A Prince Bleeding into the Snow           Image Generated with Meta AI  The first time Liora saw the prince, he was bleeding into the snow. It was dusk in the forest clearing, the sky a dull bruise above the jagged treetops. She dropped her firewood and ran toward the figure slumped against a boulder—barely upright, his blood staining the frozen grass crimson. She didn't recognize him at first. Just another wounded soldier, she thought. Until she saw the gold-stitched emblem on his torn cloak: a black raven over crossed swords. Royal. Liora's heart kicked against her ribs. Her fingers trembled as she touched his jaw—too cold. Blood soaked the side of his tunic where an arrow had lodged below his ribs. "Hey," she whispered. "Don't die here." His eyelids fluttered. "Who... are you?" "Someone who doesn't want to bury a stranger before breakfast." She tore at her satchel, hands flying. Clean cloth. Healing salve. Thread. Moonlight cau...