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Chapter Text

Queen Glacier sat serenely upon her balcony. Her suite located upon the highest tower of the IceWing Palace, she had a grand view seemingly of all of the IceWing Kingdom. Immediately before her she saw the palace and a sizable amount of the aristocrats who lived within flying to and fro and they completed their personal errands to keep their place or rise higher in the ranks. Beyond the courtyard were the dwellings of the dragons ranked in the Third Circle and lower, the dwellings fanning out in a spiraling star-like pattern from the palace. After that, however, lay the barren, white, glittering lands of the kingdom. The mid-afternoon sun beamed down upon the icy architecture with grace and poise amongst a rare crisp, clear sky. As if pleased, the palace and the dwellings shone with all manners of silver and blue, the colors pure and befitting of the royal and aristocratic blood that lived within its smooth halls.

Beautiful though it may be, Queen Glacier’s eyes registered none of it.

Is this the right decision? Can I even do this?

A blizzard of confusion and frustration whirled with relentless fury within her head, and Queen Glacier once more remembered how she laid upon what she believed was her deathbed, how she struggled for every breath and how she often wondered if she was even going to last that hour. Her daughters had been there: little Mink sobbing while Snowfall and Crystal fretted nearby. That day she’d been convinced she was going to die, and so she appointed Snowfall, her second daughter, to succeed her. Only hours later Snowfall had returned with the magical cure to the plague that had been afflicting the whole tribe, and she’d told her that the plague, too, had been magical in nature.

Enraged, the tribe had gone to war, engaging the NightWing tribe tooth and claw, fire and ice, over Jade Mountain. But the war had ended only moments later after strange storm—the IceWings heard the fearful thoughts of the NightWings, about how they fought because they were scared, because they wanted to secure a future for their dragonets.

The IceWings had fought for that, too.

And then they were home.

And now, a week later, Queen Glacier had sent a messenger after her daughter.

Will the court even allow this? Shouldn’t they? Isn’t it better for me to have a set heir than to wait for one of my nieces to challenge me?

Her head hurt. It almost always did. She distracted herself with all the pros and cons of this choice, as she had for perhaps the thousandth time this week, making sure to intricately review the information that could so easily be forgotten in the excitement.

I’ve read though the laws time and time again, and more so this week, she thought to herself. There’s nothing stopping me from doing this, not even if you twist the spirit of the laws. No, the only thing stopping this from happening will be the IceWings who have royal daughters, those who’ll say I’m destroying tradition because of nepotism, and because their daughters will no longer have a direct claim to the throne.

The doors to her chamber opened. “Your Majesty, you called for me?”

Let them whine. “Princess Snowfall,” Queen Glacier called. “Come to the balcony.”

Claws clicked on enchanted ice, aiming for the open space beside Queen Glacier’s right wing. Snowfall sat down, and neither spoke for a short while.

A breath in, a breath out. “Princess Snowfall,” the queen began, and the young princess snapped to attention. “Only a week ago I believed I was on my deathbed. There I named you my successor should I have died. I intend to keep that promise, but I do not wish to fight for it.” Queen Glacier turned to face her daughter, and Snowfall did the same, staring up at her mother with wide eyes. “Princess Snowfall, I desire to name you Crown Princess of the IceWings, chosen heir to the IceWing Throne. But before I hear your answer, there are expectations I shall have of you, and things I must warn you about. Is that agreed?”

“Yes!” Her answer was too quick, too loud, but Queen Glacier neither minded nor cared. Princess Snowfall did, however, as she cleared her throat and attempted to regain any dignity she thought she’d lost. Still, her eyes were shining. “Yes, Your Majesty. I agree.”

The queen smiled, a smile filled with pride and joy. Snowfall smiled back. “Good.” Queen Glacier took on a regal air. “The first is thus: As Crown Princess, you would be second-in-command of the entire tribe, second only to me. You would answer to me alone, but all others would answer to the both of us, even Tundra.”

When Queen Glacier left the tribe for diplomatic reasons or for war patrols, she’d often appoint her late brother, Prince Narwhal, and his wife, Tundra, to look over the tribe in her absence. Firm believers in the codes of IceWing behaviors, they had ensured no one deviated from their ranks, and those who did were swiftly punished. When she returned to the tribe, they gave her a full accounting of all events that happened in her absence. But while part of the royal family, Prince Narwhal had had no claim to the throne, and his daughter Princess Icicle was in the dungeon, currently awaiting trial for willfully taking orders from a rival queen. Tundra also had no claim to the throne, related to the family only by marriage, but Queen Glacier knew the fierce IceWing would throw down the challenge herself the moment the law concerning hereditary monarchy were to expand to include sisters-by-marriage.

She continued: “I would entrust you with tribal matters of varying importance. As you progress I will give to you matters of greater concern until the day comes when I can step back for a time and entrust the tribe to you. There will be days I shall send you in my stead to negotiate with the other queens. Likewise, should such an event happen, if an IceWing were to go rogue and leave the tribe, I may send you to retrieve them for trial and judgment. All the while I will teach you to rule, and we will lead the tribe together until I step down and give you the throne or—the Great Ice Dragon forbid—I die before my time. Are these responsibilities understood?”

Princess Snowfall nodded resolutely. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Queen Glacier nodded as well. Absently, she cast her attention to the sparkling world beyond and took in a slow, deep breath. “Now, there will be those who disapprove of your elevation to Crown Princess. I predict the main voices will be Prince Permafrost and his wife Frostine, their daughter Princess Ursa, and possibly Prince Rudolph, who is set to marry Holly of the Second Circle next spring; and Tundra, if only for the deviance from tradition. As respected members of the tribe, they will have many supporters.” She faced her daughter again, eyes narrowed with the seriousness of the discussion. “You must be prepared to defend yourself against them. As for those who will approve, I personally know a select few who will genuinely support you, but there are those who will see you as a target to influence me, or even to influence you when I leave the tribe in your talons.

“Now, I must stress to you the importance of trusted associates and close friends. Being queen is a lonely, frustrating, stressful job, Snowfall. You will wade though many promises of friendship before you come across IceWings who see you as Snowfall, not as Crown Princess. Keep them close; they’ll tell you, sometimes bluntly, that you need to go for a peaceful flight.”

“Will I be in an arranged marriage, Your Majesty?” Snowfall asked after a slight pause, almost succeeding in hiding her apprehension.

“Will”? So she wants this, perhaps as much as I do. A corner of the queen’s lip tipped upwards in a wry smile, brows arched. “I leave that up to you. However, I will have the power to deny your choice, so choose carefully.”

Snowfall dipped her head.

“I have told you everything. Now you must decide. I will not force this choice upon you, Snowfall, but since I chose you as my successor, I am honor-bound as queen, and as your mother, to see if you still want the throne.”

Then she turned back to the landscape.

The princess faced the land as well, but from the corner of Glacier’s eyes she saw the thoughtful expression upon the dragonet’s snout.

