The frontline camp lay a hundred kilometers east of Brintanhe Fortress.
The wind tugged at the heavy canvas, making it snap like a beating drum.
Two bonfires blazed inside the tent, yet the cold still crept through the gaps in their armor.
Generals and adjutants gathered around the map table, dark circles under every pair of eyes as they stared at the two red lines marking the surprise thrust eastward.
Prince Wilander stood at the entrance, holding up the flap and gazing into the depths of the snowstorm, motionless as a stone encased in ice.
"Your Highness, we cannot wait any longer."
A middle-aged general slammed his fist onto the table, making the markers jump. His voice was fraught with anxiety. "Four days! Count Veylin hasn't sent word for four whole days! His last message said he'd spotted imperial reinforcements. If that old fox Hector has caught wind of his movements, with the handful of troops Veylin has..." He trailed off and heaved a heavy sigh.
"Exactly." An adjutant wiped the cold sweat from his face. "The effects of the Monsoon Edict are weakening. If the blizzard stops before Count Veylin cuts off the bridge, our fifty thousand troops will be stranded deep in enemy territory, ripe for Hector to devour."
"That will not happen."
The flap lifted, letting in a blast of cold wind.
Wrapped in a silver fox fur coat, Caroline strode inside. She slapped a stack of lists onto the table, her voice clear and firm.
"Put your worries away. If Weilin Klein dared to stake his life on the Three-Stone Plains, he never intended to return empty-handed." Caroline's face was red from the cold, but her gaze was exceptionally sharp. "This is the latest shipment of Winter's Embrace from White Tower Territory. Instead of worrying about