"It's impossible."
"So was your father's shipping empire before we protected his vessels from storms that could sink steel. So was your family's prosperity before we eliminated his competitors. So was your entire life, built on Fae gold and Fae favor." His voice is matter-of-fact, but there's something underneath it that might be pity. "You've been living in our world for twenty years, Elise. You just didn't know it."
The implications hit me like an avalanche. Every success, every advantage, every bit of good fortune my family has enjoyed—it was all orchestrated. All part of some vast plan I'm only now beginning to understand.
"How many?" The question comes out broken. "How many families like ours?"
"Enough." He settles back against the silk cushions. "The integration required careful management. Certain bloodlines needed to be preserved, encouraged, prepared. Your peopleadapted faster than expected—humans are remarkably flexible when their survival depends on it."
"You mean you've been breeding us." The words taste like bile. "Like livestock."
"Like partners," he corrects. "Though I suppose the distinction matters less than the result."
I turn away from him, pressing my forehead against the crystal wall despite how the contact burns with cold. The ice is so clear I can see my reflection perfectly—auburn hair disheveled, face pale with cold and shock, eyes wide with the kind of horror that comes from understanding too much too fast.
I look like a ghost of myself. Like someone who's already died but doesn't know it yet.
I refuse to eat the provisions he offers.
It's a small rebellion, but it's all I have left. When he produces a basket of food that shouldn't exist—fresh bread, perfect fruit, cheese that smells like summer meadows—I turn my face away and pull my cloak tighter around my shivering form.
"Suit yourself," he says mildly, taking a bite of an apple that crunches like autumn frost. "But we have two more days of travel ahead of us."
My stomach clenches with hunger, but I ignore it. I've gone without meals before when my tantrums made eating impossible. I can outlast him.
Except this cold is unlike anything I've experienced. It's not just temperature—it's a living thing that creeps into my bones and sets up residence there. Every breath hurts. Every movement is agony. My body is burning through energy justtrying to stay alive, and the smell of food makes my mouth water despite my determination.
By midday, I'm lightheaded. By evening, I'm desperate.
"The bread is still warm," he observes, not looking up from his book. "Magic keeps it fresh indefinitely. Seems wasteful to let it go uneaten."
"I'm not hungry," I lie.
"Of course not." He takes another bite of apple, and the sound of his chewing is torture. "Though you might want to reconsider. Tomorrow's travel will be more... demanding."
"What do you mean?"
"We leave the carriage behind. The final approach to my palace must be made on foot." His smile is sharp with anticipation. "The mountain paths don't accommodate vehicles. Even magical ones."
The thought of walking through this supernatural cold makes my stomach clench with more than hunger. At least in the carriage, I have walls and a roof. Outside...
"You'll freeze me to death," I whisper.
"Will I?" He tilts his head, studying me with clinical interest. "You've survived eighteen hours in conditions that should have killed you in minutes. Your lips are blue and your hands are numb, but your core temperature remains stable. Your body is adapting exactly as it should."
"As it should for what?"
"For an omega paired with an ice-wielding alpha." He sets down his book and leans forward. "Your biology is changing, Elise. Preparing for transformation. Soon the cold won't hurt you at all—it will feel like coming home."
"I'm not an omega," I insist, but the words sound hollow even to me. How else could I survive this? How else could I still be conscious and talking when any normal human would be dead?
"Aren't you?" He pulls a slice of bread from the basket and holds it out. "Prove it. If you're fully human, you should be dead by now. The fact that you're not suggests otherwise."
The bread smells like heaven. Like warmth and comfort and everything my starving body craves. But accepting it would be admitting he's right about what I am.
"I'll never admit to being what you say I am."
"You don't have to admit anything. Your body speaks louder than words." He takes a bite of the bread himself, making a soft sound of satisfaction. "But suit yourself. Starve if it makes you feel better. I'll still be here when you're ready to be reasonable."
