Chapter 8 · free to read
They came up out of the snow the way steam comes off a pot. Not charging. Collecting.
The prince had been a hostage, a bargaining chip, a warm body in a cold bed. Nobody had thought to ask what his blood was actually for.
The wraiths went back into the snow all at once, like a held breath let go. Whatever they were collecting for, they had brought it what it asked for.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.