If she says yes, which I believe she will, then we must start today. That way I can announce her new status to the aristocrats I am to meet, and they can spread the word. By the time I gather the Court to meet, perhaps next week, they will already have a grasp on the topic of discussion—and Snowfall will see who her potential allies and enemies will be.

And if she says no, so be it. I will still find ways to guide her.

What can I entrust to her? She is young and still needs to mature—she needs something that will not damage her standing in the tribe. Perhaps she should join me in discussing the rankings most nights? Or perhaps I should quiz her on her knowledge of the laws, and how she would react to imaginary trials? Or mayb—

“I’ll do it,” Snowfall said, and when he mother redirected her attention back to her, the princess reaffirmed, “I’ll be the Crown Princess of the tribe.”

Pride wove intricate lines of frost around the queen’s heart, but she asked, “And with the title, do you accept the responsibilities that come with it?”

The princess squared her shoulders and set her wings. “I do.”

Queen Glacier stood and turned towards her room, stretching out a wing towards Snowfall, who immediately took her place at her mother’s side. “Then, Crown Princess Snowfall, we start now.” She did not miss how her daughter stood a little taller, how her chest swelled and how pride brightened her eyes. “I have an appointment with Mistral in the healer’s chamber concerning herbs and other medicines,” the queen continued, leading her daughter towards the entrance of her room so as to enter into the icy halls of the palace. “Healing our tribe after the war and the plague has depleted most of the stores, and Mistral wants to ensure a trading party is assembled for the next market…”

Chapter Text

Mother sat to her left, and Snowfall sat to her right. To sit at the queen’s right wing was a position of immense honor, a statement of prestige, rights only the best of the best had. These rights once belonged to Prince Narwhal, Queen Glacier’s brother and former second-in-command of the tribe, until the day of his death. These rights then passed over to his wife Tundra, raised into the First Circle due to his sacrificial heroism in the final war of Ice and Night. But now and forevermore, these rights now belonged to Crown Princess Snowfall, and to all the Crown Princesses after her.

The crown princess cast her gaze to her right. Tundra sat there, and then Prince Permafrost, and then General Moose, Frozen Lake and Ullr, Thundersnow, and Himalaya, all arrayed in a half-circle as the moderately-sized and private room demanded. To Snowfall’s left, past Mother, sat Snjokorn, Prince Hailstorm, Northwind and his daughter Mistral, and about fourteen other frozen faces that Crown Princess Snowfall really could not afford to offend.

Court, for the IceWings, was a public but scheduled affair. There the queen or her chosen temporary monarch would stand upon an intricate frozen platform and announce to all the adult First and Second Circle dragons any and all important news. Lesser news or news of accomplishments or shame which involved changing the rankings, were held in the rankings court.

This was not Court. These aristocrats weren’t the riffraff found slinking to and fro through the palace grounds, scheming the next trial for their dragonets to rise in the rankings and gain more influence. These IceWings were the best of the best, the greatest of the greatest, recognized and talonpicked by Queen Glacier herself to join her in these weekly meetings. It was in this room news which altered the tribe’s future was discussed, and it was in this room monumental changes to the tribe’s traditions were chiseled out and arranged.

This was High Court. Small, private, and filled only with the queen’s personal advisors and the heads of the most important palace affairs. The queen may have the power, but the IceWings of High Court have the connections.

“Good morning,” said Queen Glacier, her voice cutting through the slight murmurings. “We have started earlier than normal and that is to introduce to you my daughter, Snowfall, who is now the Crown Princess of the IceWings, heir apparent to the throne.”

The previous night, and then early in the morning, Snowfall had vigorously scrubbed herself with the snow collected on her balcony. Her scales felt as though she rubbed them raw, and perhaps she did, but if she was glittering even half as much as she thought she was, it was all worth it. After all, the crown princess and future queen of the tribe had to look her best no matter what, no matter the pain she’d have to deal with.

Prince Permafrost’s ruff flared. “I had hoped those palace whispers were just fanciful murmurings,” he hissed, frosty clouds swirling about his snout. “Glacier! You’re going to throw away centuries of tradition for nepotism?” Permafrost was among the very few IceWings who could get away with calling the queen only by her name. It helped, Snowfall was sure, that the loudmouth prince was Glacier’s second brother.

Tundra, however, could never let herself fall to such informalities. “I must agree with Prince Permafrost, Your Majesty,” she said near-tonelessly, her voice betraying just the slightest hint of anger. “The announcement of a crown princess will demoralize the current princesses.”

Snowfall tried so hard not to side eye her aunt. Princess Icicle, Tundra’s only daughter and Snowfall’s cousin, didn’t have to worry about demoralization. Her own actions this past month had shed enough dishonor upon her family to last them another generation, and then some. Yet, like all eligible princesses, Icicle had been carefully and brutally primed to challenge and kill Queen Glacier and to take the throne for herself. Assuming the princess hadn’t made a complete fool of herself lately, perhaps Snowfall could imagine her cousin terribly demoralized.

“An understatement, truly,” said Frozen Lake, Tundra’s most ardent supporter and only slightly less snooty. The purplish IceWing was the supervisor of all the palace servants and ran reports for the monthly activities of the palace. “This, I fear, will cause a collapse amongst the royal family. What’s to stop the princesses from challenging the crown princess for her title and prestige? Will there be a period of waiting like with newly established queens before a challenge can be made?”

The queen tilted her head upwards as though in thought. “The War of SandWing Succession and the plague have caused me to think about the future of our tribe should I die without announcing a successor. This title of ‘crown princess’ will assure the tribe of this successor. The Great Ice Dragon forbid, should something happen to me tonight, the tribe will not fracture between the five eligible princesses but will instead look to the crown princess for leadership. Therefore, the title is permanent, and I shall not recognize any challenges made for Crown Princess Snowfall’s position.”

There was a slight muttering in the room, most against Snowfall’s new royal title and others approving. Snowfall steeled herself against the calculating stares and willed her eyes to not water at the thought of losing her mother for real and for good.

“I agree with Her Majesty the Queen.” All eyes turned to Snjokorn, the eldest and largest IceWing in the room. His voice cut through the murmurings like serrated claws through scales, and even Queen Glacier and Aunt Tundra seemed to sit a little taller. “And, if I may add, Your Majesty, we must not forget the brutal civil war of the MudWings centuries ago. Considering their…monthly breeding nights and presumably tangled family lines, when Queen Boar and her siblings were assassinated, the tribe turned upon itself until the illegitimate Queen Iguana set herself upon the throne through brute force and ruthless strategy. Imagine, then, what our great tribe would have done with six princesses, four of whom are eligible, and no set claim to the throne?”

Snowfall thought she saw her aunt’s body tense. “The princesses are highly trained in battle and manipulation. Are you suggesting they would’ve torn the tribe apart?” Her voice, though never wavering and just as controlled as normal, became a multitude of icy daggers sharpened and thrown with deadly precision. Lesser aristocrats trembled under that voice, and even Snowfall herself—though she was certainly not admitting to this—felt tremors in her wings when her aunt spoke with such contained fury.

