In the private master chambers of the keep, the roaring hearth had chased away the icy chill of the mountain storm. The air was heavy with the fragrance of sweet pine resin, dried chamomile, and the soothing steam of lavender-infused mountain water. Torin had laid Freya upon the thick platform bed draped in white bearskin, gently unbuttoning her torn wool parka and boots with hands that still trembled with the…
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