pale gold, but the air bit with the promise of more snow. Rina, bundled in a borrowed, thick velvet riding cloak that still didn’t quite fit, shivered on the back of a sturdy Vysnian roan. Around her, the royal hunting party was a spectacle of polished leather, gleaming steel, and the excited whinny of horses. Kazimir, astride a magnificent coal-black stallion, led the procession, his presence as unyielding as the winter landscape. Feodor rode beside him, radiating an easy confidence. Olek, on a placid grey mare, already had his nose in a slim leather-bound volume, seemingly oblivious to the frigid air or the imminent hunt. Mikal, however, was nowhere to be seen. "Prince Mikal often prefers to sketch the wildlife rather than pursue it," Yara said quietly beside Rina, her breath puffing out in misty clouds. "He says the chase corrupts the essence of the creature." Yara, ever observant, glanced back towards the fortress walls. "Though I confess, he seemed… agitated this morning." The Great Forest loomed, a vast, ancient expanse of skeletal elms and dark pines, their branches heavy with snow. The forest floor crunched underhoof, a symphony of frozen earth and snapping twigs. The hunters spread out, their calls echoing through the quiet. Rina found herself trailing near the rear, less a participant and more a bewildered observer. The raw, untamed nature of the deep woods was a stark contrast to the stifling court, yet it felt equally menacing. A strange silence descended, not the natural quiet of the woods, but a sudden, unnatural hush. Even the horses seemed to sense it, their ears swiveling, their breathing growing shallow. Rina felt a tremor in the ground before she heard it—a crash, a snarl, a sound that tore through the air like ripped silk. Her roan reared, whinnying in terror, nearly unseating her. She gripped the reins, fighting for control, her gaze sweeping the dense thicket to her left. From the shadows, a creature burst forth. It was a stag, impossibly large, its antlers gnarled and dark, like branches struck by lightning. But it was not normal. Tendrils of inky smoke coiled around its powerful legs, and its eyes, instead of reflecting the pale winter light, burned with a malevolent violet glow. A blighted stag. The codex had described them as manifestations of deep, primal corruption, creatures born when the Silent Scourge bled into the natural world, distorting life itself. The stag locked its burning gaze on Rina, a primal, terrifying intelligence in its eyes. It charged, a dark blur of muscle and fury, its thunderous hooves tearing up the snow-covered ground. Rina froze, muscles locking. There was no time to react, no space to think, staring down the twisted tines leveled directly at her chest. Then, a flash of movement. A figure slammed into her, a frantic shove that sent her sprawling from her horse, tumbling into a snowdrift. A sharp cry of pain followed, raw and unexpected. Rina scrambled, spitting snow, lungs burning. Mikal. He lay half-submerged in the snow, clutching his left arm, a dark stain already spreading across the sleeve of his hunting tunic. His face was a mask of agony, but his eyes, fixed on the now-raging beast, held a raw, desperate fear. The blighted beast, momentarily thrown off by Mikal’s intervention, turned its fury on him. It lowered its head, preparing another charge, its violet eyes blazing. “Mikal!” Rina shrieked, her voice hoarse with horror. She tried to push herself up, her limbs clumsy with adrenaline and cold. Before the beast could move, a whistle, sharp and piercing, cut through the air. Kazimir, a blur of practiced grace, rode his stallion in a wide, swift arc, drawing the stag’s attention. His long, dark hair whipped behind him. His bow, drawn taut, hummed. Three arrows, fletched with raven feathers, flew with impossible speed, striking the stag’s flank, neck, and then, with devastating precision, its glowing eye. The beast shrieked, a sound of unearthly agony, and stumbled. The inky tendrils around it thickened, then dissipated, as its massive form crashed to the ground, dissolving into a shimmering mist that quickly vanished, leaving only a dark, frost-kissed patch in the snow. Kazimir dismounted, his face grim, his eyes sweeping over the scene. His gaze lingered for a moment on Mikal, then on Rina, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths before he turned to his men. “Search the perimeter. This was no ordinary animal. Find out who led it here.” His command was sharp, his authority absolute. The orchestrated nature of the attack was not lost on him. Or on Rina. Someone wanted her dead. Feodor was already kneeling beside Mikal, his charming facade replaced by a focused concern. “His arm is broken, perhaps a dislocated shoulder,” he murmured, his fingers deft as he examined the injury. “We need to get him back to the healers, immediately.” The return journey was somber, Mikal cradled carefully on a makeshift stretcher. Rina couldn’t shake the image of the antlered monstrosity, its eyes burning with that unnatural light. It wasn't just an animal; it was a weapon. And she was the target. Hours later, after Mikal had been tended to by the royal healers, a tense quiet settled over the Alabaster Citadel. Rina, restless and unable to sit still, wandered through the frigid, marble corridors, her thoughts a tangled mess of fear and suspicion. She found herself in the frost-kissed expanse of the Zoryan Court’s outer gardens, drawn to the silent, icy beauty. The chill air did little to calm her racing mind. Every shadow seemed to hold a threat, every gust of wind a hidden message. Her steps took her past the royal kennels, where the scent of damp straw and loyal hounds hung in the air. As she passed a particularly gnarled, ancient oak, its branches heavy with crystalized hoarfrost, something on the rough bark caught her eye. It was small, almost invisible against the dark wood, but distinct. A sigil, painted in a viscous, dark substance that seemed to absorb the light. Three interlocking triangles, arranged in a spiral, with a single, elongated line bisecting the central one. Her throat tightened. She had seen this before: in the margins of the section titled ‘Unraveling,’ an entry that detailed the slow, insidious decay of the Vysnian royal line. It was a symbol of corruption, of things twisted against their nature—and associated with forbidden blood rituals noted in obscure scholarly marginalia. A cold voice, dangerously close, shattered the silence. “Looking for something, archivist?” Rina spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. The disgraced chancellor stood behind her, his usually impeccable velvet coat dusted with flecks of snow, as if he had just emerged from the depths of the frozen forest. His eyes, cold and calculating, held a glint of triumph. “This sigil…” Rina started, her voice barely carrying in the cold. He chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. “Ah, you recognize it. Good. It means you are, at least, partially competent. Unlike the fools who believe a mere archivist from another world could unravel a curse that has plagued Vysnia for centuries.” He took a step closer, his shadow falling over her. “The shadow beast,” Rina stated, the words a challenge. “You sent it after me.” “Indeed.” His smile was not charming, but a thin, cruel line. “A test, you see. To gauge your worth. To see if the prophecy was truly so foolish as to choose someone so utterly… ordinary.” He gestured to the sigil. “This is a mark of my lineage. A house that once rivaled the Volyevs, before the curse’s creator, a spiteful sorceress bound to the Volyev line, ensured our erasure. My ancestors were deemed ‘Unravelers’ because they sought to break the magical chains binding Vysnia to that cursed chronicle. Chains that bound their power, their lands, their very lives to the Volyevs. And now, you arrive, a potential key to undoing it all.” He leaned in, his breath a cold puff against her cheek. “But not for their benefit, dear Cipher. Not for *their* survival. I want to see the Volyevs fall. I want to see this kingdom, built on the ashes of my house, finally crumble. And if you are truly the Cipher, you possess the power to make it happen, one way or another.” He straightened, his eyes burning with a chilling intensity. “The beast was simply to ensure you understood the stakes. To see if you had the mettle. And to see if any of the princes would actually risk their precious lives for yours. Mikal, it seems, has a surprising lack of self-preservation.” His smile stretched wider, a truly terrifying sight. “The Cipher can also be erased. Let’s see which of us the story favors.”

Whispers in the Frost Garden