“It might have been a deer,” Hyz allowed. “Not a reindeer. But a deer. The snow says some things will come closer than usual.”
“Why is the snow talking to you?” Vic asked. “Should we be worried?”
“No,” Hyz said simply. “It just likes me.”
Alex put a hand on Erin’s forearm, feeling the muscle still taut beneath her jumper. “See?” she said softly. “Our very own in-house weather consultant. We are embarrassingly well resourced.”
Erin huffed, the sound half a laugh, half a sigh. She didn’t lean into Alex’s touch, but she didn’t move away either.
“Okay,” she said, raising her voice a little. “Reindeer—potentially sighted. Power—temporarily defeated. Children—accounted for. Next step: we relocate to somewhere with a functioning fireplace. This corridor has negative warmth.”
“I told Patel about this radiator last year,” Vic grumbled. “He said it was on the list. The list is a lie.”
“The list is a long-term plan,” Julia corrected. “You just want it to be a magical incantation that makes things fix themselves.”
“Yes,” Vic said. “Correct. We’re in a castle. I feel that’s reasonable.”
The little procession turned and began to shuffle backtoward the nursery and the main hall beyond. The children, sensing that the excitement was over for now, gradually peeled off toward the promise of blankets and biscuits. Hyzenthlay stayed close to Vic, slipping her hand into her mother’s.
Julia fell into step with them, leaving Erin and Alex a half-moment of relative quiet at the tail of the group.
“Sorry,” Erin said quietly, eyes still scanning. “That was… not the five minutes you were hoping for.”
“No,” Alex said. “But it’s not your fault the national grid chose that precise moment to collapse.”
“Feels like it is,” Erin muttered.
“That’s the problem,” Alex replied, equally quietly. “Everything feels like it’s your responsibility. Including things that have nothing to do with you. I’m amazed you haven’t started personally negotiating with the snow.”
“I would,” Erin said. “If I thought it would listen.”
She looked at Alex then, properly, the way she used to when they were still dancing around each other and every glance felt like a risk.
“I’m trying,” she said, the words simple and raw. “I know I’m… not here the way I should be. Not with you. I just—every time I start to… there’s something. A protest. A crisis. A child with a fever. A power cut. It feels like the universe is running interference.”
Alex’s heart softened, the sharp edge of her earlier hurt blunting. It wasn’t that Erin didn’t want her. It was that she didn’t know how to shift her priority list when everything clamoured at the same volume.
“Well,” Alex said, forcing a smile, “then we’ll just have to out-stubborn the universe.”
Erin’s mouth twitched. “That’s a tall order.”
“Well, at least you are tall,” Alex said. “And I’m, dangerously determined. That’s enough.”
They reached the door to the nursery. Light, now candle and battery-powered lanterns, spilled through the crack at the bottom. The sounds of children resumed robustly as soon as the door opened—Matilda already recounting the reindeer sighting at full volume to a long-suffering footman.
“Go,” Erin said softly. “They need you to be excited about their monster.”
“They need you too,” Alex said.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Erin said. “I just want to check in with Patel. Two minutes, three max. I promise.”
Alex nodded.
She stepped into the drawing room, letting the warmth and noise swallow her. Matilda lunged at her, miming antlers. Frank insisted on demonstrating the exact positioning of the “monster’s” hooves. Florence climbed into her lap as soon as she sat down, small body curling against hers, a human hot-water bottle with golden hair that smelled faintly of chocolate and snow.
Hyzenthlay perched on the arm of the chair, watching with that same thoughtful expression.
“The snow says we’re not done with surprises,” she said quietly to Alexandra. “But they’re not all bad ones.”
