Prologue — The Winter That Always Returns
It was cold. Freezing, I would say.
Almost as if the air had vanished from my lungs at the sight before me.
I loved him. I loved him so much… and so, so late.
There was no time left.
Not for us.
Now there were only tears, sorrow… and a body lying upon the frozen ground in the Duchy of Blackmoor.
"Please…" my voice broke. "You can't leave me. Not now."
Tears fell silently over the cold body of my beloved.
The Duke of the North—the merciless man who inspired fear with a single glance—lay before me.
His expression was sad, yet calm, and he still tried to form a faint smile.
In his eyes, I did not seem like a villain, nor a schemer, nor greedy as the rumors claimed.
I was only a fragile, lost girl who did not know what to do—who could only cry.
"Don't cry…" he muttered, lifting his weary hand with effort to rest it against my face. "I never know what to do when you cry…"
"Stay with me… Don't you dare leave me!"
He smiled a little more. Wounded, exhausted… and fully aware that his end was near.
There would be no confession from him, even in that final moment.
There never would be. It wasn't in his nature.
Only that look.
Warm.
Gentle.
Tired.
Knowing it was already too late.
"You… must live, Ari…" he murmured.
I wanted to hate him for that.
Worrying about me on his deathbed, still using that nickname that always irritated me.
I wished he would say something about me—something that translated into love.
But he had always been like that: loving in silence, from a distance, with cold restraint.
And so… he died.
In silence.
His weak hand fell lifeless onto the snow.
The world fell completely silent.
The snow kept falling, as if nothing had happened.
As if my world had not just crumbled before my eyes.
And then I realized, far too late… that I loved him.
Darkness.
Silence.
Cold.
Suddenly, I woke.
A strange sense of déjà vu washed over me.
I looked around. Everything felt different.
The curtains. The spring air. The room.
And then… I saw myself in the mirror.
"What the hell…?"
I was smaller.
Much smaller.
As if I had gone back in time… or suffered a terrible nightmare.
Looking closer, I understood: I was, what, eight years old.
My heart began to race.
It felt as though something immense was about to happen.
And then I heard it, almost in a whisper, like the brush of wind against my ears:
"This time…"
The voice vanished as quickly as it had come.
I looked around, desperate.
And then, for reasons I could not understand, an overwhelming urge to cry rose from deep within me.
Tears streamed down my face.