Chapter 2 - The Oath of the Forgotten
The ice continued to creep across the flagstones, sending a numbing chill through Rowan’s bare knees. The lion stopped ten paces away, its amber eyes locking onto Rowan’s face with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.
Thump. Thump.
Beneath the beast’s frost-covered fur, the blue light pulsed faster. Rowan felt a sudden, violent resonance in his own chest, as if his heart were trying to beat in time with the creature’s slow, rhythmic breathing. A memory flickered behind his eyes—smelling of pine needles, woodsmoke, and blood upon the high northern peaks of the Frostfall Reach.
Vaelen, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, though no lips moved. The Binding is fraying.
Rowan gasped, clutching his bound wrist against his stomach.
"Step away from the prisoner, beast!" Lord Cedric snarled, taking a half-step forward with his sword half-drawn.
The lion didn't even look at Cedric. It lowered its massive head, exhaling a cloud of mist that washed over Rowan’s face, smelling sharply of ozone and winter air. Then, it opened its jaws—not to roar, but to release a low, vibrating hum that rattled the stained-glass windows overhead.
"Captain Hale," Helena’s voice finally rang out, smooth as polished glass. "Kill it."
Marcus did not move immediately. "Your Grace, the spearhead in its shoulder... it bears the mark of the First Expedition. That creature is not a common beast. It is bound to the bloodline of the North."
"I said, kill it," Helena repeated, her tone dropping a fraction of an octave, carrying the absolute weight of royal execution.
Marcus swallowed hard. He raised his gauntleted hand, signaling the front rank of pikemen. "Advance. Drive it back into the frost."
"Don't!" Rowan yelled, throwing his weight forward. "If you strike it, the bond breaks completely! You don't know what you're unleashing!"
"Silence the prisoner," Helena commanded lazily, flicking a finger toward the magistrate.
Before the guards could react, the lion moved. It didn't leap; it simply flowed forward like an avalanche. In a blur of white fur and freezing mist, it slammed into the center of the spear wall. There was no sound of tearing flesh, only the sharp, ringing snap of ash-wood shafts splintering like dry twigs.
The guards tumbled backward, their armor clattering against the marble as the frost wave knocked them off their feet. Lord Cedric drew his blade fully, lunging forward with a furious war cry—only for the lion to flick its massive tail. The backdraft caught Cedric square in the chest, sending him skidding across thirty feet of ice-slicked floor until he crashed against the base of the queen’s throne.
Silence descended once more, heavier than before.
The lion stood directly over Rowan, its great white chest rising and falling. It lowered its head until its cold muzzle brushed against Rowan’s bound right hand.
Rowan closed his eyes, bracing for the bite. Instead, a sharp, searing pain shot up his wrist as the heavy iron rivets of the leather brace began to frost over. The blue light flared blindingly bright.
With a sound like cracking glacier ice, the iron rivets shattered. The leather brace fell apart in frozen chunks, hitting the floor with dull thuds.
Rowan pulled his hand free, rubbing his bruised, numb wrist. He stared up at the beast, the old marks of their ancient pact burning faintly across his palm in silver lines.
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"You took your time," Rowan murmured softly.
The lion let out a soft, rumbling huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Then, it turned its amber gaze upward, fixing its unblinking stare directly upon Queen-Regent Helena.