Snjokorn, so old that he had seen and tutored the IceWings of High Court when they were prancing dragonets, met her stare with all the indifferent calm of a lake on a clear, windless day. “You said it yourself, child. Would they turn the tribe against itself if it meant the throne?”

Would I have, if it meant power and control? Snowfall had always wanted the crown since the day she learned that the IceWing crown was hers if only she could get it. But that knowledge was immediately soured by the fact that her mother would have to die for it. She, Mink, Crystal, Icicle, Ursa, Polaris—they all had legal claims to the throne as eligible royal princesses, but only one would be queen while the others would die in the ritual challenge or would’ve waited too long to stake their claim and their lives.

It wasn’t hard to imagine Icicle and Ursa tearing the aristocracy apart for the throne. Manipulative and brutally trained, just as Tundra and Frostine had raised them. It was just as easy to imagine the princesses standing victoriously atop a mountain of dead IceWings, pristine and glittering, wearing the prestigious metal crown upon their heads. Polaris only kept up interest in the throne to appease her parents, but Snowfall knew her cousin held more interest in art and mainland trading. Mink was far too young, far too innocent and loveable—she’d be destroyed, and that realization made Snowfall’s heart ache. Crystal ran off the day after she’d been healed, the day Queen Glacier had declared Snowfall the next queen, and she hadn’t even returned after the war to check up on her family. And as for Snowfall, she knew in her spirit she’d sooner tear off her own wings than let the tribe fall to the SandWings’ foolishness.

But I don’t need to fight. Not anymore. Mother CHOSE me, and the crown WILL BE MINE.

The air ran thick and fragile at the same time, the slightest movement threatening chaotic upheaval. Eyes flicked to and fro between the two high-level aristocrats, curious, indifferent, amused. No one dared speak. Mother remained still in her appointed basin, content for one to make the next move.

Then Tundra did something to shatter the icy tension: she dipped her head in respectful defeat. “You twist my words, Snjokorn,” she said, likely to save face.

He acknowledged her yield with a blink. “Then speak plain.”

“Considering Crown Princess Snowfall’s new title,” said Northwind, the head of the healers, indifferent to the civil war that had just happened, “and her standing as our next queen, do those who disapprove of this situation think the princesses will go out of their way to sabotage her? It needn’t be blatant; perhaps a challenge to survive the next blizzard while the others attack her in turns, or a challenge to get lost on our border islands and find her way back to the palace.” Northwind turned to face Mother, whose expression betrayed nothing. “What rules will be set in place or emphasized to avoid sudden changes in behavior?”

Said the queen, “The standard methods of aristocratic interaction are allowed. Acts of sabotage, the likes of which you have mentioned and any other similar plot, I will consider treason, and I shall deal with the offenders as our laws demand.”

Gasps and mutterings sounded in the room, and even Snowfall succumbed to such un-aristocratic weakness. But that means—

Prince Permafrost’s wings snapped open as he rushed to his talons. “You would execute our daughters if you think a trial goes too far?”

Queen Glacier glared at her brother, wings held in a gesture both dangerous and calming; it was only because she was merciful and lenient, and because she loved her brother, that the loudmouth prince hadn’t been executed or exiled years ago. Had Snowfall been queen—or Tundra or Icicle or Frostine—his name would’ve been a distant memory. “You are out of bounds, Prince Permafrost,” she hissed in a low, unwavering voice which cut through the air. “Be calm, or see yourself demoted.” Though her threat was aimed at her younger brother, the rest of the muttering aristocrats shaped up in a heartbeat.

The silver IceWing closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and settled back into his basin. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said in a measured tone. “I…feared for the futures of our princesses.”

“You are forgiven.” Mother took a moment to collect herself. “Should any princess, or any other aristocrat or foreign dragon, attempt to sabotage the Crown Princess, I will view the action as treason for the IceWing, and as a direct attempt to sabotage the tribe for the IceWing or for the foreign dragon. Such is the reason for execution.”

There were understanding and approving nods from the great aristocrats on both sides.

“Are there any more concerns regarding the new title or regarding my daughter’s elevation?”

“What shall become of the other princesses?” inquired one of the fourteen IceWings, a sleek, deep gray dragoness whose name was Airgiod. “Will they be demoted now that the throne is closed to them? Will the tribe even need princesses now that successors are chosen?”

Snowfall did not miss how her aunt bristled—muscles tensed under pale scales and her ruff twitched. It was the most blatant display of emotion the disciplined IceWing had ever shown, akin to an aurora bursting to life in the night. And then, as nearly as fast as a blink, Tundra returned to her indifferent visage. Beside her Prince Permafrost had puffed up, ready to protest against the response.

“They are still princesses. They will merely have no claim to the throne. Any other concerns?”

“Forgive the nature of this question, Your Majesty, Crown Princess,” said another one of those frozen faces, an elder diplomat around Snjokorn’s size whose name was Sneachda, “but when Crown Princess Snowfall has dragonets of her own, assuming she has become Queen by then, will all Crown Princesses be chosen from her line?”

A shiver of thrill shot down Snowfall’s spine. All Crown Princesses and Queens—all her descendents! But that thrill was immediately overpowered by apprehension; she’d have First and Second Circle nobles urging their sons to capture her attention, to court her, the nobles asking Mother for her and their son to be married, because what was better than having your son marry the Crown Princess who will be Queen?

Mother’s voice cut through her terrible musings. “All future Crown Princesses will be of royal blood. As with the old ways, the Crown Princess will be a daughter, niece, or sister of the current Queen.”

The IceWings of High Court seemed satisfied. Eyes studied Snowfall as though she were a choice moose…eyes which Snowfall knew were old enough to have grandsons and even great-grandsons around her age.

Note to self: Be wary of sudden suitors… And choose a husband from OUTSIDE the ranks—

What.

WHY WOULD I—

“How shall the Crown Princess be addressed from here on out?” came the voice of Snjokorn, his eyes wrinkled with mirth and a smile chipping away at his indifferent face.

“I think,” Queen Glacier responded with a hint of amusement, glancing down at her daughter, “we should let her decide.”

Snowfall assumed a noble and nonchalant pose. No pressure, of course, because I now have the whole of High Court now paying full attention to me. Yup. No pressure at all—ARGH. THINK, SNOWFALL. “I think,” she said, her voice quite calm and measured, “I shall prefer the honorifics ‘Your Highness’ and ‘Her Highness,’ and I want all Crown Princesses after me to be referred to as such.” Was that too sappy? Was that a RainWing thought? No, obviously not, beca—

Her mother nodded and the other aristocrats seemed pleased or mildly approving. “And so it shall be.”

Then Thundersnow, the aristocrat who led the kitchen staff, spoke. “As a new queen does, will Crown Princess Snowfall be expected to tour the continent and announce her new position to the other tribes?”

“Yes. The trip is scheduled for the next two-moon.”

