The morning after the Winter Ball felt like waking inside a frozen wound.
Gerffron opened his eyes to pale gray light filtering through the tall windows of his solar. The bed was empty beside him — Gorgina had slipped away before dawn for a border council meeting, leaving only the faint imprint of her body and the lingering scent of rosewater on the sheets. He lay still for a long moment, staring at the canopy, the silver ring from Count Remal heavy on his little finger, the two pebbles from Styrmir warm in his clenched fist.
He had not slept.
Every time he closed his eyes he saw the same scene: Styrmir on that white-silk stage, gold collar gleaming under the spotlight, storm-gray eyes staring at nothing while bids climbed to twenty thousand crowns. The boy he had promised to save had been sold like livestock. The boy who had pressed pebbles into his palm and whispered that he wanted to stand beside him was gone.
Gerffron sat up slowly. The villa was already stirring — distant footsteps of servants clearing away last night's decorations, the low clatter of crystal being packed, the soft thud of snow sliding from the roof. Everything was returning to normal. Everything was a lie.
He dressed in the plainest robe he owned — dark gray wool with no gold, no chiffon, no blood-red rose. Today he needed to be invisible. Today he needed to move.
Selfi was waiting outside his door, tray in hand, face the same polite mask it had been for months.
"Your Grace," she said, bowing. "Breakfast. Lady Elowen requests your presence after the meal. She wishes to discuss the ball's aftermath."
Gerffron nodded. "Tell her I'll be there shortly."
He took the tray, waited until Selfi's footsteps faded, then slipped out through the side corridor. The villa was quiet enough that he could move unseen — most servants were still cleaning the ballroom wing. He went straight to the stables.
Shadow was saddled and ready without him asking. The stable master had learned his habits. Gerffron mounted and rode out through the east gate, snow crunching beneath the mare's hooves, the silver ring glinting in the weak winter sun.
Remal Manor appeared through the bare trees like a quiet promise. The Count met him at the private side entrance, no servants in sight.
"You came quickly," Remal said, leading him straight to the study. A fire burned low. Two glasses of mulled wine waited. "The ring worked faster than I expected."
Gerffron sat. "I don't have time to waste."
He told Remal everything — the auction, the white silk, the gold collar, the twenty thousand crowns, the way Teivel's hand had never left Gorgina's thigh while the boy who had screamed Gerffron's name was sold. He left out the intimate night that followed. That part was his alone.
Remal listened without interruption. When Gerffron finished, the older man exhaled slowly.
"The boy you described.....it....it matches a lot with the description of first prince....upon my lord Arbestas....as Styrmir… his real name is Styrmir. First son of the current king. There were rumours that he might still be alive somewhere. Now that you have described the boy.....I suspect he is the lost first prince of our kingdom. I had no clue that he had been in the Wadee dungeons for more than ten years!"
Gerffron's fingers tightened around his glass. "You knew."
"I suspected. Many of us did." Remal leaned forward. "But knowing and acting are different things in this empire. The Crown Prince's slave market is just the beginning. He plans to use the profits to buy loyalty for his coup against the king. Gorgina is helping him. She has been for months."
The name Gorgina landed like a stone in still water.
Gerffron stared into the fire. The pieces clicked together with sickening clarity — the affair, the border patrols that conveniently kept her away, the way she had looked at him last night like she was already choosing between two monsters.
Remal continued, voice low. "The boy — Styrmir — is the legitimate heir. If he ever escapes and proves his blood… the throne changes hands. That is why Teivel wants him broken and sold far away. That is why Gorgina helped prepare him."
Gerffron closed his eyes. The top. The planning notes he had carried in his soul since waking up in this body had always pointed here. Styrmir was not just a victim. He was the key to everything.
But he was still gone. Still collared. Still twenty thousand crowns away.
Remal slid a small folded map across the table. "The southern gate at my estate. The one I mentioned. It leads to a safe house three days' ride from the Crown Prince's private estate. If you ever need to move someone… or something… quietly, it is yours."
Gerffron took the map. Another door. Another thread.
He stayed for two hours. They spoke in careful circles — names, routes, who could be trusted, who could not. When he finally rose to leave, Remal gripped his shoulder.
"You are not alone in this, Gerffron. Not anymore. But be careful. The Winter Ball is tomorrow night. Teivel plans to announce the slave market publicly. And Gorgina…" He hesitated. "She is starting to look at you the way a woman looks at something she is afraid to lose."
Gerffron rode home through the falling snow with the map hidden inside his robe and a new weight in his chest. The ride back felt longer. Every crunch of hooves reminded him of the carriage that had carried Styrmir away.
When he returned to the villa, Gorgina was waiting in his room.
She wore only a thin black robe, hair loose and wild from sleep, golden-amber eyes heavy-lidded. She crossed the room and pulled him into a kiss that tasted of urgency and wine.
"I missed you," she whispered against his mouth. "I hate that I missed you today."
Gerffron let her pull him toward the bed. He let her undress him. He let her hands map every line of his body as though she was afraid he might disappear. When she finally lay beside him, breathless and flushed, she traced the silver ring on his finger.
"You've been to Remal," she said quietly. Not an accusation. A statement.
Gerffron didn't deny it. "Yes."
She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his. "I should stop you. I should lock you in this room and keep you safe from the storm you're trying to start." Her voice cracked. "But I can't. Because the man I bought as a tool… he's becoming the only person in this empire who makes me feel something real."
Gerffron brushed a strand of burgundy hair from her face.
"Then let me be real for you," he whispered.
She pulled him close again, and for the next hour, the world outside the solar ceased to exist.
Later, when she slept again, Gerffron slipped from the bed and returned to the desk.
He opened the ledger and wrote three new lines:
Winter Ball tomorrow night — use the chaos.Find the east wing lower cells.Styrmir is the heir. He is the key.
He closed the book and looked at the two pebbles on the nightstand.
Tomorrow, the entire empire would dance while the slave market opened in the shadows.
Tomorrow, he would begin the long walk toward the boy who had waited ten years.
And somewhere in the Crown Prince's estate, a boy in white silk and a gold collar was still breathing.
Gerffron touched the silver ring on his finger and smiled at the falling snow outside the window.
The night before the storm was almost over.