The night before the rescue attempt felt like the last inhale before drowning.
Gerffron stood in the center of his solar, the ledger open on the desk, the map from Remal spread beneath the single lantern. The silver ring on his little finger caught the light every time he moved. Outside, snow fell in thick, silent sheets, muffling the world until the villa itself seemed to hold its breath.
Tomorrow night was the Winter Ball.
Tomorrow night he would slip away during the final fireworks, enter the Crown Prince's east wing through the old servant tunnel, and bring Styrmir home — or die trying.
He had spent the last hour memorizing every line of the map. The laundry grate. The guard rotation. The exact moment the fireworks would mask the sound of breaking iron. He had the sleeping draught tucked inside his cloak, the dark second cloak folded beneath his bed, the note for Baron Acquikth already written in invisible ink.
One more thing remained.
He needed to test the tunnel entrance tonight — just once — to make sure the grate would open without noise. Remal had sworn his man inside would leave it unlocked, but Gerffron had learned the hard way that trust was a luxury he could no longer afford.
He slipped the dagger into his boot, pulled the plain dark cloak over his shoulders, and opened the balcony door.
The snow hit him like a thousand tiny needles. He moved fast and low along the outer wall, using the shadows of the frozen rose hedges as cover. The villa lights were dim; most servants had already retired. Only the night patrols remained — two men walking the eastern perimeter every twenty minutes.
He reached the forest edge in under ten minutes.
The old servant path was almost invisible under fresh snow, but he had walked it in his mind so many times he could have found it blindfolded. He moved quickly, breath clouding in the freezing air, heart steady.
Until he heard the first hoofbeats.
Gerffron froze behind a thick yew tree.
Two riders — palace guards in Teivel's colors — were cutting through the trees on the same path, lanterns swinging. They were heading straight toward the tunnel entrance.
He had been followed.
Or worse — someone had talked.
Gerffron's pulse spiked. He pressed himself against the tree trunk, dagger already in hand. The riders slowed, lanterns sweeping the snow.
One of them spoke, voice low but clear in the quiet night. "The Duke's consort was seen riding south earlier. Remal's lands. If he's meeting someone…"
The second guard grunted. "Teivel wants him watched. The boy in white silk screamed his name during the whipping. If the consort is planning something stupid…"
They were twenty feet away.
Gerffron's mind raced. If they reached the tunnel entrance and found the grate tampered with, the entire plan would collapse before it began. He had seconds.
He moved without thinking — silent as the snow itself — circling behind the riders through the thickest underbrush. When the lead horse passed his hiding spot, he lunged.
One arm locked around the first guard's throat. The dagger hilt slammed into the man's temple with perfect precision. The guard slumped forward. Gerffron caught the falling lantern before it hit the snow and shattered.
The second rider spun his horse, sword half-drawn.
Gerffron threw the lantern. It struck the man's chest and exploded in a shower of oil and flame. The horse reared. Gerffron was already moving — grabbing the second guard's boot and yanking him sideways. They hit the snow together. A brief, brutal struggle. A knee to the ribs. Another strike with the dagger hilt.
Silence returned.
Both guards lay unconscious in the snow, breathing but out cold. Their horses stamped nervously a few feet away.
Gerffron's hands were shaking — not from fear, but from the raw adrenaline of how close that had been. He dragged the men into the underbrush, tied their wrists with strips torn from their own cloaks, and covered them with snow and branches. They wouldn't be found until morning.
He wiped the blood from his knuckles and continued to the tunnel entrance.
The old grate was exactly where Remal had marked it. He tested it once — it lifted silently. The tunnel beyond was black and narrow, but passable.
It would work.
Gerffron closed the grate, turned, and ran.
The ride back to the villa was a blur of snow and pounding heart. He slipped through the east gate just as the next patrol rounded the corner. He made it to his balcony by climbing the frozen ivy — fingers numb, breath ragged — and dropped inside his solar with seconds to spare.
He was still stripping off the snow-soaked cloak when the door opened.
Gorgina stood in the doorway in her black night robe, hair loose, eyes wide with something between fury and fear.
"You left again," she said, voice low and dangerous. "In the middle of the night. After I asked you to stay close."
She stepped inside and closed the door. Her gaze dropped to his boots — still wet with snow — then to the faint smear of blood on his knuckles.
"Gerffron," she whispered, stepping closer. "What have you done?"
He met her eyes without flinching. The adrenaline was still singing in his veins. The plan was real now. The tunnel worked. Tomorrow night he would either save Styrmir or lose everything.
Gorgina reached him in three strides. Her hands framed his face, thumbs brushing the snow melting in his hair.
"Tell me the truth," she breathed. "Right now. Before I lose my mind wondering if the man I'm falling in love with is about to get himself killed."
The word love landed between them like a blade.
Gerffron looked at her — the woman who had sold the boy he had sworn to save, the woman whose obsession with him was becoming more terrifying than her cruelty ever was.
He leaned in until their foreheads touched.
"Tomorrow night," he whispered, "everything changes."
She kissed him then — desperate, hungry, almost violent — as though she could taste the truth on his tongue and swallow it before it destroyed them both.
Outside, the snow kept falling.
Inside, the fire in Gerffron's chest burned hotter than ever.
Tomorrow night the Winter Ball would begin.
Tomorrow night he would run through fire to keep the only promise that still mattered.
And no matter what Gorgina felt for him now, she would not stop what was coming.