The square was packed. It was a sea of bodies and voices rising in a roar. Banners bearing the symbol of the Sacred Sun fluttered among the flames of the torches.
The children hid behind their mothers' skirts, unable to look away from the makeshift altar where, bound in ropes, knelt a small, broken figure.
Lorraine was on her knees, her hands tied behind her back and her blouse torn from the struggle. Her silver hair, stained with dust and dried blood, fell over her face swollen from the blows. A line of tears mingled with the grime that covered her cheeks.
Every sob that escaped her lips was a nail in her pride. She couldn't understand when everything had shattered.
She remembered her own voice, days before, when she had offered her hand to rescue that merchant whose cart had overturned in the river.
—Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you are a witch…
She had believed that a gesture of kindness was enough.
How naïve she had been. Now that same man was smiling in satisfaction, his finger pointing at her as if he were an executioner who had waited years for this moment.
—Never thought… —Lorraine murmured between ragged breaths—. I knew I shouldn't have helped that bastard…
—Father! —the merchant bellowed, drunk with vileness—. It was her! I saw her use magic, she was with a young man… they must be lovers!
The priest of the Church of the Dawn advanced slowly. His golden mantle billowed with such solemnity that for a moment the crowd held its breath. Upon his head shone the solar diadem, emblem of supreme purity.
—I believe you, my son —he said in a voice that was at once calm and a knife—. With that silver hair of demons… it is clear that this harlot serves the Devil.
At the far end of the platform, King Delgard watched with barely contained disgust. His gloved hands rested tense upon the railing.
—You will meet a wretched end, witch —he pronounced with contempt that filled the people with cheers.
The priest raised his cross and two knights in gleaming white armor stepped forward. Their spears shone in the firelight: the molten gold at their tips a reminder there would be no salvation.
Lorraine straightened slightly, her eyes squinting from the pain. A groan escaped her as the rope bit deeper into her flesh.
And then something changed.
In the distance, a covered carriage stopped with a screech. The door flew open violently. Frost hurled himself to the ground, nearly falling to his knees. His breathing was ragged, as if he had run from the ends of the earth.
His heart pounded with a terror so pure it left him trembling. He had felt something was terribly wrong when he'd found the house in chaos, the door ajar, the silence colder than the snows of his homeland.
His eyes swept the crowd until he saw her. Lorraine. Bruised, a thin line of blood sliding down from her hair. Something cracked inside him, a rending that stole the air from his lungs.
—It can't be… —he whispered, stumbling forward, elbowing people aside—. It can't be her…
The crowd stirred to see the prince forcing his way through, his face twisted in horror. No one had ever seen such an expression on the son of King Delgard.
Yet when he reached the foot of the altar, there was no trace left of the man everyone admired for his icy composure.
—Wait! —he roared, his voice breaking—. What are you doing?
The snowflake sigil glimmered on his left hand. A barely perceptible flash, like a warning that winter was awakening in his blood. Silence fell over the square. Only the crackling of the torches filled the waiting.
King Delgard stared at him incredulously.
—Frost… son… what are you doing here? Weren't you hunting monsters? Why this reaction?
Frost leapt onto the platform in a single bound. His steps thundered with the fury of a man unafraid to lose everything.
—I have nothing to do with this theater… but I beg you —he said, his voice so grave that some felt their skin crawl—. Let her go. Let her leave.
A murmur swept through the crowd like a black wave. The priest narrowed his eyes.
—Prince… do you understand what you are saying? You ask us to release this witch?
Frost raised his gaze. His pupils looked like shattered mirrors.
—Let her go now!
The king clenched his teeth until they ground together.
—What is wrong with you, Frost? Have you lost your mind? I will not tolerate your games…
Lorraine lifted her dust-stained face. Her lips trembled.
—Frost… —she whimpered—. Don't worry… you mustn't risk yourself…
—Wait? —Delgard's voice dropped to a murderous edge—. Does she know your name? Do you… know each other?
The silence turned absolute.
Frost stepped closer. His breath formed a white cloud between them.
—Yes, father. Lorraine is my woman… my beloved.
An explosion of voices erupted. No one could believe it. The prince and a witch. The most unthinkable scandal.
—Frost, shut up! —Lorraine cried in a thin voice—. If you go on, they will kill you!
Frost's eyes turned a glacial blue. He raised his hand. An ice sword was born between his fingers, pure and sharp, a fragment of winter made flesh.
—You will let her go now, father. I will not allow you to harm her any longer. We will leave this cursed kingdom…
Delgard took a step back, pale.
—By… by God… —he stammered—. Frost… you are using magic? Then it is true… that witch has poisoned you.
The knights lifted their spears, aiming them at him. But Frost did not waver. He slashed a blade of ice that froze them in a rending crackle. The platform quaked beneath his feet as the battle erupted. The crowd screamed. The priest, red with rage, raised his cross.
—Do it! Now!
The spears plunged into Lorraine's flesh. The scream that tore from her throat split the night in two. Her legs buckled, and blood began to soak the wooden boards.
—Stop… mhaaa…! —she moaned through her tears.
Frost stood petrified. His ice sword dissolved into a crystalline drizzle. All he could hear was Lorraine's breathing, ragged, growing fainter.
Moments later, they were bound back to back to a stake, before the crowd that no longer dared to insult them. King Delgard gazed upon them with the face of a man betrayed.
—Now that you have chosen the wrong side, my son… I have no choice but to judge you as a warlock. God will know what to do with you.
The priest drew a deep breath, savoring his victory.
—Your Majesty, this is an act of divine justice. The sin of coupling with a daughter of darkness… the people must see that impiety is never forgiven.
Frost bowed his head. Snow was falling inside him.
—Please… do what you will with me —he whispered—. But let her go…
Lorraine turned her head slightly. Her eyes, clouded by pain, could still see his profile.
—Frost… stop… this has nothing to do with you. They already see me… as what I have always been. Not because of a farce… but because of what I am…
King Delgard clenched his fists. His voice broke.
—Do you see, Frost? Even she understands her nature. But you… you have betrayed me in the worst way. You have embraced what I swore to destroy. My own son, with a witch…
A cold wind swept the square, making the banners snap. Among so much hatred and fear, Frost's only certainty was the dying warmth he still felt at his back.
The last refuge he had left: the feeble heartbeat of Lorraine, the only truth he was willing to defend even if it cost him his life.