** A thief with very exceptional skills is trying to steal the most precious thing from the ruler of snow, ice, and frost: the winter itself! **
"When she embraces you, your heart turns to ice.
She comes in the night when you are all alone
And when...
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The princess smiled. It was a beautiful and enchanting smile, usually high above all others. Far from the 'simple rabble' as Keir was. The blonde-haired beauty usually waved at the common folk from carriages and high balconies. The gulf between nobility and commoners never felt more acutely than in these moments. Many longed for a glance. A tiny second of her attention. Now she was only a few feet from him but seemed as far away as a star in the sky. A distance she maintained, just with the way the princess jutted her chin and how upright she sat in that noble chair.
"Why do you tell me these stories?" repeated Keir when she did not answer his question.
"They tell many tales of you too, Mirror Walker," the king now returned, suspicious eyes clinging to the thief. He drew his arms behind his back and placed his palms together as he slowly turned to face him. "They tell of a man who is said to possess no reflection. Who passes through no gates of wood or stone, but the paths of the Eternal, and who can see through silver and mirrors." The king inclined his head and stepped closer to the prisoner with unhurried steps.
So this was he... the legendary King of Thieves. The mirror walker. The changeling. Scion of Doom. This man possessed as many names as his painter kept colors. The people were creative in naming their heroes and terrors. But in the end, how much of it corresponded to the truth? And what was no more than flourishing imagination germinated out of fear, admiration, or ignorance?
"My captain told me of a thief like a shadow... who kept slipping through his and the soldiers' fingers," he continued as if talking about a fairy-tale figure. The king turned his gaze to the thief, who could barely stand alone. He wore a long coat with faded ornaments on it - presumably, it had once been the property of a nobleman. A wide leather belt lay around his hips, and a dirty shirt of dark blue linen wrinkled untidily. Everything else had been stripped from the thief.
He no longer seemed so unique, kneeling there like that. Instead, he looked like a simple young man, perhaps in his mid-twenties, who could have been plucked from any corner of the streets. That is ... not quite. Unlike everyone who surrounded him, from the guards to His Majesty himself and the princess, this man possessed a strange, striking complexion. Not pale like the snow covering them everywhere, but sun-kissed, almost coppery. The distinguishing feature of the inhabitants of the Southern Kingdom where there were blue seas and islands instead of vast forests and mountains. However, they worshipped the Sun Lord Emadan just as they did here.
"Oh please ... all these praises are almost too much of an honor, Your Majesty," croaked the thief with clearly too little respect.
