Chapter 4 - Frost and FireThe floor erupted.
The frost radiating from the lion’s paws surged forward in a blinding tidal wave of white energy, racing up the stone pillars and freezing the crossbow mechanisms mid-draw. The archers cried out as their fingers locked to the cold metal, their weapons encrusted in thick rime before they could loose a single bolt.
"Fall back! Secure the western gates!" Helena screamed, skirts flying as she turned and bolted up the private stairs behind the dais.
"She’s running," Marcus shouted, wiping frost from his eyes.
"Let her run," Rowan said, stepping forward as the massive lion let out a thunderous roar that shook the dust from the high rafters. "She has nowhere left to hide. The true kings of the Reach are waking up."
The great oak doors at the grand entrance of the court groaned under an immense external pressure. Heavy thuds echoed from the courtyard outside, accompanied by the sound of marching iron boots and the deep, resonant bugles of the northern vanguard.
Lord Cedric tried to crawl toward the side exit, but a heavy white paw came down gently on the hem of his velvet cloak, pinning him to the floor. Cedric looked up into the amber eyes of the ice-lion and fainted dead away.
Marcus stared around the ruined court, breathing heavily. The opulent banners of House Ashbourne hung limply, frosted over at the edges. "The entire garrison... they're outside, aren't they?"
"They never left," Rowan replied, pulling a heavy fur cloak from a bronze statue of an ancient Ashbourne king and throwing it over his shoulders. "They were just waiting for the ice to thaw."
"What do we do now?" Marcus asked, picking up his discarded sword and sliding it back into its scabbard with a decisive click. "The capital is still under the queen's control. The inner council won't surrender without proof of her crimes."
Rowan turned toward the high northern windows, where the grey clouds of winter were rolling in over the spires of the city, swallowing the weak southern sun.
"We don't need proof," Rowan said softly, resting his hand on the lion's frost-covered mane. "We need the Citadel of Oaths. That is where the original charter of unification is kept—the one bearing my father’s seal and the true confession of the king's poisoning."
"That's on the Isle of Whispers," Marcus warned. "Guarded by the eternal tides and the queen’s personal naval fleet."
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The lion let out a low rumble, turning its head toward the eastern doors as they finally splintered inward under the weight of a battering ram, revealing the snow-covered streets beyond where hundreds of northern horsemen waited with drawn sabers under fluttering blue-and-silver banners.
Rowan smiled faintly. "Then it's a good thing we have transportation."
