The carriage rumbled to a slow halt.
Noel shifted in his seat, eyes narrowing as he peered through the frost-covered window. The view beyond was anything but welcoming.
High stone walls towered before them—thick, weatherworn, and built for war, not for show. The Iskandar stronghold wasn't the ornate manor one might expect from a noble house. It was a fortress, plain and simple, nestled deep within a snowy valley between jagged mountains.
Snow lashed the world in thick sheets. The sky above was a dull gray, pressing low over the peaks like a weight. Even the air felt heavier here.
Noel exhaled slowly and reached for his gloves, pulling them on with deliberate care. He wore a long black winter coat, the fabric thick and insulated, with a high collar turned up against the wind. Sturdy black boots rose to his knees, crunching faintly against the carriage floor as he shifted his weight.
