The portal rippled like a disturbance on the surface of a lake. A shimmer of cold magic passed through the air as Tenebrae stepped forward, the weight of his cloak shifting against the crisp winter wind. Eliza and Opal followed, their boots pressing into the frost-covered ground as they arrived in New Liberty.

  The Winter Solstice Carnival was in full swing.

  It sprawled across the frozen river like a dream made of firelight and frost, golden lanterns glowing in the cold twilight. Hundreds of stalls lined the icy expanse, their awnings draped in garlands of holly and mistletoe, their vendors shouting out promises of candied fruit, roasted chestnuts, honeyed nuts, spiced wines, and warm mead. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood, cinnamon, and the faintest hint of peppermint.

  Above them, ribbons and banners snapped in the wind, bright reds and golds woven together, mimicking the soft glow of the lanterns that hung along the riverbank. Minstrels played lively fiddle tunes, the notes quick and warm, cutting through the winter air like sparks from a fire.

  And beneath it all, the ice stretched wide and waiting.

  The River of Saints—had frozen solid under the weight of the season, transformed into a gleaming sheet of blue and silver, reflecting the carnival lights like a mirror to another world.

  People bustled across it, wrapped in furs and wool, laughing and dancing as they skated across the ice. Some wobbled, their arms flailing, while others—more experienced—glided as effortlessly as shadows under the moonlight.

  Children raced in little carved sleds, their laughter carrying through the air like bells. A pair of performers juggled fire-lit torches, the flames glowing bright against the night sky. Nearby, a puppeteer spun a tale of a winter prince and his lost love, his wooden marionettes moving with eerie precision beneath the light of his stage.

  It was, as Tenebrae remembered, a city alive with wonder.

  The fee to enter was small—just a few copper pieces per head. Ten handed over the sum without hesitation, stepping forward onto the ice-covered river.

  Opal, however, hesitated.

  Her small hands gripped the edges of her cloak, her webbed fingers curling tightly. Her wide, greenish-blue eyes reflected the ice beneath them, her face pale with uncertainty.

  “I…” she swallowed. ”It looks strange."

  Ten, standing beside her, arched a brow. “You’ve swum through underground lakes filled with monsters, but you’re afraid of this?”

  Opal’s cheeks flushed. ”Water moves. Water has weight." She gestured to the frozen river, her gills flickering slightly. ”This… is wrong."

  Eliza was about to respond, but Tenebrae was already moving.

  He extended his gloved hand—pale, elegant, unyielding.

  “Opal,” he said, his voice carrying no command, no push—only certainty. “Take my hand.”

  The child hesitated, biting her lip.

  For all her bravery, for all her reckless energy, this moment held her frozen.

  But Tenebrae simply waited. Patient. Unmoving. Unshaken.

  Finally, slowly, Opal reached out.

  Her small fingers curled around his, and Ten pulled her forward with measured ease, guiding her onto the ice.

  At first, she stiffened, her legs wobbling as she stepped onto the unnatural stillness beneath them.

  Then—

  She took another step.

  And another.

  Her expression shifted from uncertainty to fascination.

  “It’s…” She blinked, her face filling with something close to delight. ”It’s like walking on glass."

  Ten hummed, his lips twitching slightly in something not quite a smile, but not far from it.

  “Now,” he said, his fingers releasing hers, “try it on your own.”

  Opal hesitated, then took a step forward—alone.

  She didn’t stumble.

  She didn’t fall.

  She grinned, her eyes wide with the thrill of discovery, and before she could second-guess herself, she darted forward, running across the frozen surface like she had been made for it.

  The lanterns above gleamed in her reflection.

  For the first time in a long time, Opal laughed freely.

  Eliza watched, her arms crossed over her chest, but there was something warm in her gaze.

  “You were right,” she murmured.

  Tenebrae looked at her, tilting his head. “I’m always right. Which part are you referring to specifically?”

  Eliza rolled her eyes but didn’t look away from the girl, still spinning on the ice, filled with laughter.

  “That she needed this.”

  Ten did not respond.

