Mixed Blood: Round Table of Knights - The Fairy of Ice

The unforgiving night air clung to Loren and his five companions like a shroud, their breath misting in the biting cold as they navigated the desolate expanse of Yekaterinburg's frozen wilderness. The wind howled through the skeletal trees, its mournful wails echoing through the forest like the whispers of restless spirits. As vampires, they were accustomed to the numbing temperatures of winter, but tonight, the cold seemed to seep into their very marrow, stirring a primal unease.

Loren's instincts screamed warning; his senses heightened as he scanned their surroundings. The horses, usually stoic, shifted nervously, their ears pinned back against the wind, their eyes rolling in fear. Even the snow itself seemed to be watching, its crystalline surface reflecting the faint moonlight like a canvas of a thousand tiny mirrors.

"Stay sharp, soldiers," Loren cautioned, his voice low and urgent. "Something feels off."

As they ventured deeper into the forest, the trees grew twisted and gnarled, their branches like grasping fingers reaching out to snare the unwary. The horses balked, refusing to proceed, and Loren's companions exchanged uneasy glances.

A few paces further, they reached a narrow defile, the trees closing in on either side like sentinels. The horses could go no further, and Loren's gaze swept the area, his eyes piercing the darkness. To retreat would be folly; whatever was tracking them would only gain ground, erasing their tracks as if they had never been.

"My lord, perhaps I could take to the skies and scout our surroundings?" one of his soldiers suggested, his voice barely audible over the wind.

Loren's response was immediate and decisive. "No. We stay hidden, concealed from prying eyes. We'll push through this pass, and plan our next move from there."

His soldiers nodded, their faces set in determined lines, and together, they led the horses to the edge of the defile, disappearing into the shadows like specters.

As they abandoned their horses, the snow crunched beneath their boots, the only sound in the oppressive silence. The passage narrowed, forcing them to proceed in single file, their breath misting in the chill air. An hour ticked by; the stillness punctuated by faint rustlings in the underbrush.

Their eyes, aglow with the red glow of their vampire sight, tracked the movements, their bodies tensed, ready to spring into action. But as they closed in on the source, their anticipation gave way to confusion. Instead of a snarling beast or a snapping ambush, they found a doll.

The doll was unlike any they had seen in the towns and villages of humans. Its appearance was twisted, its wooden limbs creaking with an unsettling stiffness. Dirt and grime coated its surface, and ice crystals clung to its joints, hindering its jerky movements.

"Sorcery," one of the soldiers muttered, his voice barely audibles over the wind.

Yet, as they watched the doll stumble towards them, their initial fear gave way to curiosity. The doll halted before one of the soldiers, its gaze locking onto his face, and raised its arms. Without hesitation, the soldier picked up the doll, cradling it like a child. The doll's tattered clothes hung in shreds; its wooden limbs stiff with ice. "You look like you've been here for centuries," the soldier remarked, his voice softening. Loren watched the exchange, his eyes narrowing. "What do we do with this... thing?" one of his soldiers asked, unease creeping into his voice.

Loren's gaze never left the doll. "I want to see its master. Perhaps they can help us navigate this accursed forest." The doll raised its arm, pointing down a path shrouded in darkness.

Without hesitation, Loren led the way, the doll perched on the soldier's shoulder. His companions exchanged worried glances, but followed, their senses on high alert.

As they trudged through the snow, the trees seemed to loom closer, casting long, ominous shadows. The doll's silence was unnerving, its presence a harbinger of unknown dangers.

As they approached their destination, the ice thickened, and the temperature plummeted. A monolithic pillar of ice rose before them, its surface etched with strange symbols that seemed to pulse with a soft, blue light.

The doll leapt from Loren's shoulder, sprinting towards the pillar with an unnatural gait. The soldiers followed, their eyes fixed on the pillar as the doll halted before it, gazing back at them with an unblinking stare. Loren's gaze was drawn to the light, and suddenly, a voice echoed in his mind.

"Help me," the voice whispered, its melodic tone weaving a spell of tranquility.

Loren's eyes locked onto the woman encased within the ice, her white hair and pale skin a stark contrast to the frozen prison that held her. She wore a medieval gown, its intricate folds preserved in the ice like a work of art. The voice spoke again, its words dripping with urgency. "Help me, Loren. Come and set me free."

The words seemed to hypnotize him, drawing him closer to the pillar. His soldiers called out, their voices distant and muffled, as Loren's feet moved of their own accord. One soldier tried to intervene, but a spike of ice erupted from the ground, barring his path. "Yes, come here, Your Imperial Highness," the woman's voice whispered, her words weaving a spell of compulsion. A haunting melody began to play in Loren's mind, the woman's voice singing a siren's song that seemed to awaken a deep connection within him. As he touched the ice, it began to glow, and he summoned his elemental powers to melt the frozen prison. The ice cracked, and the pillar shattered, releasing the woman. The song ceased, but Loren still felt the woman's power coursing through him, a gentle tug that refused to let go. As the ice melted, Loren caught the woman in his arms, feeling her warmth and weight. He leapt to the nearest landform, his soldiers gathering around him. The transformation was breathtaking – the frozen landscape gave way to a lush spring scene, as if the very presence of the woman had awakened the land from its winter slumber. Loren gazed down at the woman, her breathing slow and peaceful. His soldiers whispered among themselves, their words laced with concern.