Snowfall and her mother had had that conversation the previous night. Mother had wanted the tribes to have a familiarity with the next IceWing queen rather than “poke and prod and posture with one another to see what they can get away with.” Likewise, as previously established, the Crown Princess may be sent in the Queen’s stead to engage in politics and diplomatic meetings with other Queens. The political and inter-tribal implications of the Crown Princess’s title were immense, and that alone justified the need for the other tribes to learn of the Crown Princess’s existence.

Inquired one of the aristocrats to Mother’s left, an artisan whose name was Frigid Breeze, “How shall the Crown Princess fare in the rankings? Will her name be set in its own place or will she have to earn her rank like everyone else?”

“Crown Princess Snowfall was already in first place before her rise in title. I imagine that shall remain the same.”

It will, Mother.

There was a pause during which mother and daughter eyed the congregation. No more questions came, the aristocrats either satisfied or patiently awaiting the appointments that were arranged by the Queen in the previous days.

“If that is all,” said the Queen, “then I call this meeting to open. If you have any concerns regarding the tribe and the aristocracy this past week, then this is your time to speak…”

Chapter Text

The disgraced twin dragonets of Tundra and the late Prince Narwhal were still within the halls of the palace. Snowfall knew that Princess Icicle had lain within the depths of the frozen dungeon since the day of the Diamond Trial, but as for Prince Winter, she wasn’t sure what had become of him after the whole of the tribe had been magic’d back to the kingdom. Either he was ashamed and kept to the blue shadows of the palace or he and Snowfall simply were never in the same part of the palace at the same time.

In a chamber illuminated by snow globes mounted into rectangular alcoves in the walls and by refracted sunlight beaming through the heights of the palace, Snowfall sat to her mother’s right, a spectator to her disgraced cousin’s fate. Mother and daughter sat amongst the Council: fourteen elder IceWings of extremely high rank, all educated in matters of law and history. Their knowledge was the Queen’s at her behest, and they were the jury who will soon seal the fate of the accused.

By IceWing tradition, only the Queen and the Council had a say in court of law, and only IceWings who dedicated their studies to law and history, with intertribal diplomacy as an elective, were to advise the Queen, although Snowfall understood she now had a place in the Council. Shifting her gaze left and right, Snowfall recognized Snjokorn and the similarly-aged Sneachda, along with one other IceWing who was a member of High Court. Gone was Snjokorn’s blatant support and gone was Sneachda’s distant approval; they and the whole of the Council loomed over Princess Icicle from their high perch like a pack of starved wolves ready to tear tooth and claw into the silver-gray dragonet.

Crown Princess Snowfall studied her cousin. The last time she’d seen her, Princess Icicle had been sleek and fit and glittering, bored with the whole of the world as she’d been getting ready to fly out to Jade Mountain Academy. But now? Now she looked like she’d been running from nightmares. Skin hung underneath tired eyes, she was too thin, her stance was just a sliver away from perfect, and along her right side were claw marks and strange patches of discoloration. And…was she trembling?

A fifteenth member of the Council, Laden, a turquoise-tinted diplomat, stood at her side as her only support. Three days ago, he’d been assigned to Princess Icicle to learn her story inside and out, to ask the questions he knew the Council would ask and have answers at the ready. Really, and legally, he was Mother’s one and only act of mercy; he was there to salvage any dignity and honor the dragonet had left, a lifeline to whatever ghost of hope she had of ever returning to a normal life.

Now he was wrapping up a heroic version of Princess Icicle’s disgraceful actions to the Council. The dreary-faced aristocrat tipped up his snout, his half-lidded eyes and high brows giving him the haughtiest expression Snowfall had ever seen on an elder aristocrat. “As you can see, Your Majesty,” he finally concluded after what might have actually been a few hours, “Princess Icicle acted in the best interests of Prince Hailstorm, her elder brother and the firstborn of Tundra and the late Prince Narwhal. She had gone two years without hearing from him, and when ex-Queen Scarlet revealed she knew of Prince Hailstorm’s location, Princess Icicle leapt upon the opportunity to return such a highly-ranked member to the tribe.”

Queen Glacier was unmoved, a perfect image of Aunt Tundra: emotionless, direct, unwavering. “Why did you not send me a letter through the bi-weekly couriers?”

“Princess Icicle feared the response may take too long due to the travel times of the couriers, and she feared that a battalion may alert ex-Queen Scarlet, who might’ve killed Prince Hailstorm in retaliation.”

“Why not tell the Dragonets of Destiny so they could send me a letter?”

“Princess Icicle did not trust the Dragonets of Destiny to act appropriately and promptly. Likewise, ex-Queen Scarlet had wanted them dead as a condition to Prince Hailstorm’s return.”

Snowfall listened to the back-and-forth volley of question and answer, listened to her mother’s strict voice and the careful enunciation of Laden’s creaky voice. She couldn’t slouch, couldn’t sigh, couldn’t give any indication that it was all getting boring, because she was the Crown Princess and such things were unbecoming of her. But as Laden of the First Circle continued to defend Princess Icicle, Snowfall began to think. Would she fly to and fro across Pyrrhia to save her sister? Surely not! Crystal was capable, if a little ditzy and distracted—and certainly not captured by a rival queen despite being out and gallivanting about the continent at this very moment—and Mink was protected by the finest sitters and tutors Mother could find. Yup. So Crown Princess Snowfall definitely would not have fallen to her cousin’s desperate stupidity.

“The floor is open to the Council to interrogate the accused,” Mother announced after a time, and Snowfall tuned back in. That was just the formal way of saying Mother ran out of questions and now wanted the Council to tear into Princess Icicle’s story from all possible angles. Every question was a wolf’s fang piercing the rabbit’s flesh, every answer the rabbit’s blood, and Icicle’s silvery scales began to pale.

Inquired Sneachda, her voice steady and strong despite her age, “Earlier it was stated you feared the tribal response would be too slow. Was not your brother, Prince Winter, there at the Academy with you? Why did you not have him come to the palace whilst you sought to save Prince Hailstorm? No doubt you are aware he felt personally responsible for the imprisonment of your elder brother by the SkyWing princess.”

And the guts were spilled. Laden drew back slightly. He blinked, glanced at Princess Icicle, narrowed his eyes at her as though he was thinking and was terribly confused at the exact same time, and then returned his gaze to the Council. “Princess Icicle did not and…does not have the best relationship with her brother Prince Winter. She…feared he would slow her down.”

“Help is help, regardless,” snarled another of the Council, a snow white IceWing with snow-shadow-blue mottles on his scales like a lynx. He leaned forward in his basin as though he actually intended to leap from his perch and attack the princess. “Perhaps Prince Winter could have sent the palace a letter detailing the situation as well as informing the queen of your next move.”

Laden opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again to say, “Princess Icicle has no response.”

