He studied me longer than was polite. The court’s silence deepened until I could hear my own pulse echo off the glass.
At last, he spoke again, voice measured yet detached. “You’ll remain in the west wing. The guard will ensure you’re provided for. You’ll not stray from the boundaries assigned to you.”
“Because you’re afraid I’ll melt the walls?” I meant it as sarcasm, but the moment it left my mouth I regretted it.
The faintest tilt of his head. “Afraid? No. But curiosity can be a dangerous indulgence here, mortal. Try not to give the court a reason to indulge it.”
Then he turned, dismissing me as easily as closing a book. A gesture toward the guards sent them forward.
I should have left it there—bowed, curtsied, done whatever they expected of docile tributes—but something in his tone, that smooth authority without warmth, scraped at me.
“I’m not your enemy,” I said.
He stopped, looking over his shoulder. The light caught in his eyes and fractured it into pale fire.
“No,” he said, soft and distant. “You’re something else entirely.”
And then he walked away, leaving me in the silence that followed—a silence that seemed to stretch all the way to the heart of the palace.
They led me out through a hall of glass trees that chimed when the air moved. Each branch was so clear I could see my reflection bending across a thousand frozen angles. Somewhere above, light spilled through thin skylights, breaking into ribbons that shimmered over the floor.
“This is the west wing,” the guard said. “Your quarters are beyond the garden. Do not wander.”
I nodded, though my gaze kept catching on the strange beauty of it all—the way the ice seemed to breathe, the faint crackle like a sigh beneath every step. Nothing about this place stayed still. Even silence had movement.
A low sound stopped us—a deep, resonant rumble that vibrated through the floor. The guard stiffened, hand on his weapon. “Don’t move,” he whispered.
From between the crystal trunks, a shape emerged. White fur shimmered like spun glass; eyes, blue as glacial fire, fixed on me. The snowhound’s breath misted in steady clouds, each exhale freezing into small stars before falling to the ground.
“Fenrir,” the guard breathed, fear tightening his voice. “He only answers to the Frostbound Heir.”
The creature padded closer. Its paws left no sound, only faint prints that glowed before fading. I forced myself not to back away.
“You’re magnificent,” I said softly. My voice barely reached my own ears, yet the hound stopped, head tilting as if listening.
The guards didn’t dare move. Fenrir took one final step, lowering his head until I could see my reflection inside those pale eyes—small, trembling, determined. His breath touched my wrist, cold and clean as mountain air.
Then he turned, circled once, and sat at my side. The guards stared, wide-eyed, waiting for him to strike. Instead, the great beast leaned into me with the faintest brush of weight, as if testing my balance, before settling on his haunches.
“He’s … choosing her,” one guard whispered.
I didn’t look away from the hound. “Seems he has good sense.”
No one laughed. The air had gone thinner, sharper. When the guards finally found their voices, it was only to escort me on in silence with whispers too hushed for me to hear, Fenrir padding beside me like a shadow made of light.
As we walked, the mirrored walls shifted. I caught flashes that weren’t ours—movements deeper in the ice, figures passing just out of sight. Atfirst I thought it was a trick of reflection, but once, briefly, I sawhim: the Frostbound Heir, watching from another corridor. The moment my gaze found him, the image fractured into frost.
When the guard opened the door to my quarters, Fenrir entered first. The hound circled the room once and lay down near the hearth’s unlit crystal. I followed, still trying to understand why I felt safer with a creature of legend than with the people who ruled here.
I crossed to the mirror opposite the window. Frost bloomed along its surface, delicate and bright. For a second, I saw more than my own reflection—a silhouette in armor, tall and still, fading into the shimmer of the glass.
“If the Winter Court meant to keep me prisoner,” I whispered, “it shouldn’t have left its mirrors open.”
The mirror stilled, the frost retreated, and behind me Fenrir gave a low, rumbling sigh—as if in agreement.
Chapter five
Katria
