Chapter 95: Seraphina’s Return to the Ice Courts
A pale dawn lighted the Frostbound Gate in a wash of silvery pink. I stood before the towering ice doors, breath caught in my chest. Beyond those gates lay the Frostbound Courts—Seraphina’s ancestral home—and today she would reclaim her place among them. It was a journey more fraught than any battlefield: a return to roots she had both cherished and shattered, an appeal to tradition she had willingly abandoned, and a test of the peace we had forged.
Seraphina adjusted her cloak, its hem embroidered with both frost runes and ember glyphs, a symbol of her dual loyalties to the Frostbound Houses and the Academy. She carried no crown, only a circlet of silver and glass in her hand. Beside her stood Astraea in full regalia of iceplate armor, Zephira with her blades at rest, Yuria humming with contained lightning energy, Valmira cradling the Codex, and I with my Architect’s staff in hand.
"We’ll walk with you," I said softly. "But you must speak for yourself."
Seraphina nodded, steeling herself. "I will. Thank you."
At her signal, we moved forward. The great doors—each slab a single sheet of living glacier—glimmered with ancient runes. As we approached, they shivered and swung inward, revealing the vaulted hall beyond. Icicles hung like chandeliers from a ceiling carved to resemble the northern lights. Pillars of blue-white ice rose on either side, their surfaces etched with the Frostbound lineage: dukes and duchesses, triumphs and tragedies, an unbroken line of rulers stretching back millennia.
A hush fell as we entered. Frostbound lords and ladies, clad in fur-lined robes of midnight and silver, rose from their carved thrones. Their eyes were curious, wary, measuring. I could feel their power in the air: a living aura of cold authority.
At the far end, on the central dais, stood Lady Myrren Vel’Arin—Seraphina’s elder sister and former regent. She wore the mantle of rule with quiet dignity, her silver-blonde hair braided into a crown of ice threads. The moment she saw Seraphina, her expression flickered—surprise, conflict, worn sorrow—before settling into guarded politeness.
Seraphina stepped forward alone. We came to a respectful stop behind her.
"Sister," Seraphina said, voice clear in the hushed hall. "I stand before you not to demand restoration of a title, but to offer unity."