  He simply watched the child, the carnival, the way life bloomed around them even in the heart of winter.

  And for the first time in centuries, he thought…

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  Maybe he did, too.

  The carnival sprawled before them, glittering against the night like a frozen dream, its light reflecting off the glassy surface of the ice. Laughter carried through the air, mixed with the scent of roasted nuts, honeyed apples, and spiced mead.

  But Eliza wasn’t focused on any of that.

  She was watching him.

  Tenebrae moved through the festival as if he belonged there—as if he were simply a man.

  It was a strange illusion, seeing him like this. His white hair had darkened to black, his glowing green eyes now a sharp, icy blue. His crown, the symbol of his power, the weight of his past, was hidden beneath a heavy spell, one that cost him precious mana, and yet he maintained it effortlessly.

  Dressed in armor—not ostentatious, but fine enough to suggest wealth—he looked like any noble from a distant kingdom, mysterious but unremarkable.

  And yet.

  She knew better.

  Eliza watched as his gaze flicked across the crowd, ever-watchful, ever-perceptive. His posture did not waver, his stride never hesitated. Even now, he was calculating, thinking, ensuring Opal’s safety without drawing attention to himself.

  He was protecting them.

  Hiding his true self for them.

  And that realization curled something warm and aching in her chest.

  She walked closer to him, her fingers brushing against his forearm, hesitant but wanting. He did not pull away. If anything, he seemed to shift slightly in her direction, as if her presence was a weight he didn’t mind bearing.

  They stopped at a vendor selling sweet, caramelized nuts, the scent rich and toasted, blending with the bite of winter air.

  Opal was already two steps ahead, pointing eagerly at a nearby stall selling berry pies dusted with powdered sugar.

  Eliza chuckled. “I don’t think she’s ever had so many choices in her life.”

  Ten handed the vendor a silver piece—far more than necessary. “Let her have what she wants.”

  Eliza smiled. “You’re spoiling her.”

  His lips twitched, but the amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She has been denied much in life.” He glanced toward Opal, who was now taking careful bites of her pie.

  Eliza felt something soften inside her.

  She turned her attention back to the food, carefully avoiding fish-based dishes out of respect for Opal. Instead, they tried warm bread rolls with honey butter, roasted chestnuts, and baked apples filled with spiced nuts and sugar.

  At one point, a group of onlookers hesitated when they saw Opal.

  Not openly hostile—no one dared to be outright cruel. But there was a hesitation in their gazes, a quiet disapproval.

  Tenebrae met their stares head-on.

  No words were exchanged.

  Only a look.

  One stern, unwavering glance from those icy blue eyes beneath his human guise.

  The moment passed. No one dared deny them service, but Ten never forced them either. He simply moved forward, choosing to exist without apology.

  And that, more than anything, left an impact.

  Opal didn’t notice. Or if she did, she chose not to care.

  She was too busy dragging Eliza toward a performance stage, where a winter play was unfolding.

  The play was performed on a raised wooden stage, the background painted to look like a snow-covered forest under a moonlit sky.

  It told the story of a pack of wolves who had to deliver medicine across a frozen tundra. But the wolves were not truly a pack—they were outsiders, loners forced together by circumstance, their journey filled with dangers both natural and unseen.

  As the wolves struggled, argued, and nearly gave up, Opal sat wide-eyed, gripping Eliza’s arm in excitement.

  But by the end, the wolves chose each other.

  Not out of obligation.

  Not out of blood.

  But because they wanted to.

  Opal practically bounced in place when the play ended. “That was amazing!" she said, eyes shimmering with excitement. “The wolves weren’t really family, but they became one!”

  Eliza smiled. “That’s right.”

  Tenebrae, standing beside them, said nothing.

  But in the flickering firelight, his expression shifted.

  As the night stretched on, fireworks began to bloom across the sky, exploding in brilliant blues and silvers, reflected perfectly on the frozen river below.

  Opal was spinning on the ice again, her laughter like bells in the cold air.

  Eliza stood beside Ten, her arms crossed over her chest, the cold biting at her cheeks.

  But she wasn’t focused on the cold.

  She was focused on him.