"My lord, I'm sure she's not from our race," one of them said.

Loren's eyes narrowed, his mind racing with possibilities. "And not from the Werewolves either," another soldier added.

"A human? A sorceress? A witch?" the soldiers speculated, their voices filled with trepidation.

Loren's gaze fell upon the doll, which clung to the woman's dress, its eyes fixed on him with an unblinking stare. "Let's find out once she regains consciousness," he said, his voice low and measured. As they journeyed to the Deskovick Palace, Loren couldn't shake the feeling that their encounter with the mysterious woman would change everything.

Kaliningrad Oblast, Russia***

As the door to Loren's chamber swung open, the discussion between him and his mother, Empress Alyssa, began to escalate. Loren carefully laid the woman on his bed, ensuring she was comfortable despite the turmoil brewing between them.

"I heard you've brought a human into the palace, Loren," Alyssa said, her voice laced with worry and irritation.

Loren's response was laced with sarcasm. "You can drop the exaggeration, Mother." He began to change into more suitable attire, his movements swift and efficient.

Alyssa's eyes narrowed, her face etched with concern. "I want everything to go according to plan tonight, Loren. The Queen's arrival is not to be taken lightly."

Loren's smile was tinged with bitterness as he reached out to touch her cheek. "I'll make sure she's not a distraction, Mother. You can calm yourself."

Alyssa's eyes closed, her face tilting into his touch. "You're a grown man now, Loren. This night might be the last night you'll spend in this palace. I want everything to be perfect."

The weight of her words hung in the air, and Loren's gaze drifted to the woman on his bed. The Queen of all Vampire Royalties, Elena, was coming to claim him as one of her Round Table of Twelve, a position that would bind him to her will and thrust him into the midst of power struggles and wars.

"I don't want to be in her wars, Mother," Loren said, his voice cold and detached.

Alyssa's expression turned stern. "This is the only way we can sustain power in these lands. You know we're not the only noble families vying for control."

Loren's jaw clenched; his words sharp. "Why should we concern ourselves with the Valderak? They're a threat to our leadership, but we've managed to exile the werewolves and maintain our power."

Alyssa's voice was barely above a whisper, but Loren heard it clearly. "Protector of humans."

He turned to face her, his eyes locking onto hers. "You know Father died protecting a human village, right?" The pain and grief in her eyes were palpable.

Loren's fist clenched, his voice rising. "Preserving and protecting are two different agendas, Mother. It's like the Grand Duchess of St. Petersburg managing her blood supply."

The memory of his father's brutal death flashed before him, and Loren's anger simmered just below the surface. He didn't want power; he wanted peace for all creatures – vampires, werewolves, and humans. As Alyssa departed, the sadness in the room lingered. Loren's gaze fell upon the woman, her peaceful slumber a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. He smiled faintly as he noticed the doll hiding under the bed and picked it up, placing it beside her.

"You, guard her," he whispered, his touch gentle.

With a final glance at the woman, Loren whispered, "I'll bring honor to this family," before departing into the hallway.

The trumpet's blast echoed through the palace, announcing the Queen's arrival. "Open the gates!" Alyssa commanded, her voice carrying across the courtyard. As the gates swung open, a procession of visitors streamed in, their finery a testament to their wealth and status. The air was thick with tension, the scent of unease hanging over the assembly like a pall.

Alyssa's smile was a masterclass in diplomacy, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of warmth and calculation as she greeted the head of the House of Valderak, Muscovante. "So, it's finally open – your gates, without the rain of lancers made from ice or the blizzard to reach our distance to your territory."

Muscovante's smile was equally diplomatic, but the dislike between them was palpable. "I pray that the peace will last beyond the Queen's visit," Alyssa said, her voice dripping with insincerity. The old man's hand extended, awaiting Loren's handshake, but Loren merely smiled, his eyes glinting with amusement. The trumpet blared again, announcing the Queen's arrival in the Throne Room. Loren approached the Queen, his movements fluid, and knelt before her. "You can stand now, my Knight," she said, her voice like music.

As he rose, Loren's gaze met the Queen's, and he was struck by her beauty. Her aura was mesmerizing, a true ruler's presence that commanded respect.

Welcome to the humble palace of Deskovick, My Queen," Loren said, his lips brushing against her hand in a gesture of loyalty.

As the Queen was introduced to the aristocrats, Loren excused himself, slipping out onto the balcony. The night air was crisp, the stars twinkling like diamonds in the sky.

He breathed deeply, savoring the scent of the country he would soon leave behind. Little did anyone know, a pair of blue eyes had opened somewhere in the palace, watching and waiting...