Mother flared her wings and all went silent and still. It was a terrible silence, one that announced the queen piecing together her final verdict over the life of the accused. “I have heard enough, and I believe all angles of interrogation have been exhausted. Before I sentence you, Princess Icicle, know this: Prince Hailstorm has been returned to us safely by Prince Winter. Even though you failed, your goal was ultimately achieved.”

At first, Icicle relaxed, but when she heard it was Prince Winter who had finished her quest, the princess’s sides swelled sharply.

How terrible! The brother she loved saved by the brother she hated—and done on HER OWN QUEST, no less! Moons above, your story is a comedic tragedy, isn’t it?

Then Queen Glacier stood, an action which shattered the stony tension in the room. “Princess Icicle, you are found guilty of acting out of accordance to the IceWing codes of behavior, and you are found guilty of allying yourself to a rival queen who opposed our tribe in the War of SandWing Succession. Although the Council understands you acted out of love for Prince Hailstorm, your actions are inexcusable both as a representative of the tribe and as a princess.”

Princess Icicle’s expression melted more and more with every word Mother spoke. For the first time in her life, Snowfall saw something she’d never even though her cousin, the beloved daughter of Tundra and Prince Narwhal, was capable of feeling.

Horror.

“Effective now, you are permanently demoted to the very bottom of the Seventh Circle, and your title as princess is now permanently annulled alongside all the corresponding privileges. As the Queen has said, so it shall be.”

Four things happened at once.

Icicle lurched forward as though she’d been struck at the back of her head, falling into a shaking bow, her snout just a claw’s length from cracking the floor.

Laden lowered himself into a more dignified pose, acknowledging Queen Glacier’s judgment and understanding his efforts had been futile.

A chorus of voices filled the council chambers, speaking in perfect, haunting unison, approving Queen Glacier’s judgment and setting Icicle’s fate into the hallowed halls of the palace. “As the Queen has said, so shall it be.”

And Crown Princess Snowfall stiffened in her basin, the chill she was so familiar with now cutting off her air supply and threatening to reach straight into her soul. I didn’t think—she—my—

Mother leaned forward as the mottled Councildragon had done, wings flared, and speaking a little louder so that her voice echoed throughout the chamber with frigid authority. “Go now, Ex-Princess Icicle of the Seventh Circle, and leave the palace for the outposts to the far north and remain there until the end of your days or unless called upon by the palace. If I see you still here by the end of the hour, even by the end of the day, I will execute you.”

The rabbit had been torn to shreds. Ex-Princess Icicle’s trembling was now terribly, painfully obvious. Her jaws parted to raggedly suck in air, and her eyes were so wide a ring of white offset the deep arctic blue of her pupils. “Y-y-yes, Y-your Maj-jesty.” In a silver blur she was gone. It took all of two seconds for her frantic claws to fade to nothing.

Snowfall stared at the door as Laden stood up and sat, seeming to forget he just witnessed the social execution of one the most promising members of the royal family.

She TOOK HER TITLE.

What if she TAKES MINE TOO?

Snowfall furrowed her brow. No. Mother GAVE it to me because she made a promise. She was HONOR-BOUND to give it to me. Besides, Icicle acted poorly and brought dishonor upon the royal family. She DESERVED it.

“The Council will take a recess of one hour before we begin the next item on the schedule.”

Mother stalked through the halls leading to the Council’s traditional chambers. She prowled at a slow and steady pace, pausing at every intersection to peer down the corridors for a flash of gray scales or for a small, warped shadow.

Snowfall lagged just behind her mother’s stiff, swaying tail, hoping, dearly hoping, she would not bear witness to her cousin’s death.

She’d seen her mother in action before. She knew Queen Glacier was a brutal and terrible force in battle. She’d heard how, one day, to protect Princess Blaze of the SandWings, Mother had torn off the wings of a SkyWing assassin while he screamed.

If Queen Glacier saw the exiled dragonet, Icicle would be nothing more than a bloody mess for the servants to clean up—or maybe Queen Glacier might just snap her neck and throw her into the North Sea as a final honor?

Will this be me one day?

Will my nieces and daughters one day live in terror that I might execute them however I want?

Could I do it?

Mother moved with purpose. Her claws seemed louder than normal on the blue-marbled ice. In the light of the approaching entrance hall—which opened to the sky and the palace beyond—her scales gleamed like polar bear fur.

We’re going to search the skies. To see if Icicle is still around. To…to kill her if she is.

Outside, two mid-Second Circle guards were posted on the balcony. They stood at attention as Snowfall and Mother emerged from the cool of the tower.

“Where did she go?”

Snowfall shivered at Queen Glacier’s tone.

Said the IceWing to their left, a dragoness with faint lynx-like rosettes on her every scale, “She went north, Your Majesty, Your Highness.”

Mother flared her wings and was gone that second.

Snowfall pushed off. She pumped hard to keep up with Queen Glacier’s gliding speed. Blasts of cold air from Mother’s wake tickled her snout and thrummed against her wings. The crown princess set her jaw and clenched her talons as she strove to keep pace. Her world revolved slowly to the west, a few icy towers and bridges centering themselves in her view, as she tailed her mother to a thick pillar.

Aunt Tundra’s going to be SO MAD when she hears this. Icicle was probably the only dragonet she may have actually liked. And Mother took her title and banished her and MIGHT ACTUALLY EXECUTE HER. Queen Glacier angled her body towards an intricate balcony and the silvery crown princess tilted her wings after her.

What if she has it out for us?

What if she turns the aristocracy AGAINST US?

By the time the crown princess landed beside her mother on the balcony, Glacier had already adopted a rigid posture overlooking the sea. Turning her gaze northwards, Snowfall’s eyes latched onto a star already miles away, sliding into the distance.

“So…that’s it.” Snowfall shuffled her wings and repositioned her tail but nothing felt right. “She’s gone.”

Mother was as still as a sculpture. “She is. How do you feel about that?”

“You…” Snowfall’s lower lip trembled and she snapped her mouth closed, pulling her snout taunt until the trembling ceased. When she spoke again her voice was stronger. “You took everything she was. Made her lower than the lowest dragon.” She tiled her gaze up to her mother to gauge her reaction but saw nothing. “She would have preferred death.”

Mother shifted her gaze to the crown princess, repositioning herself slightly. “Death would have given her honor. She would have died a princess.” She faced the sea again. “To take that away and banish her hurt her more than even the most brutal execution.”

It was silent for a time. Snow dust swirled in the air, stolen from their perches by the wind. Birds called and dragons flew. When Queen Glacier spoke again, the star was now faint on the horizon, nearing the line where sea met sky. “What worries you, Snowfall?”

The name slipped out, spoken as one would speak of a malevolent spirit. “Tundra.” Words tumbled from her snout, her mouth and fears working in tandem and trampling common sense to slurry. “Icicle was her life! Her key to the throne! And we GOT RID OF HER. What if she turns the aristocrats against us? What if it’s civil war? What if—”

“Let me deal with her.” Mother’s voice was hard and sharp and it took Snowfall a heart-stuttering second to realize the anger was not directed at her. “The Council heard my verdict and agreed. Tundra and High Court itself have no choice but to submit. If Tundra troubles you, she will be executed.”

