My name is Tomiris.
I am simple mortal girl from the steppes with a simple mortal goal: save my grandfather.
How?
The only beings powerful enough to help him are the Oracles of the Frost Court — and they don’t exactly take appointments from girls raised chasing wind.
There are two ways to get to them. Either become Prince Varelion’s fated mate —
Ha. Right.
I dismiss the idea in the time it takes to look at him on his ice throne, wings folded against his back, his gaze cold and unreadable, and calculate the odds.
One in a million. Impossible.
So I do the only logical thing and go with the second option: I enroll in the Frost Court War Academy.
I can earn my way up to the Oracles.
Simple.
Less simple: surviving an academy built for Fae warriors when I have no magic, no wings, and no allies — just a loyal horse who trusts no one but me and a hawk who answers to no one at all.
And everyone, even my roommate, is carrying secrets I am not ready to uncover.
Mortal cadets are disappearing. Rebels are trying to destroy the Frost Court and somehow I am a pawn in their game.
I refuse to be anyone’s pawn. Maybe a knight. I’ll consider being a Queen.
But every move I make pulls me deeper into a game I don’t understand, and I’m beginning to suspect the pieces were arranged long before I arrived.
Including me.
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⚠️ The following entry contains major spoilers for Book 1. Those unfamiliar with Daughter of the Wind Court should proceed with caution—some truths, once known, cannot be unknown.
Proceed at your own risk.
Journal entry #1
My name is Tomiris.
I am a Frost Court Princess.
That still sounds odd to my own ears.
I am not at the academy anymore. And my grandfather is dead.
One mission that mattered… and I failed.
Some days I still don’t know how to go on.
But there are good things too. I get to spend more time with my loyal horse, Sultan, hunting every morning with Saya.
And I get to help people. My grandfather always said the best way through grief is to lift someone else’s burden.
So that’s what I’m doing.
If only the headaches—and the strange certainty that I’ve forgotten something important—would let me be.
Valerian says it’s grief. And I want to believe him.
He’s been my rock, even though our honeymoon has been anything but a fairytale.
Still, waking up beside him, falling asleep next to him, and everything that happens in between are still my favorite hours of the day.
It’s the hours apart that unravel me.
There’s a prisoner beneath the palace who insists he knows me.
He says the reason I came to the academy is the one thing I can’t remember.
Valerian says he’s lying.
But if so, then why is someone working so hard to make me forget he exists?
Note to self: Sneak in to talk to the prisoner when no one is watching.
Do not forget.
Do not forget.
Do not forget.