Not gradually—not the way a winter draft might creep through poor window seals. One moment the dining room is comfortably warm, the next my breath is misting in the air and frost is spreading across the wine glasses in delicate, impossible patterns.
I've heard about this, read about it in the newspapers, but experiencing Fae magic firsthand is entirely different. The frost doesn't look random—it forms spirals and whorls that seem almost alive, like tiny galaxies of ice spinning across the crystal surface. Beautiful and terrifying and utterly beyond human capability.
"He's here," Father whispers, and I understand now why his hands have been shaking all evening.
The great front doors open without anyone touching them, and winter walks into our dining room.
I've seen photographs of Fae lords in the society papers, read descriptions in books, heard stories from girls whose friends vanished into the courts. But nothing prepared me for the reality of Lord Aratus in person.
He moves like controlled violence wrapped in elegant clothing. Tall—taller than any man I've ever seen—with pale skin that seems to gleam with its own internal light. His hair is silver-white and perfectly styled, and when his eyes find mine across the room, I forget how to breathe.
Frozen lakes. That's what his eyes look like—pale blue-white, completely clear, and so cold they should be painful to look at. But I can't look away. Something about his gaze makes my entire body go still, like a deer caught in lantern light.
He's beautiful in a way that hurts. Not human beautiful—something other, something that makes my instincts scream warnings I don't understand. Every line of his body speaks of power held in careful check, of centuries of experience, of things beyond my comprehension.
Ice crystals form in his wake as he moves through the room, creating delicate patterns on the wooden floor that sparkle in the candlelight. When he breathes, vapor curls from his lips like he's exhaling winter itself.
And he's looking at me like he knows exactly why he's here.
"Edgar." His voice carries the weight of glaciers, of mountain peaks and eternal winter. When he speaks, I feel it in my bones. "I trust you've been well."
Father's merchant mask crumbles completely, replaced by something that looks disturbingly like terror. "Lord Aratus. Welcome to our home. Please, sit."
Those impossible eyes haven't left mine. I want to look away, want to break whatever spell this is, but I'm frozen in place. There's something about his presence that makes the restlessness under my skin quiet for the first time in months.
The emptiness that's been gnawing at me goes still.
"Miss Montgomery." He inclines his head toward me—polite, formal, but there's something underneath the courtesy that makes my pulse race. "You're even more beautiful than I expected."
Expected?The word sends a chill down my spine that has nothing to do with the supernatural cold radiating from him. "Lord Aratus. I don't believe we've been properly introduced."
"No," he agrees, settling into the chair across from me with fluid grace. "But your reputation precedes you, Miss Montgomery. As does your father's... situation."
Father goes even paler. "Lord Aratus, surely we can discuss this privately?—"
"No need for privacy," Lord Aratus says calmly, cutting off whatever excuse Father was about to make. "Your daughter should understand exactly what's being negotiated here."
The room grows colder with each word. My breath comes out in visible puffs now, and I should be shivering. Should be reaching for my shawl or moving closer to the fire. Instead, I find the cold oddly comforting, like something my body has been craving without knowing it.
"I'm afraid I don't understand," I say carefully. "What exactly are you here to discuss?"
"Six million dollars," Lord Aratus says with the same tone he might use to comment on the weather. "Twenty years of accumulated interest on loans your father has defaulted on repeatedly. The Frost Court has been... patient. But patience has limits."
The words hit me like physical blows. Six million dollars. I knew Father had been borrowing to expand the shipping business, but this... this is catastrophic.
"We can arrange payment terms," Father says desperately. "A percentage of profits, perhaps, or?—"
"No." The single word carries finality that makes the windows rattle. "The debt is due in full. Tonight."
"I don't have that kind of liquid capital," Father protests, his voice breaking. "You know I don't. The ships, the warehouses, everything is leveraged?—"
"Then we come to alternative arrangements." Lord Aratus leans back in his chair, completely relaxed despite the devastation he's just delivered. His eyes never leave mine. "Your daughter, Edgar. She settles the debt."
The silence that follows is deafening. I stare at him, certain I've misheard. Certain this can't be happening.
"Excuse me?" My voice comes out as barely a whisper.
"You heard correctly, Miss Montgomery. Your father's debts can be settled through your... cooperation. It's a common arrangement between the courts and human families who find themselves in financial difficulty."
