The world narrowed to his breath, his warmth, the dangerous softness in his tone. I should have stepped back. I didn’t. The silence stretched until a sound cut through it—frost cracking.
Kaelith stood at the far end of the corridor.
The look in his eyes froze the air. The frostlight in his gauntlet flared once, then dimmed, as if even the magic wanted to retreat. Kael turned but didn’t move aside.
“You should keep your distance, Brother,” Kaelith said, voice like ground glass.
“I could say the same.”
“Do it, then.”
The tension was unbearable. Two versions of Winter, facing each other—one disciplined and deadly, the other burning bright enough to melt the walls. I’d never felt more out of place in my own skin.
Kaelith’s gaze shifted to me. “You should be in your room.”
“I was,” I said, though my voice sounded thin.
He took a step closer. “And now you’re not.”
Kael moved subtly, standing between us. “Careful, Brother. The Court already thinks you’ve lost control.”
“And you think you can do better?”
Kael’s smile returned, but it was all edge. “I know I can.”
I had no idea what would have happened next if Maeryn hadn’t appeared at the stairway, breathless and pale.
“Your Highnesses,” she said, bowing to both but meeting neither gaze directly. “The Frostfather summons you, Princes. Now.”
The wordfatherhit Kaelith like a blow. His expression hardened; Kael’s jaw flexed once in answer.
Kaelith turned without another word and strode down the hall, his cloak snapping like a storm behind him. Kael lingered long enough to look back at me.
“You don’t have to choose sides yet,” he said softly. “But soon you will.”
And then he was gone too.
When the corridor fell silent again, I finally exhaled. Frost clung to the edges of my sleeves where Kaelith’s presence had brushed the air, melting slowly under the lingering heat Kael had left behind.
Two brothers, opposite in everything but the way they looked at me. And yet I knew that whatever warmth I felt between them, it would end the same way all fires do—by consuming whatever was foolish enough to stand too close.
The air in the lower halls was stale.
It clung to the skin like breath frozen in place, too heavy to be natural yet too still to be safe. I told myself I only came down here for herbs. Maeryn had mentioned a frost-moss that grew near the undercrofts, one that could soothe burns if mixed with boiled resin. That was the excuse, anyway. But deep down, I already knew that wasn’t why my steps had brought me here.
Ever since the crimson aurora, I’d felt it—a pulse beneath the Hold, faint but constant, like the echo of a heartbeat buried under the ice. I’d hoped it was my imagination. I was never that lucky.
The torches here shimmered. Frostlight lines ran through the stone like veins, dim and restless, as if they resented being seen. Fenrir padded silently at my side, his fur bristling. The last corridor ended in a vault-like arch, half collapsed, ice covering everything but a narrow opening. The debris in the opening shifted upon my nearing, widening until there was space enough for me to fit.
It was foolish of me to go through, but I couldn’t ignore the curiosity that niggled at me.
Beyond it, the air hummed. The chamber was smaller than I expected, circular and carved smooth as glass. No banners, no runes, no throne. Justa single pedestal in the center, its surface layered with frost. And beneath the frost … something glowed.
A single shard, faintly blue, light pulsing once, then again. Slow. Rhythmic. Like a heartbeat.
My hand moved before I thought. I wasn’t reaching for power, or curiosity, or even sense—just … to understand. To prove to myself that this, too, was real.
The moment my fingers brushed the surface, the light erupted.
