Irene rose at the crack of dawn to a sky covered by dull gray clouds and a thick veil of fog. The air was humid and cold, seeming to seep into the cracks and crevices between her bones and chilling her to the core.

She shrugged on a cloak, looking out at the landscape beyond her window. There was little to see, as the mist that hung heavy over the land hid most of the view from the eye. Everything was shrouded in monotone shades of white and gray, adding to the bleakness of the morning. The bare branches of trees stuck out black and crooked against the paleness of the morning light, like skeletal fingers that pried their way out of wintery graves.

Irene’s warm breath clouded the cold panes of the window as she surveyed the still scene before her. She found the silence peaceful, even though it was rather eerie.

Gently opening the door, Irene glanced out at the empty corridor. It was likewise hauntingly peaceful, without a soul around to disturb the weight of the silence. She stepped out into the hall softly, careful not to make a sound even though there was no one to reprimand her about the noise.

Irene quietly descended down the stairs in the dim light. The chandeliers and the torches weren’t lit yet, allowing the darkness to envelop Irene in its hold. She slowly strolled past the tall glass windows that gave clear view to the beautiful gardens that surrounded the castle. Irene stopped, captivated by the mystical shimmer of ice droplets that hung off boughs of the evergreen trees and the pearl-like pond that sat undisturbed in the middle of the small clearing.

The silent, bewitching scene seemed to call to Irene. The beauty of the landscape compelled her to walk towards the door that led to the garden, prompting her to join the garden in its silent glamour.

Irene gently pushed open the heavy glass doors, the delicate etchings on the panes glinting like melting ice in the white sunlight. The air felt cold and clear in her lungs as Irene drew in a deep breath.

The click of her shoes on the cobbled path echoed through the emptiness as Irene made her way to the pond, which was still and clear like a crystal. The garden wasn’t surrounded by walls, which meant Irene could see to the edge of the snow-covered hills if it weren’t for the heavy fog.

Irene looked down at the surface as she stopped at the edge of the pond. The water was frozen over with a thin layer of ice, causing her reflection to appear opaque and distorted. Her breath came out in small puffs of white, which quickly evaporated into the brisk air. The grass underneath her was caked with ice, cracking and crunching with her weight. Irene just closed her eyes and enjoyed the haunting peacefulness of the morning.

Suddenly, the thud of footsteps shattered the quietness that surrounded Irene. She spun around with her eyes wide, every muscle tense and every nerve alert in case of possible danger. She held her breath as she debated between heading back into the castle and alerting the guards, or go forth to investigate the noise. Another thud sounded, accompanied with the neighing of a horse and the whispers of a feminine voice.

Irene frowned as she slowly edged towards the source of the noise. Her hand slid into her robes, closing around the handle of the dagger she had forgotten to take out. She stepped with the stealth of a hunter, her soft footfalls making no noise even against the frozen grass.

She cautiously rounded the corner, eyes darting around to land on a hooded figure of a rather short stature. The figure stood next to a horse as white as the snow, much smaller than the steeds the Shateron soldiers used. Irene assumed it was one of the Cirene soldiers’ steeds.

The hooded figure gave no implication of noticing Irene, for they were focusing on securing pouches of supplies to the side of the horse. Irene used the element of surprise to her favor as she crept up behind the unknown person. In one swift movement, she slid the dagger from its sheath and pressed the blade onto the soft skin of the figure’s neck, just on the artery. Irene’s hand was firm enough to hold the person in place, but not enough to draw blood.

“Speak. Who are you, and what are you doing out on Shateron grounds at such an hour?” Irene demanded harshly, adding a bit of pressure to the blade to prompt an answer. The figure froze in her grasp, breath shortening in surprise. It took a bit more of pressure from the blade before an answer was heard.

“I could ask what you’re doing at such an early hour as well.” The voice sounded familiar in Irene’s ears, though it was heavily laced with venom. She pulled the figure’s hood back to reveal long brunette hair, braided up to avoid hassle. Irene spun the woman around roughly with the blade still pressed to , only to come face to face with Wendy. Irene’s eyes widened in surprise as she quickly let go of the dagger, only to let it fall soundlessly into the snow.

Wendy eyed Irene with anger and confusion in her eyes as she rubbed her neck. An angry red line of blood gave proof to the harsh grip Irene had used to hold Wendy in place. Irene was frozen in place, unsure of what to say. Just moments before, she had pressed a blade to Wendy’s neck, ready to cut through layers of skin, flesh, and veins if anything went awry. Thankfully, Irene had withheld her hand and Wendy spoke to break the tension, even though her tone was anything but friendly.

“I didn’t expect my wife to press a knife to my neck in the early hours of this fine morning.” Wendy coldly stated, breath coming out in short puffs of smoke. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, which meant that she had been in the garden for a considerable amount of time. Irene only eyed the drops of blood that had started to ooze slowly out of the thin string of red on Wendy’s neck. She was snapped out of her stupor when Wendy whipped around, resuming the task of organizing her supplies.

Irene remained mute, not knowing how to reply to Wendy’s icy statement. She bent down and picked up the fallen dagger, brushing the flecks of snow and the thin sheen of blood from the edge from the freezing blade. Wendy had finished preparing, taking ahold of the reins as she skillfully mounted the horse.

“Where do you plan on going?” Irene bluntly asked. She silently cursed for the tactless question. She hadn’t even apologized for yesterday’s debacle, much less the situation where she could’ve fatally wounded Wendy.

Wendy frowned, tugging on the reins as the steed balked from the weight on its back. “I’m riding a bit to clear my mind.” She replied, not revealing any more information.

Irene sheathed the dagger and slid it back into her robes before attempting to step forward towards the horse and its rider. However, a toss of the horse’s head made Irene flinch away in fear. Wendy cocked