The Spring Summoner and the Winter Duke

An Oath and an Ambush

The carriage jolted as its wheels rattled over the uneven, frost-kissed road. The duke, Aric Belfort, barely noticed, his focus distant as his gaze settled on the rugged, snow-covered landscape outside. The familiar grey of the northern highlands stretched endlessly before him, the towering peaks of Aurenfell's Spine of the Frost standing like sentinels against the backdrop of the waning sun. The cold mountain air had begun to seep into the carriage, the scent of ice and pine filling his lungs as he absently watched the winding path that led to his home.

Home.

A soft exhale escaped him, his breath faintly visible in the chill. Frostspire Keep, perched on the cliffs like a fortress of old, loomed in the distance, its towers and battlements rising from the jagged rock as though it were carved from the mountains themselves. It stood tall, a bastion of strength against the harshness of the northern winds, a constant reminder of his bloodline’s endurance and the wars they’d survived. Inside its cold stone walls were relics of those battles—the bones of Aedra demons, relics from the First Winter Duke’s campaign—his ancestors’ triumphs immortalized.

But today, his mind wasn't on the keep or his ancestral homecoming. His thoughts, annoyingly, drifted back to the imperial court, more specifically, to her.

Adelaide. The Spring Summoner.

His brow furrowed in displeasure, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He had been in the capital at the emperor’s summons, an event he tried to avoid at all costs. But duty was duty, and when the emperor issued a decree, not even the most stubborn of the Great Summoners could refuse.

He’d expected the usual bureaucratic nonsense, the over-sweetened voices of noblewomen, and the petty squabbles of court politics. He had not expected her.

A breath of life in that suffocating palace. A storm of spring. He scoffed at the thought.

Adelaide had crashed into his life like a reckless gale. She was nothing like what he imagined a Summoner of Spring would be—he’d pictured someone soft, delicate, a lady draped in light silks and moving with the grace of a flower in bloom. Instead, she had charged into the throne room with the confidence of a battle-hardened warrior. Her eyes—a striking, almost unnatural shade of green—sparkled with mischief, as if she had just caused trouble and was daring someone to confront her about it.

He had kept to the shadows, as he often did, watching quietly from the back of the room. Her long, wavy blonde hair, streaked with threads of gold under the sunlight filtering through the palace windows, was untamed, wild like the season she commanded. She stood tall, shoulders back, her presence radiating energy. She wasn’t dainty—far from it. There was a fierceness in her posture, a rawness he wasn’t used to seeing in the stiff, proper women of the capital.

And the scent...

He found himself frowning as he recalled it. The noblewomen of court always approached with cloying perfumes, their bodies wrapped in silks, their gaze heavy with greed as they sought his favour. They reeked of desperation masked by layers of scented oils, suffocating him with their attempts at allure. Adelaide, on the other hand, had smelled of something altogether different. It wasn’t the overwhelming florals or musks he despised. Her scent was light, fresh—he couldn’t quite place it.

It was strange, unsettling. He huffed quietly at the memory. The North was nothing like her, and neither was he. Cold. Hard. Unchanging. The duke didn’t get around much, but he liked it that way.

His gaze fell to the reflection in the window, where his slightly pointed ears caught the fading light. He hadn’t paid much attention to it before, but now... hers had been sharper. The most pronounced he had ever seen in any Therii—humans blessed, or perhaps cursed, with magic in their blood. There were rumours and whispers that the Great Summoners had the sharpest ears, their magic more intertwined with the gods than ordinary mortals. Perhaps there was truth to that.

His brow furrowed deeper. What was it about her that lingered in his mind? Was it her defiance? Her refusal to back down even when faced with the emperor himself? Or was it the way she had looked at him when she interrupted his conversation with Ardentis—like she was daring him to argue?

The very notion of marrying her—of being tied to the whirlwind that was Adelaide—was preposterous. The duke clenched his jaw at the thought, his fingers tightening into fists. He had seen her cheeky smile when she made the offer, her eyes glinting with that damnable mischief. She had stepped into the conversation as if it was a game to her, but the emperor’s eyes had gleamed with interest, taking her seriously.

And now here he was, on his way back to the harsh, unforgiving north with the emperor’s decree hanging over him: He must marry by the end of the year.

His fingers drummed impatiently against the armrest of the carriage. His cousin, the emperor, had left him little choice, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

The wind howled outside, a reminder of the bitter cold awaiting him in Aurenfell. He could feel it in his bones, that familiar chill. The north was his. It was as much a part of him as the frost in the air, the sharp bite of the wind against his skin. And soon... she would come here too.

The thought made him uneasy. Adelaide, with her wildness, her warmth, and her springtime bloom, did not belong in a place like Aurenfell. Frostspire Keep was no place for a woman like her. Would her scent—fresh, alive—linger in the still, frozen air?

He frowned, pushing the thought away, but it lingered all the same.

