The dawn was cold and sombre as the carriage rattled over frost-bitten roads, its wheels creaking beneath Elara’s belongings and the burden of her fate. She sat rigid against the velvet cushions, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as the manor and its familiar comforts faded into the distance. Beside her sat her maid, Lyria, a loyal childhood companion whose nervous glances betrayed her concern.

“My lady,” Lyria ventured hesitantly, “perhaps the rumours about the Duke are… exaggerated.”

Elara’s lips curved into a bitter smile. “Rumors have a way of clinging to truth, Lyria. I have little reason to hope for anything less than what is said.”

Their escort, a cadre of armed guards clad in House Aedryn’s livery, rode ahead and behind the carriage. The winter landscape stretched endlessly, a stark contrast to the lush fields of her homeland. Snow-covered forests loomed on either side, their branches heavy with frost. As the hours dragged on, the air grew colder, the road rougher, and the weight in Elara’s heart heavier.

By midday, they reached a crossroads where a lone rider awaited. Draped in a black cloak that billowed in the icy wind, the figure exuded an aura of authority and danger. As the carriage drew near, the rider spurred his horse forward and halted the procession with a raised hand.

The captain of the escort dismounted, bowing deeply. “Your Grace.”

Elara’s breath caught as the rider dismounted, revealing a tall figure clad in dark armour etched with intricate designs that shimmered faintly in the pale light. His face, sharp and unyielding, was partially obscured by the hood of his cloak, but his eyes—a piercing silver—seemed to see straight through her.

“Lady Elara,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “I am Kael Raventhorn. Welcome to your new life.”

Elara swallowed hard, summoning every ounce of her courage. She stepped out of the carriage, her gown swirling around her feet as she met his gaze. “Your Grace,” she said, her tone steady despite the storm of emotions within.

Kael’s eyes lingered on her for a moment, inscrutable. Then, with a nod, he gestured to his horse. “The road ahead is treacherous. You will ride with me.”

Before she could protest, Kael mounted his steed and extended a hand. Reluctantly, she took it, allowing him to lift her onto the saddle before him. As the procession resumed, the warmth of his presence contrasted sharply with the frigid air, and for the first time, Elara felt the unsettling weight of what lay ahead.