The North's Shadow

A Place of Ice and Stone

Snow clawed up my legs, biting through my t-shirt and sweatpants as I gawked at the towering stone castle before me. This couldn't be real—there was no way I'd gone from moving old boxes in my grandma's attic to freezing in front of some medieval fortress. But here I was, icy wind slapping me across the face in a place I'd never seen before.

Then, as if this whole medieval fever dream couldn't get any weirder, a tall man came out of the castle draped in fur and leather armor. He stared back at me with a look that was equal parts suspicion and disdain, his long black hair tied back, revealing piercing blue eyes that were about as warm as the ice-crusted wasteland surrounding us.

"Who are you, and how did you come to stand at my gates?" he said in a low voice, carrying a deep, clipped accent that made me shiver more than the wind.

I blinked up at him, baffled. Okay, I thought. Either I'm in the weirdest dream of my life, or I've just been thrown into the medieval version of Outlander. I took a shaky breath, trying to wrap my mind around it.

How did I get here?

...

✨30 minutes ago before Reese came face-to-face with a brooding northerner.✨

Sorting through Nana's attic wasn't exactly my idea of a thrilling Saturday. At least Skye was here to keep things interesting as I skimmed through the stacks of dusty boxes, papers, and memorabilia.

"Reese, do you even know what's in half of these?" Skye asked, tucking a dark strand of hair behind her ear as she lifted a suspiciously creepy-looking doll by one leg. "Honestly, it's like a hoarder's dream with a Gothic twist."

I laughed, shaking my head as I tied back my fiery curls. "I don't think anyone's been up here in years, besides dropping off boxes and getting out Christmas decorations."

I glanced over as she dramatically wiped dust off her hands. "Oh, please, if I inhale one more century-old dust particle, I'll need a facial and a full detox." Her green eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and horror. "Your grandma's attic is an obstacle course for my skin."

"You're the one who wanted to help," I reminded her. "Plus, isn't vintage kind of your thing?"

"Vintage clothes," she shot back, carefully stepping around a pile of ancient newspapers. "Very different."

As Skye continued to tip toe around the clutter, an old photograph caught my eye, tucked between two boxes. When I pulled it out, my heart sank as I saw a young couple, their blue eyes staring back at mine. Mom and Dad.

Skye leaned over, catching sight of it. "Is that...?"

I nodded. "Yeah. They looked so... happy."

She went quiet for a second and smiled. "You should keep it."

I nodded, feeling that familiar ache tug at me. I never really knew them—just a handful of photographs and broken memories I'd pieced together over the years.

As I felt the sadness creeping in, Skye's tone shifted and she gave me a playful nudge. "Anyway, have you recovered from last night? Watching you dodge that guy at the bar was the highlight of my week."

I rolled my eyes. "The bar you practically dragged me to? I still don't get why you bring me to those things."

"Because, babe, if I don't, you'll turn into one of those hermits who spends every Friday night at home with her books and a dozen cats," Skye said, giving me a look over her shoulder.

I smirked. "Um, you have cats."

"Exactly, which means I know all the warning signs. You're one late-night book binge away from naming a cat Rhysand and listening to audiobooks in public. Consider me your social intervention."