It was Prince Winter’s turn, now.

The twice-disgraced son of Tundra stood before the Council to explain why he didn’t die during the Diamond Trial like he was supposed to, and then he had to explain where he’d been up to until the day of the final battle.

Since this wasn’t really a trial, Mother allowed Prince Winter to speak his piece with no Councildragon overseeing his account. After he finished, the Council questioned him as she sat back and watched. The knowledgeable IceWings were gentler with her cousin than they were with his sister as though he was a fluffy baby seal being herded back to its chewed-out ice hole.

“You believe the NightWing,” inquired a twilight-purple IceWing, “when she claimed to be Foeslayer, the mother of the dreaded Darkstalker?”

“I do.” Unlike his sister, Prince Winter stood tall and confidently answered the questions thrown at him. He was shiny and immaculate despite having ran around the continent chasing the wayward ex-royal. “She told me she didn’t steal Prince Arctic all those centuries ago, but that they fell in love, and that he left his kingdom for her. And she knew where the Lost City of Night was, like Darkstalker did, although the NightWings abandoned their city thousands of years ago.”

Snjokorn hissed. When Snowfall discreetly leaned forward to view him, his wrinkled face was a disturbing mix of horror and pity. “So she’s been down there for two thousand years to be murdered repeatedly? Every Diamond Trial”—he tensed—“was an execution!”

“This throws everything Queen Diamond did into question,” said another of the Councildragons, her expression worried. “She was an animus, and she went insane from overuse. What else has she enchanted?”

Mother flared her wings and all went silent. “That is a discussion for later.” Her firm yet gentle voice cut through the frightful air of the council chambers. “Any other questions for Prince Winter?”

There was an uncomfortable pause, and then, “When Darkstalker enchanted you, what did it feel like? And how did it affect your mind?” The IceWing who spoke was burly and appeared more suited to work as a Captain or General. His scales were the pale colors of an early cloudy morning—gold, pink, blue, and orange—each scale one color and arranged in a meaningless pattern throughout his body. Snowfall found his scales obnoxious.

Prince Winter’s brow furrowed. “It was…it was like a weird shadow in my mind. I disliked him, and then I suddenly trusted his every word. I simply couldn’t imagine that he was ever a terrible person. When Qibli gave me the enchanted earring, all that trust melted away and I was myself again, and I knew that I’d been enchanted to like him.”

After a slight pause, another Councildragon asked, “Could you tell us more about the former NightWing island?”

So he did. It was a place of liquid fire and black stone and ash and death, and for two thousand years, apparently, the NightWing tribe had managed to call it home. They didn’t like it, clearly, because Winter stated they were living it up in the rainforest. It sounds filthy, Snowfall thought. They must’ve been fighting for scraps every day.

The next question was about the SkyWing firescales, whose name, appropriately, was Peril. SkyWings, Mother had told her, were viciously purist, so much so that the animus gene in the red-scaled tribe had gone utterly extinct, and that firescales had not been reported in the tribe in centuries. But somehow ex-Queen Scarlet had managed to find one. In one of her new Crown Princess studies, reading of a time when Mother was still a princess, she’d read about IceWings who were allowed to visit the SkyWing Kingdom to participate in the ridiculous vanity contests Queen Firestorm of the SkyWings made, about how they doubled as spies and scouts, about how often they reported cliffs where the vultures frequented…

Snowfall blinked back into reality, resetting her aristocratic mask of bored neutrality. I let my thoughts wander. Did he see? Her eyes flicked to Winter, who was blathering about another subject, his attention to the left of Mother. Good. But I let my control slip. I’m glad no one of ACTUAL importance is standing there.

The questioning continued on forever until, finally, at long last, Mother motioned for silence with a flick of a wing. No one dare to breathe as Mother pieced together Prince Winter’s fate.

After only a moment, Queen Glacier stood once more. “Prince Winter, during your time away from the Kingdom, when you left Jade Mountain Academy, you acted without oversight or permission from your Queen. However, you did so out of concern for your sister and out of your tribe-given obligation to see Prince Hailstorm returned to the Kingdom upon evidence indicating that he still lived. You also defied the ancient traditions of the Diamond Trial, but in doing so, you freed a NightWing prisoner unfairly condemned, and you brought to light an ancient act of exceeding and unnecessary cruelty.”

Mother paused and regarded the prince with eyes both impassive and critical. He met her gaze evenly, as expected of any and every dragon. Then her expression softened. “From here on out, you will be placed in the First Circle of the dragonet rankings at level three. Rest today and tomorrow, and on the second day you will return to the Academy to complete your education. I will expect bi-weekly letters out of you. As the Queen has said, so shall it be.”

Snowfall knew what was coming now, and she murmured her part into the harmony. “As the Queen has said, so shall it be.”

Prince Winter bowed deeply. “I thank you, Your Majesty.” Then he stood and remained in place, his brow furrowed. “Your Majesty, if I may, how is my sister?”

Mother humored him, though her gentle expression hardened into stern nonchalance. “She is alive. Her title has been stripped, and she is forever at last place in the Seventh Circle rankings.”

He bowed again and swept out of the council chambers at a dignified and measured pace.

Mother waited until the click of his claws faded to nothing before she spoke one last time. “Council is concluded. Good day and fair skies, Councildragons.”

"Good day and fair skies, Your Majesty.”

Mother caught Snowfall’s eye, and they both stood and leapt from the scared platforms onto the flat ice below, their talons hitting the ground with muted, melodious twin thuds. But another, deeper thud resounded behind them.

“Your Majesty,” said an aged voice. The royals paused and looked over their wings to see Snjokorn. “A moment, if you will?”

Mother turned and gave the elder aristocrat her full attention, prompting the crown princess to do the same. Her face was as impassive as ever, but Snowfall saw the slight wrinkling of her brow. “What do you ask of me?”

Snjokorn cleared his throat as though he was about to slip into an endless lecture. “Considering Prince Winter’s account of the NightWing Foeslayer’s time in the Diamond Caves, and considering the NightWing Foeslayer’s admission of Queen Diamond’s behavior, I claim my right as the eldest of the Council to invoke the Council’s Demand.”

The air changed. Behind the aged aristocrat, as though moving as one, the other Councildragons sat tall and imposing in their basins. Mother’s expression shifted to deadly seriousness. Snowfall felt her wings begin to tremble.

Only in times of extreme uncertainty or unfairness could the Queen be overruled, but only the Council had the both the authority and the gall to oppose her. It’s what kept the more ruthless queens at heel, and it’s what kept the more foolish queens from being overthrown. But the Council could not act on mere whim—they needed a legitimate reason for demanding the Queen’s immediate attention. And in turn, the Queen had better have a very good reason if she wanted to deny them. Only once in IceWing history had the Council been forced to execute a Queen and choose her successor, and there had been three recorded instances over the centuries when they overruled a Queen.

