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A movement below caught her attention. Someone skimmed through the shadows—no, two someones. Using the darkness as their cover, they moved carefully through the courtyard, heading to the stockade. The stockade wouldn’t be heavily guarded. Instead, the soldiers manned the tall walls, to guard the village against the Comte’s veiled threat.

Instantly, she realized the stealthy pair’s goal. They were to rescue the thief. Stupid, foolish men. She’d exact a harsh price for their treachery, one that would set an example throughout the land. She waited in the shadows, still as a statue, the cold seeping even deeper into her, turning her outrage into strong contempt. Then when two became three, when hushed whispers marked their retreat, she stepped out of the darkness.

“Guards! Stop those men!”

In moments, soldiers poured into the square. Amara rushed down several flights of stairs and out to where the three men knelt in the dirty snow, torchlight illuminating their defeat. She stood in front of them and felt as if her father and brother watched her, judging her.

Her family had ruled for a half-century, and in that time they’d rarely shown mercy. These men, who defied her on such a sacred day, deserved no compassion.

But that was exactly what one asked for. The thief, she believed.

“Please, Comtesse, have mercy. My children—”

“How old are your children?” she asked.

“My daughter is twelve, my son ten. Their mother died long ago. Now they will be alone.” His eyes held hope mingled with despair; tears left dirty tracks down his face.

But Amara felt nothing. He’d dared to steal from her and needed to be punished. She looked up at one of her soldiers. “Find these children. They will be sold to pay for this man’s crimes.” She only waited for his nod before turning away.

“Comtesse! May you be judged as harshly as you judge your own people!”

Amara didn’t even break stride. The doomed thief’s words meant nothing. She entered her chambers and shut the door, then closed her eyes, calming all her thoughts. No use letting some lawless man and his stupid curses upset her. She didn’t write the laws of the land. “Thou shalt not steal” was a commandment of God. She only upheld it.

Is mercy not also one of God’s traits?

The soft voice startled her. Her eyes flew open, and she looked wildly about her. “Who’s there?”

I am who you refer to as Pere Noel. I prefer Nicholas.

A man stepped out of the shadows. He wore the robes of a priest and held an ornate staff. He was very old, his white hair streaming over his shoulders. Somehow, he glowed and didn’t seem solid.

Pere Noel. Father Christmas. It couldn’t be. She had to be dreaming.

“Who are you really and what do you want?”

You are very demanding. He watched her, his bright blue gaze never wavering. I want you to answer me this question. What is your heart made of?

He mocked her. This apparition in her own chambers mocked her. All the hurt and pain of her father’s hatred, her brother’s disdain, filled her. Amara replied, “My heart is of stone, to survive this world.”

Pere Noel nodded, his eyes seemingly saddened. So be it.

He pointed his staff at her. Comtessa Amara de la Cortese of Dupois, for your crimes against children, you have condemned yourself by your own words to a life of stone.

Incredibly, the staff began to glow, and Amara felt herself grabbed by that light, frozen into place. She tried to cry out but she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The lights lifted her up, and she dangled, helpless.

I will grant you a boon. His eyes snapped at each word. Every fifty years, the same length as your family’s despotic reign, you will be granted two days to discover the answer to this question—what is the true meaning of love?

Give me the correct answer, and your life will be your own. Give me the wrong answer and you will return to being a statue. You will have ten chances.

Then the light exploded, and Amara found herself outside, in the frigid cold, but she couldn’t feel it. She knew where she was. In front of the little church, still under construction. And she understood several things at once.

She was made of stone, to match her heart.

She’d been cursed with a task—to find the true meaning of love.

And she’d been inscribed with the following words,

In tribute to those who have lost heart.

Then consciousness faded away.