No one welcomed her at Fort Vireloch.
Zareena Valeska Serinova, princess by blood but burden by name, was dropped at the edge of the kingdom like unwanted freight. The carriage barely stopped long enough for her to step down. No fanfare. No escort. Just a bitter wind that stole the warmth from her bones.
She wasn't supposed to be here—not really. She was the "ghost child" of House Serinova, daughter of a scandal-shamed princess and a foreign scholar whose name had been struck from court records. Her half-siblings whispered that she was cursed. Her tutors ignored her. The Queen—her own aunt—referred to her only as "the mistake."
And now, to resolve a "delicate embarrassment," Zareena had been exiled to Vireloch—a frostbitten border fortress known more for failure than defense.
The garrison captain didn't bow. His eyes narrowed.
"You're the princess?" he muttered, as though the word tasted wrong.
She only nodded.
They gave her a cell-like room with a straw mattress and a cracked basin. No maid. No guard. No key.
That night, soldiers made bets on how many days she'd last. Some said one. A few gave her three. No one thought she'd see the first snow.
But Zareena did not cry.
She unpacked in silence, placing her worn books and chipped inkpot on the stone shelf. She listened to the wind howl and the laughter echo from the barracks. Then she knelt beside the broken floorboard—and found the beginnings of a tunnel system no one had noticed.
No one had taught her swordplay or court politics. But she knew how to watch. How to listen. How to survive.
Over the next few days, strange things began to happen:
The captain's twisted knee, long ignored, was wrapped in a perfect brace—no one saw who left it.
The kitchen fires, usually smoky and bitter, burned cleaner, and the bitter stew tasted better—though no cook had changed their recipe.
Maps appeared in the watchtower. New ones. Updated by someone with a careful hand.
No one suspected Zareena.
Not yet.
But in the far woods, a shadow moved. Scouts spotted foreign tracks—ones that hadn't been seen in a generation.
Zareena stood at the edge of the courtyard that night, wind whipping her plain cloak, eyes fixed on the treeline.
The soldier beside her sneered. "Scared, princess?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she whispered to herself, "I was sent here to vanish. But if they think I'll break, they don't know what the cold can build."