“Your point?” Antal pressed.
“That overseeing a territory is an arduous task,” Verne said. “And I know you never wanted this position to begin with.” She spread her arms, bells clinking from her antlers and dressglistening starlight, a magnanimous tone that stuck to her fangs. “Consider this a gift. No more obligations. Agree to abdicate, and I’ll take care of your territory for you.”
Fuck literally everything about that.
Permafrost cracked Fi’s ribs. Antal losing ground was one thing, but she’d never considered Verne replacing him.
“That’s all you have to say?” Fi shot at Astrid. And for the wretched life of her, she tried to make it bite,triedto hold her head up like she was made of bristles, ignoring the glass lodged in her ribs. “I could have died?So what?”
“I assumed you’d be fine,” Astrid returned. “You’ve always been good at running away.”
“And you didn’t care what happened to me?”
“Did you care, when you leftme?”
Fi flinched, fingernails digging into the sofa. When they’d spoken in Thomaskweld, when Astrid greeted her with a smile instead of cussing her off the Plane… when she sank into that kiss for even an instant… Fi could have believed things were fine again. Somehow, the past was in the past.
What a stupid thought. How could things ever be fine, after what Fi did?
“No,” Antal said.
Fi and Astrid snapped their glares to the pair of predators across the room.
“Antal,” Verne said, still in that lulling lilt. “Let’s be civil about this.”
Antal stood, drawing himself up to fiercer height, a snarl baring all his sharp teeth.
“No,” he said. “I refuse to abdicate.”
Verne clicked her tongue again. “Keep your voice down. It’s unbecoming—”
“Andoyzen yzru, if you think you’ll convince me otherwise!”
At last, Verne frowned. Those pale lips tilted, and it honed every plane of her face, drawing scarlet irises into fiercer focus.
“I assumed you’d be better at this by now,” she said icily.
When Verne stood, the fabric of her dress shimmered like starlight, posture taut on the balls of her feet.
“I assumed you’d be betterfrom the start.” She paced around the table, pressing unnervingly close to Antal. “A visitor from the esteemed home Plane, an esteemed Old House?” Her words sharpened, not as honey-sweet. “Your father must place great faith in you.”
Antal tensed, a slip in composure as raw as an open wound.
“Or he wanted to get rid of you,” Verne said, scalpel sharp. “But let’s not mince words, Antal. You never wanted to come to the Winter Plane. You’ve never been any good at running a territory. Haven’t you languished here long enough?”
She circled him with unnerving calm, tail brushing his arm. Now, they certainly stood too close. A contest of proximity and raised hackles. Antal pressed closer, meeting her challenge.
As tensions rose, Astrid shifted to a less lax position on the sofa, keeping Verne in one eye and Fi in the other. Fi, surrounded by entirely too many red glares for any sensible person’s liking, inched away.
“Astrid. We can talk about this.”
“Can we? Seems like you’ve been fine without talking. For ten years.”
Fi’s bristles slipped like quicksilver through her fingers. A different kind of panic stabbed her stomach. Not fear, but guilt, screaming at her to flee—like she always did.
“I didn’t know…”
“Where to find me?” Astrid gestured to the giant-ass castle. “Fair. It’s easy to miss.”