“What does the Council demand?” Each word was sharper than a claw.

“It is well known that Queen Diamond, mother of Prince Arctic, went insane from overuse of her magic. It is well known that her hatred of the NightWings went beyond expected levels of IceWing tribalism. And it is why Queen Diamond had been executed by her Council. After her death, every queen after her suffered from bouts of paranoia and hatred specifically against the NightWings. The Council’s Demand is thus: We demand you give us your crown and allow us to keep it until the end of the year. We suspect Queen Diamond may have enchanted the crown to hold her hatred and thus force all following queens to act as she had. If we are found correct, we shall have a new crown forged for you. If we are wrong, you may rebuke the Council, or me, as you see fit.”

Mother stared at him.

Snowfall gaped at him.

The Council stared back.

And then Mother did the unthinkable. She lowered her head, seeming to bow to the larger IceWing.

Snjokorn set his wings on the floor to steady himself as he lifted his foretalons to gently grasp the priced IceWing crown, the prized possession of the throne, the very thing which gave every Queen her ruthless authority. As though he was handling a new-hatched dragonet, he slipped the metal crown from Queen Glacier’s head, holding it in one talon as he set his other limb on the floor and lifted his wings.

And then he bowed as Mother stood tall. “The Council thanks you, Queen Glacier. I shall keep the crown in the Royal Treasury, and upon every full face of the moon Oracle I shall enquire of you. The first part of the Demand has been reached.”

Mother nodded. She pivoted and exited the chamber.

Snowfall, frozen in place by shock, quickly recovered her wits enough to follow.

Chapter Text

To say she felt lighter would be a drastic understatement. The ever-present aching of her neck had decreased. There was a spot in her head that now felt empty, in a manner of speaking, as though some thing had been there and only left with the removal of the crown.

Queen Glacier felt as though she could fly forever.

But it may be a week or so, she suspected, or maybe even a month, before the nightmares would lessen. Ever since she became queen her nights were filled with fear and hate and blood, and in almost every dream shadows would cackle at the sight of dead dragons—her dragons—falling from the skies. Every morning she’d awaken more tired than she was the previous night, and then she’d have to trudge around with her head agonizingly high to keep her tribe from suspecting a thing. Only when Mink had begun sleeping with her—her sweet, innocent, precious little Mink—had the nightmares lessened, but it was never by much, and for some twisted, sick reason, Mink’s battered body would appear in her demented, fearful dreams.

“Mother?”

Glacier came to. When had she gotten here? She was standing on the balcony where the two Second Circle warriors were stationed. Fannar and Aneira if she remembered correctly, to her left and right respectively. Both stared straight ahead, politely ignoring their dazed queen but also overwhelmingly aware of her presence. In her periphery stood Snowfall—fierce, indomitable Snowfall—who stared at her with an expression of extreme concern.

“Council is finished,” Queen Glacier announced. “You are relieved of guard duty.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” they said as they bowed, and both took off.

“Come, Snowfall. We have time until our next appointment.” She unfurled his wings and took off, angling for one of the palace wings which had been grown next to and partially into the sea.

A faster rhythm of whooshing air indicated Snowfall had taken off after her.

For thousands of years… Snjokorn’s logic rang in her mind like the melodious popping of an icy lake. He was not a dragon to follow his feelings. He loved hard logic and was unafraid to present his findings even when they went against common thought. That is why Queen Freeza, Glacier’s grandmother—noble and fair, but prone to wild fancies—had elevated him to leader of the curriculum.

So for Snjokorn to plainly state what Glacier herself had been suspecting for years but could never really prove…

It hurt.

It hurt, because she had suffered ever since she put the cursed crown upon her head.

It hurt, because IceWings for centuries had expressed undue hatred and paranoia for NightWings, often to the point of fantasizing genocide against them and even against the other tribes.

It hurt, because every queen after Queen Diamond had been forced to carry her hatred, and it seemed to destroy them. They were literally not in their right minds for two thousand years. And now her tribe expected it of her. Glacier had heard their thoughts during the final battle: Will Queen Glacier finally go insane? and Queen Freeza and her daughter Queen Snowstorm were among the better queens! Queen Glacier managed to hold out…but now? and This is it…this is where Queen Glacier goes mad! and So much for an easy life now… The queen’s gonna get OBSESSED.

It hurt, because she was going to make Snowfall suffer the same way she did if the Council had not taken the crown from her.

Someone was hugging her. And she was no longer flying.

Her talons were wet with tears, held so close to her face they blotted her sight. Taken away, she realized she was sitting on the raised statue courtyard-garden of the seaside wing of the palace. She gasped, eyes darting about, searching for the blurry shapes of dragons, but the courtyard was clear from what she could tell. All clear, save for Snowfall wrapping her wings around her.

Glacier leaned into her for a moment, blinking away tears, before pulling away and assuming a dignified posture. Perhaps I should just cancel our appointments for the day. For the week. I…need to recover.

“Mother? Are you okay?”

Inhale, exhale. “No. No, I’m not.”

Snowfall watched her with worried eyes. “Was Snjokorn right? You—” She looked around, ensuring the scene was clear, and then continued in a softer voice, “You kept blanking out. And…you were…”

A frown marred her already imperfect aristocratic mask, and the queen strode over to the edge of the floor, stopping at the stairs. Before them was a calm and serene scene the queen had memorized over the years. The North Sea, dark and mysterious, glittered under the sky and sunlight. The smallest of the moons, Oracle, hung in the sky as a faint, disembodied claw, abandoned by her sisters. Snow-laden evergreens framed the coast and parts of the courtyard. In the near-imperceptible breeze, diamond dust often cast the air in a glittering frenzy.

“I think he was.” Glacier’s voice was softer than the breeze. Were it not for the sensitive hearing of IceWing ears, Snowfall would not have heard her even standing wing-to-wing. “The magic in the crown… I could never prove it, not in the way he so confidently did. He must’ve been building the case for years.” Her head bowed slightly. “I wonder if he saw it in me.”

After so many years, was I going mad? Or did Prince Winter give him the evidence he needed to finally push the claim?

Snowfall studied the landscape as though she could not bear to gaze upon her mother. Mere seconds later, she turned her attention back on the queen, shuffling her wings and talons slightly. “How do you feel?”

“Like a shadow was lifted off my wings. The nightmares, though…they’ll take a while.”

Snowfall’s whispered voice was shrill as she swung her body around to completely face the queen. “Nightmares? Of what?”

Queen Glacier stared serenely forward. “Of death.”

She dismissed Snowfall for the day and made her way towards her chambers. After giving the guards a strict order to not be disturbed, save for her daughters—Tundra can bite her tail—Glacier removed the jewelry from her body and simply stood there, wondering if her silver accessories were cursed, too.

No. She shook the speculations away as she began to walk to her desk. Queen Diamond predates them. And no animus queens have been recorded since her execution. No animus can be queen anymore because of her.