The carriage began its ascent up the mountain path, the towering silhouette of Frostspire Keep growing larger as they drew closer. The duke’s breath fogged the glass, and in the distance, the lights of his ancestral home flickered against the oncoming night.

The carriage lurched violently, the wheels skidding on the icy path as the horses neighed in terror. The sudden jolt threw Duke Aric forward, his gloved hand instinctively flying to the hilt of his sword as he braced himself against the side of the carriage.

“What the hell is happening?” he growled, pushing the door open as cold air rushed in.

Outside, the thick snow-covered pines trembled, and the sound of cracking branches echoed through the forest. The horses stamped their hooves in panic, their breaths misting heavily in the air. His head knight, Garen, was already at his side, a mountain of a man with a silent, yet unyielding presence. Garen’s face was stoic, as usual, but his hand had fallen to the massive axe strapped to his back, ready for battle.

“Garen, your report,” Aric demanded, his voice slicing through the chaos.

The knight’s deep, resonant voice answered, steady and sure. “It appears to be yet another Aedra incursion, Your Grace. They have been pressing hard against the Borderwall of late.”

Aric cursed under his breath. The Aedra demons were a constant threat, but they were rarely seen this far into the duchy, especially up the mountain. He didn’t wait for more explanation. Grabbing his sword, Aric leapt from the carriage and strode to one of the horses. The beast was jittery, its wide eyes reflecting the rising tension in the air, but it obeyed as he swung into the saddle, gripping the reins with practised ease. His eyes scanned the snow-covered forest, searching for movement between the trees, his breath clouding in the freezing air.

“Ready the men,” Aric barked to Garen. “We shall drive them back before they reach Icescar.”

Garen nodded once, his massive form moving silently as he rallied the knights, who were already drawing their weapons and taking positions around the carriages. The creaking of the pine trees echoed ominously, the forest alive with an unnatural stillness as if the trees themselves were holding their breath.

"Yah!" Aric kicked his horse into a gallop, leading the charge down the narrow path. Snow crunched beneath the hooves, the cold wind biting at his skin as they plunged deeper into the forest. His thoughts raced.

How had the Aedra gotten this far? Were the soldiers at the Borderwall overrun? Was Icescar still safe?

The snow-laden branches above shook as a shrill, guttural roar pierced the air, freezing the blood in his veins. In the next heartbeat, they were ambushed.

A monstrous figure, all twisted limbs and jagged, bone-like protrusions, burst from the treeline, pouncing onto the lead knight and sending him crashing into the snow. The beast’s red eyes gleamed with hunger as it tore into the man’s armour with claws that gleamed like black ice. The knight didn’t even have time to scream before the aedra demon ripped him apart.

“To arms!” Aric roared, drawing his sword and urging his horse forward.

The forest exploded into chaos as more of the creatures emerged from the shadows, their grotesque forms blending with the white snow. They moved with inhuman speed, their elongated limbs scuttling across the ground like nightmarish insects. His men fought back valiantly, steel clashing against claw and bone, but the Aedra were relentless.

Aric’s sword sliced through the air, biting into the thick hide of one of the beasts as it lunged toward him. Dark, tar-like blood splattered across the snow as the creature screeched and fell, but another quickly took its place. Aric’s breath came in short, sharp bursts, the cold air burning his lungs as he parried and slashed, driving the monsters back.

Garen was a force unto himself, his massive axe cleaving through the aedra brutally. He moved like a bear, his sheer size and strength overpowering the demons that dared come too close. Yet even Garen couldn’t protect them all, and Aric’s heart clenched as he watched two more knights fall beneath the onslaught.

“How did they get this far?” Aric gritted his teeth, the question gnawing at him as he fought. These creatures had no business being here, deep within the duchy. If the Borderwall had been breached, they should have received a warning, reinforcements sent from Icescar to hold the line.

But there had been no warning.

If the soldiers stationed at the wall had been overrun without alerting the capital, then the breach must have been swift and brutal. Worse, if these Aedra had managed to slip through unnoticed, then there could be more on the way—more heading straight for the villages below, for the heart of his duchy.

A deafening c***k echoed through the forest, followed by a blinding light. Aric’s horse reared back, nearly throwing him as one of the Aedra erupted into flames, its hide igniting like dry tinder. He shielded his eyes from the heat, his heart pounding as he watched the creature writhe and shriek before crumbling to ash.

Magic?

Aric’s eyes darted about, trying to find the source of the attack. The Duke looked at Garen, standing over the smouldering remains, his axe still dripping with the demon’s blood. The head knight’s usually expressionless face was drawn, a rare flicker of confusion in his storm-grey eyes.

The Duke's grip tightened on the reins as his horse bucked beneath him. Strange yes, but there was no time to question it.

“Push them back!” Aric commanded, his voice echoing through the clearing. “Hold the line and drive them to the border!”