Dawn breaks across amber and gold as I stand before the Royal Council room doors. My hands tremble slightly, and I clench them to halt their motion. Despite the early hour, the corridor buzzes with courtiers and nobles anxious to witness what many are already calling "Prince Thorne's reckoning."
Last night seemed like a fever dream: Thorne and I in King Aldric's chamber, our combined magic filling his still form. Just momentarily, the king's eyes had opened. Before returning to his magical sleep, he had murmured one word: "balance." Still, if the council listens, that moment could be sufficient.
"Ready?" Thorne stands next to me, looking royal even though he clearly is tired. Frost no longer follows his footprints; we have found that our balanced magic helps him regulate his winter power.
I nod, too scared for words. Although we have done our best, Lady Revira has had months, maybe years, to contaminate the council against him.
The great wood doors swing open, revealing the circular chamber beyond. Sitting on an elevated dais at a curving table are twelve council members. Lady Revira stands before them, magnificent in rich purple silk that makes her look almost regal. Her expression of concern appears genuine—she's had a lifetime to master such masks.
All eyes turn to us as we arrive. The whispers build like a swarm of insects before the Council Elder bangs his staff for silence.
"This emergency session will come to order," he announces. "Lady Revira has brought grave concerns regarding the magical crisis affecting our kingdom and the... leadership thereof."
Revira steps forward, her voice carrying perfectly through the chamber. "Honorable Council, I speak today not from ambition but from desperate concern for Thornwall's survival."
Her glance spans the room, resting intently on me before returning to the council. "For millennia, the royal blood has carried winter magic to defend our lands. Yet now our wards fail, our monarch lies ensorcelled, and our prince"—she turns to Thorne with rehearsed sorrow—"struggles with tainted magic that withers rather than defends."
Murmurs vibrate through the chamber. I witness council members exchange glances, some nodding in accord.
"What proof have you of this corruption?" demands Lord Kellen, one of Thorne's few consistent allies.
Revira smiles thinly. "The proof surrounds us. Unnatural winter creeps across our territories. The royal gardens—direct conduits of the crown's magic—wither and die despite five expert gardeners' attempts to resuscitate them." Her voice hardens. "Until recently, when the prince began using a village witch with suspicious powers that coincidentally appear just when we are most vulnerable."
All eyes turn to me, and heat rises to my cheeks. I've never felt more out of place in my simple green dress among their finery. "The gardens thrive under her care," Revira says, "although the blight worsens elsewhere. I recommend that Prince Thorne submit to magical testing to discover if his winter magic has actually gone corruptive—as occasionally happens in the royal line."
The last words hang in the air like a death sentence. Everyone knows the stories of the Mad Winter King, who froze his opponents' hearts three centuries ago.
Before the council can answer, Thorne comes forward. Unlike Revira's dramatic exhibition, his presence attracts attention naturally. The temperature in the room decreases slightly—not from lack of control, but deliberate demonstration.
"Council members, there is indeed a magical imbalance harming Thornwall. However, Lady Revira has distorted its nature—whether from ignorance or calculation, I leave to your judgment."
He gestures to me, and I step forward on shaking legs. "This is not some 'village witch' but a gifted earth mage who has done more to restore our wards in three weeks than anyone has managed in two years."
"An earth mage?" The Council Elder leans forward, attention aroused. "Such magic has grown rare in Thornwall."
"With reason," I respond, finding my voice at last. "I've learned in the royal records that Thornwall's original magical balance arose from the combination of winter and spring magics—the king's winter cold balanced by the queen's growing warmth. Over generations, the spring bloodline was lost, creating the imbalance we now face."
"Convenient theories," Revira interrupts. "But where is your proof? The prince's sorcery still spreads cold beyond its season."
"Because it lacks its natural counterbalance," Thorne responds. "We've begun restoring that balance. The gardens now develop fresh growth—plants that combine both winter hardiness and spring energy."
The Council Elder scratches his beard thoughtfully. "These are important allegations. What evidence can you provide?"
Thorne nods to me, and I remove a tiny pot from my purse. Inside grows one of our frost-blooms—delicate white petals bordered with crystalline ice that never melts, the center shining with golden light.
"Impossible," murmurs a councilwoman, leaning forward. "Winter and spring magics have always been opposed."
"Only because we believed they must be," I explain. "In truth, they're complementary—like day and night, each necessary for balance."
"Parlor tricks," Revira says, but I see terror in her eyes. "The prince's magic remains perverted. How else to explain King Aldric's condition? Coincidentally afflicted just when the gardens began to fail?"
"A serious accusation," the Council Elder remarks. "Do you charge the prince with harming the king?"
"I charge that his unbalanced magic harms everything around him—whether intentionally or not."
Thorne's expression remains emotionless, but I feel him strain beside me. "Last night, the king woke briefly when we channeled balanced magic into his chamber."
Gasps resonate through the room. Lord Kellen rises to his feet. "Is this true?"
"Court Mage Balthren witnessed it," Thorne affirms. "The king spoke one word—'balance'—before returning to his slumber."
"Coincidence or fabrication?" Revira counters promptly. "I demand the prince submit to magical testing by neutral mages from the Northern Territories."
"The Northern Territories are hardly neutral," says Lord Kellen. "They've long coveted our resources."
The discussion erupts among council members while Revira watches with poorly hidden satisfaction. This was her plan—sow enough uncertainty to delay action while the wards continue eroding.
I touch the frost-bloom in my hand, getting power from its inexplicable presence. Then, without planning it, I go forward.
"I offer myself for testing alongside Prince Thorne," I proclaim, quieting the chamber. "Test our magic separately and together. See for yourselves what happens when balance is restored."
Revira's eyes narrow ominously. "You have no standing to make such offers."
"She speaks with my authority," Thorne declares. "We will submit to testing on one condition—that it be conducted here, before the full council, with Court Mage Balthren supervising to ensure fair protocols."
The Council Elder looks to his colleagues, who exchange glances before nodding slowly. "Agreed. Testing will resume tomorrow at lunchtime."
"The winter solstice approaches quickly," Thorne says. "Each day the wards deteriorate further. We need not just testing but action."
"First we determine the truth of your claims," the Elder says firmly. "Council dismissed until tomorrow."
As the chamber empties, Revira passes close enough for only us to hear. "Enjoy your last day as crown prince," she murmurs to Thorne. Then, to me: "Village witches have usually met their ends in fire. Something to contemplate before tomorrow."
We see her purple silks swish away, her supporters flocking around her like moths to a flame.
"That could have gone worse," Thorne remarks dryly.
"How exactly?" I whisper.
"She demanded immediate removal. We have until tomorrow." His fingertips graze mine momentarily. "One more night to prepare."
"For a test we don't know how to pass," I remind him.
"No," he agrees, silver eyes meeting mine. "But we know that collectively, we create something new. Something she definitely fears."
As we exit the council chamber, I cradle the frost-bloom tenderly. One final night to either salvage Thornwall's future—or destroy our own.