The writing desk was little more than a single step poking up from the ground, longer in width than it was in length to allow for Glacier’s forelimbs to rest comfortably upon it. Right in front of it yawned a shallow basin where queens laid down and wrote their messages to IceWings of interest. Glacier liked to keep polar bear skins in the basin for comfort.

Off to the side stood an ornate ice jar of seven pearlescent sealskin scrolls. Glacier plucked one from the jar and spread it flat on her desk. I can still get some orders out. Pressing a claw into the false-skin, she began to carve and indent her commands.

To Dedenrite, Head of the Trials:

     I, Queen Glacier, want you to set up a trial for the more experienced warriors to hunt no less than two sea serpents of moderate size within the next two days. Give me a list of the names as well as a report of their activities during the hunt so I may arrange their ranks accordingly afterwards. Have the warriors scrub as much slime off the serpents as possible. Once the serpents are brought into the palace, have them sent to Thundersnow.

To Thundersnow, Head of the Kitchens,

     I, Queen Glacier, have instructed Dedenrite to give to you the corpses of two sea serpents of good size to be processed for the coronation dinner. Keep the skin intact as much as possible and send it to the artisans to be made as armor. Shear as much meat from the bones as possible and use your choice of the bones as you please, though the bones you will not use must also be sent to the artisans.

    Make as many dishes as you please for a buffet-style dinner. I look forward to sitting at the dinner table.

To Frigid Breeze, Head of the Artisans,

     I, Queen Glacier, have ordered two sea serpents of good size to be hunted and given over to the kitchens, and their skins and bones shall be given to you after their processing. I shall send you a message detailing what I wish to be done to a portion of the bones and skin. I shall have my daughter, Crown Princess Snowfall, visit you within the week.

To General Moose, Head of Palace Security,

   I, Queen Glacier, intend to have Crown Princess Snowfall’s coronation within the next month, and I want you to set up a rotating schedule of IceWings to patrol the palace grounds and the air…

Little more than an hour later, her many messages were complete. Once rolled, the pearly sealskin was more than twice its original size. The queen set it off to the side—returning it to the jar would erase all her work and render the false-skin to its original size—and she plucked another to lay flat on her desk. This one she wrote specifically to Frigid Breeze, detailing all she wanted done for Snowfall’s coronation; it, too, had increased to more than twice its original size once the queen had finished her piece. To identify the two, she wrote on the first, To the Palace Heads, and on the second, To Frigid Breeze of the Artisans.

Glacier sagged in a highly undignified manner for a few moments, a long breath seeping from her nose, before she scooped up the two skins in a talon and, using her wings as additional limbs, made her way to her chamber doors. Opening them, she taloned the scrolls to the nearest warrior—a gray dragon with darker mottles in the Second Circle by the name of Wolf Blizzard—and said, “Give these to the first courier you see and then return. Give my orders to not be disturbed, save for my daughters, to your replacements when they come.”

He rumbled, “At once, Your Majesty,” and was on the move by the time the queen retreated into her domicile. He and his scheduled companion, a First Circle warrior by the name of Ice Song, were to be relieved within the hour.

The moment the door slid closed it felt as if an avalanche careened into her body. Every step into her bed took immense effort, and climbing into the basin where she slept was a monumental achievement.

Glacier curled in on herself like a wolf sleeping through a blizzard.

And she wept.

She only vaguely remembered hearing a voice, and then feeling a tiny someone settle into her bed with her.

When she woke, the world had gone dark. Only the faint rippling of green and pink throughout her room announced the season’s bright aurora. It was long past the time for the rearranging of the rankings—Tundra usually slithered in an hour before dusk. “It is time for the wall,” she would say in her toneless voice, and then she would walk the queen out to the courtyard, like a lost dragonet, where the dragonet and adult rankings were. And there, as many queens before her had done every night until the day of their deaths, Glacier would interact with that torture device and slide names around at her leisure. She liked to keep the movements minimal—one rank lower here, one rank higher there. Glacier felt a hint of childlike giddiness at not agonizing her poor claws this night.

But what gave her unbridled joy was the realization that Mink had managed to worm her way underneath her mother’s wings. The tiny dragonet slept soundly beside her, leaning heavily against Glacier’s forelimb with her little wings tucked at her side.

Words fluttered together in her mind, gentle and powerful. Things will get better.

The queen returned to sleep. There were no nightmares tonight.

Chapter Text

The message for Frigid Breeze found him only an hour after the Queen had finished. He’d been in the chambers allotted to his title when a polite set of knocks jarred him out his musings, and the young messenger had taloned him a scroll, bowed, and departed.

He arched a brow as he regarded the false sealskin in his left talon. The Gift of Voice? It had been commissioned long before the hatching of the infamous Queen Diamond, when the aristocracy was still binding itself with the chains of “proper” etiquette, when the palace had yet to be created. The young princess who’d created the gift, Princess Morning Snow, had done so on the order to improve communication between the Queen and her chosen lords who ruled the farther reaches of the kingdom. So it was strange to the Head Artisan that the Gift of Voice had been deployed within the Queen’s own halls.

He harrumphed and made his way to his bed. It was covered in furs. Call him soft, sleeping upon layer and layer of skins, but he found it rather comfortable. Besides, his standing as Head Artisan allowed him some comforts his fellows no doubt envied (they most likely didn’t, but Frigid Breeze found amusement in the speculation).

Settled, he unrolled the scroll and began to read.

And then he reread it.

And then he rereread it.

Truly? She’s asking me to—

He found the order again, the very first paragraph, sounding it out within his brain just to be sure: “You know I have long enjoyed your work, and I have noticed how you have turned the fashion trends of the palace in your favor. Thus, I ask this of you. I want you to make fine jewelry for my Snowfall to commemorate her ascension in title. I want her to have a necklace, wrist bangles, and hornlaces. She tends not to like earrings, and considering recent events, I understand such a sentiment. I have sent out an order for sea serpents to be hunted and deboned, and to have the bones sent to you, but I know you have bones in reserve, and I will understand if you would favor those instead…”

His friendship with the Queen began merely weeks before her coronation as monarch, as was proper. Queens and Head Artisans always had a cordial relationship, even though the toughest of personalities. So to read that Glacier trusted him with making new regalia for the first Crown Princess…it was expected, really, but that didn’t dampen his utter surprise at the request.

Frigid Breeze lifted his head and moved from his bed, his talons following his eyes to his balcony. A chilly wind greeted him, and he breathed in the comfortable cold. Beneath him was the iceflower garden that been grown in with the palace. Above him was Oracle, her claw-thin form faint in the skies.

 Oracle counted the year: her full face passed by once a month. With Perception she counted the seasons, as they only paired with one another four times a year. Imperial alone counted every half-century—her second pass with her sisters marked both the Brightest Night and the New Hundred Years.

The previous two-month had just passed, as had the Centennial, marking the spring and the lengthening sunlight. The next would mark the summer.

He had three months to make the regalia that would mark the new era of his tribe.

Frigid Breeze grinned at the challenge.