  “You didn’t have to do all this,” she murmured, her voice softer than usual.

  He didn’t look at her immediately. His gaze was still on Opal, on the sky, on the world that was not his.

  “...No,” he admitted. “I didn’t.”

  She hesitated.

  Then, before she could overthink it, she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his.

  Not forcefully. Not demanding.

  Just holding onto him.

  Ten’s body stiffened slightly-not out of rejection, but surprise.

  She felt his breath hitch, even if he hid it well.

  But then—he relaxed.

  Not entirely. Not completely.

  But just enough.

  Eliza tilted her head, resting it against his shoulder, watching the fireworks bloom above them.

  “Ten,” she murmured.

  He finally turned his head, looking down at her.

  Her gaze was warm, gentle, filled with something undeniably human.

  Something he hadn’t let himself feel in a very, very long time.

  “...Yes?”

  She smiled.

  “Thank you for tonight.”

  He said nothing for a long moment.

  But then—quietly, almost imperceptibly.

  He turned his hand, just slightly, brushing his fingers against hers.

  It was not a grand gesture.

  Not an overwhelming display of affection.

  But it was something.

  And in the glow of the fireworks, in the quiet space between them.

  It was enough.

  The night should have been peaceful.

  Fireworks still flickered in the sky, their embers glowing softly against the frozen river, but their thunderous echoes had been replaced by something far more chilling—

  Screams.

  Tenebrae’s body tensed immediately, his mind snapping into battle readiness.

  He expected the worst.

  Had his disguise faltered? Had some racist fool decided to harm Opal?

  But no—this was something far worse.

  A scent filled the air, thick and cloying, more distinct than the roasted meats or candied nuts of the festival. It was faint at first, but a gust of wind made it stronger. It tickled the senses of the Lich Prince, and then it grew stronger.

  Strawberries.

  Chocolate.

  The overpowering, unnatural sweetness sent a shudder through him.

  Ten knew that scent.

  It was intoxicating, invasive, a scent meant to overwhelm and ensnare the senses.

  Incubi.

  Succubi.

  They were here.

  He hadn’t felt them approach. He hadn’t sensed their presence in the realm.

  That alone was wrong.

  And yet—

  People were not panicking in the way they should have been.

  There was no fleeing, no bloodshed—

  Instead… they were bowing.

  One by one, the humans of New Liberty dropped to their knees, their heads lowered, their eyes cast downward in silent obedience.

  Ten did not move.

  Opal’s tail twitched in confusion, and she pressed closer to Eliza. “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  Eliza turned, her brows furrowed. “Ten?”

  He didn’t answer.

  He wasn’t sure.

  The thick scent grew stronger, almost nauseatingly so.

  Then—

  A vendor rushed toward them, his face pale with fear.

  “Get down—quickly—” the man hissed, eyes wide with terror. ”If you don’t, they’ll kill your woman and your child."

  Eliza stiffened beside him, inhaling sharply.

  Opal visibly paled but remained frozen in place.

  Ten glanced at the vendor—the same man he had given a silver coin to earlier.

  His gaze sharpened.

  Why are the humans bowing? Why are they submitting so easily?

  He clenched his jaw, already feeling the strain of his drained mana, already knowing he could not risk a fight—not here, not now without revealing himself and his mana was not high enough. The punishment from the crown on top of the strain from the disguise spell.

  So instead—

  He lowered himself to one knee.

  Eliza and Opal followed.

  The moment their knees touched the ice, the crowd fell into complete silence as if a mute spell was cast upon them, silence followed as if the very snow hesitated to cause a sound.

  Ten kept his head lowered, but his senses were sharp, tracking everything.

  Then—

  He saw them.

  They moved through the frozen city like shadows of indulgence and sin, tall and elegant, their forms impossibly perfect in a way that was unnatural and so wrong in so many ways it just felt right to be sinful.

  Succubi and Incubi, their skin tones ranging from soft gold to deep crimson, their eyes gleaming like polished gemstones.

  They were draped in silks, half-clothed but never vulnerable, their presence unnerving even to those who bowed before them.