A week had passed since Aedric's return, and the tension between King and Queen remained a taut, icy wire. Maria maintained her flawless composure and strict silence, treating Aedric with the rigid formality of a trusted, yet distant, treaty partner. Aedric, in turn, treated her as a competent clerk, directing questions about Sareen's finance and logistics only through Varin.

  On a grey afternoon, while Aedric reviewed ledgers in his study, Varin lingered near the fire, swirling a cup of wine that had long gone cold. He cleared his throat once. Then twice. When Aedric didn't look up, Varin decided to risk it.

  "My king," he began carefully, "if I may speak of... the future?"

  Aedric lifted his gaze with the precision of a blade being drawn. "You may."

  Varin shifted his stance. "An heir, sire. The council whispers of lineage. It's natural they would. Eldrath needs strength, and blood ensures it."

  Aedric's jaw tightened slightly. "You think I have forgotten that."

  "Of course not," Varin said quickly, holding up a placating hand. "Only, it's been some months since the wedding. A queen so fair and a king so... determined, it surprises many that no royal cry has yet been heard from the east wing."

  Aedric's pen froze mid-stroke. His gaze lifted, cold and slow.

  Varin swallowed. "Naturally, I mean no intrusion into your personal... strategy. But I do wonder if—" he coughed delicately "......if perhaps, the queen is proving... reluctant?"

  Aedric said nothing. His stare alone could have set the parchment aflame.

  Varin laughed nervously, filling the silence he instantly regretted. "You know, my late uncle once said: a queen's heart warms faster with patience and wine, but a kingdom cools fast without an heir. Ha!"

  Aedric set his quill down with deliberate care. "Your uncle was a fool, and your counsel is unwelcome."

  Varin's grin faltered. "Of course, Your Majesty."

  Aedric stared at Varin. His jaw was clenched so tight that the muscle visible in his cheek throbbed. The intensity of his silence was a clear, thunderous signal.

  Varin, who had expected a political affirmation, suddenly registered the profound coldness of the King's reaction. He looked from Aedric's rigid posture and a horrible realization dawned: The marriage had not been consummated.

  Varin's forced smile collapsed. He let out a strangled cough, quickly covering his mouth with a napkin.

  "Ah... that is to say... the of an heir is, of course, a great comfort to the realm. I only meant to inquire as to your for future stability." Varin stammered, his eyes darting wildly.

  Aedric slowly set his ink down, the sound ringing sharply in the silence. He finally addressed Varin, his voice dangerously low.

  "My plans for the stability of my House are my own affair, Varin. You will confine your counsel to matters of state and war. Not the bedchamber."

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  Varin paled, shrinking into his seat. He knew he had touched the invisible, festering wound between them. He grabbed his goblet, desperate to appear busy.

  "Of course, Your Majesty! I apologize. Simply... a thought. Though, if I may, purely as a suggestion for strategy, a king must sometimes prioritize pleasure for the sake of the realm's progress. Delay can breed rumours that even the sword cannot quiet. No offense intended, Your Grace," Varin muttered, offering a hasty, terrified nod.

  Aedric stared at him. The room was still. And then... a corner of his mouth twitched. Just once. "You are shameless," he said, his tone sharp but a little amused.

  "Only concerned for the throne, my King," Varin said quickly, eyes darting away.

  That night, in the Queen's chambers, the mood could not have been more different. The moon hung low, spilling pale light across the marble floor. Maria sat by her vanity, her hands resting loosely in her lap, eyes distant.

  A faint shimmer rippled in the air before her, and a voice, soft and familiar, slipped through the silence.

  "Still alive, sister?"

  Maria exhaled in relief, a small, genuine smile breaking through the stillness. "Barely, Lysara."

  The reflection in the mirror shifted. Her sister appeared not in flesh but in outline, dark hair, the same golden eyes, but with a quiet power that pulsed softer than Maria's volatile flame.

  "You sound tired," Lysara teased. "Or married."

  Maria gave a half-laugh. "Perhaps both. The northern cold eats at me. Even the fires feel dimmer here."

  "Then make them burn brighter," Lysara whispered. "You're forgetting who you are."

  "I cannot forget," Maria said softly, "only hide. Every witch burned here is a mirror of what I am."

  Lysara's expression turned grave. "You walk in a pit of wolves, sister. But remember, they can only bite what they can see."

  Their connection flickered. the distance between Sareen and Eldrath made their whispers faint, fragile things.

  "Tell me about home," Maria whispered, her voice trembling.

  "Father still speaks of you," Lysara said, smiling faintly. "Kael visits often. The court misses its sun. Sareen feels dimmer without you."

  Maria's eyes softened, aching. "Then perhaps they should not have sent me north."

  "You were the peace they bargained for," her sister said quietly. "Now be the storm they never saw coming."

  The vision dissolved like mist, and the mirror was once again her own.

  The next morning, her maids whispered about the queen again, but this time, for an entirely different reason.

  Steam poured from her bathing chamber, thick as fog, curling into the corridor. Two of her attendants, Mara and Elara, exchanged uneasy glances as they filled the last basin.

  Maria stood naked before the large copper tub, testing the water with her toe.

  "More, please, Elara," Maria instructed softly. "Make it much hotter."

  Elara looked concerned. The water was already steaming heavily, filling the chamber with thick, warm moisture that contrasted sharply with the cold stone walls.

  "Your Grace, it is already so hot the copper is near to burning," Elara worried. "It will scorch your skin."

  Maria smiled faintly. "I assure you, it will not. I require the heat tonight. My Southern blood needs warming after all this Northern chill."

  Elara and Mara exchanged a swift, puzzled look but complied, pouring two more buckets of boiling water into the tub. The water was now dangerously scalding, shimmering with heat. Both maids had to wrap their hands to handle the vessels, yet Maria stepped into the bath without a flinch, sinking into the intense heat with a quiet sigh of relief.

  They knew she was strange. They knew she was delicate in her paleness but utterly impervious to temperature.

  Mara gently began to wash her back, keeping her own hands lightly clad in linen to protect them from the steam.

  "You have such resilient skin, Your Grace," Mara murmured. "It never even turns pink from the heat."

  "It has learned endurance, Mara," Maria replied, her voice relaxed by the intense warmth. "That is all."

  Elara watched, wide-eyed. "How does she bear that?" she whispered.

  "Don't ask," Mara murmured. "Queens have thicker skin than we do."

  Inside the tub, Maria's lips curved faintly as she sank deeper into the crimson-tinted light of dawn streaming through the window. The water's heat didn't hurt, it soothed. It reminded her of what still burned inside her, quiet but alive, hidden beneath layers of frost and silk.

  In that scalding silence, she realised the truth that frightened her most: she could hide her magic from the King, from the court, from the world itself, but she could not burn it out of her.