Through Flame and Time

The sky over Snowrest City hung unusually gloomy, morning mist lingering as sentries on the city walls stood silent. Aveline stood on the main tower's high platform, gazing at the blurred mountains in the distance, her mind as alert as frost. After yesterday's secret council, General Vidal had mobilized 300 cavalry and dispatched messengers to the Northern Border for reinforcements. Yet an unease lingered in her heart.

Lucian approached, handing her a newly received secret letter: "Our men intercepted a woman near the East Gate with forged papers. She claims to be an exiled apothecary seeking service, but her hand bears the Regent's hidden mark."

"Has she been interrogated?" Aveline asked, frowning slightly.

"She remains silent, but her eyes don't feign."

After a moment's thought, Aveline ordered the woman brought to the main hall for her personal interrogation.

Moments later, the woman was escorted in—slender, with disheveled black hair, yet her eyes were cold and resolute. Looking up at Aveline, she suddenly bowed: "I am Kalia, once of the Regent's royal apothecary. I've betrayed my former lord and seek asylum."

"Why come here?" Aveline's gaze was sharp.

"For the truth." Kalia paused, then whispered: "The Regent knows The Book of Ashes survives. He sent the 'Grey Ravens' to infiltrate Snowrest, aiming to seize the book and eliminate its bearers. I was one of them."

A hubbub swept the hall.

"You're an assassin?" Lucian drew his longsword.

"Not anymore. I was—now I'm not." Her expression turned sorrowful. "My brother died under the Fire Mark; only then did I see loyalty was a ruse. If Your Highness trusts me, I'll surrender all internal defense maps."

Aveline studied her for a long moment before saying gravely: "If you lie, I'll execute you myself."

Kalia bowed her head: "May I bear the Fire Mark if I deceive."

That night, Aveline rearranged Snowrest's defense maps in her study, listing names from Kalia's intel to be checked at each outpost. Lucian led a secret scout team to search for infiltrators along the West Gate.

At midnight, he returned, face grave: "Captured three 'Grey Ravens' hiding in a bakery's cellar. They planned to poison the wells within three days."

Aveline's heart jolted; she immediately ordered all city water sources sealed for inspection, switching to deep-well water.

That night, snow and wind returned, enemy shadows drawing near.

Back in their chamber, Aveline wordlessly removed her thick robe and sat on the bed's edge. Lucian approached, embracing her from behind: "You don't have to bear this alone."

"This isn't bearing," she whispered. "It's awakening."

She turned to face him, eyes burning clear. They stared at each other—a silent declaration. He kissed her, deeper and more intense than ever, as if seeking the last warmth in the snowy night.

She shed her nightgown, responding actively. They fell onto the bed, her straddling form guiding him with slow, powerful movements. His hands cupped her waist, lips and tongue scorching every inch of her skin.

Gasps, whispers, and moans wove a symphony of fire and ice as they branded each other in the crisis-laden night, as if engraving their existence into each other's souls.

When the tide of climax swept over them, she murmured in his arms: "If Snowrest falls tomorrow, we'll counterattack with our lives."

Lucian stroked her sweat-dampened hair: "You are fate's fire and the crown's ashes."