He closed the door behind us. “No one enters it but me.”
I turned slowly. “Then why bring me here?”
He hesitated long enough for the question to sting. “Because my father won’t look for you where he knows you don’t belong.”
That wasn’t an answer, not really. But I didn’t press him. He moved toward the hearth, pulling off his gloves. The frostlight along his wrist dimmed to nothing, revealing the faint scars that ran from the base of his palm to his forearm—like something had tried to carve him hollow once and failed.
I should have looked away. I didn’t.
“You shouldn’t have touched it,” he said finally.
“You think I meant to wake the Dreamstone?”
“I think…” He paused, voice roughening. “I think it meant to wake you.”
My pulse tripped. “That makes no sense.”
“Neither does this.” He gestured toward the wall, where the frost was still shifting in faint, unfamiliar patterns. “You’ve changed the Hold. I can feel it.”
“I didn’ttryto—”
“I know,” he interrupted, quieter now. “That’s what frightens me.”
He raked a hand through his dark hair then turned away. The gesture was pure control—an effort to ground himself. His breath clouded in the air, uneven.
I stepped closer before I could second-guess it. “What happens now?”
He didn’t look at me. “My father will demand proof that you can be contained. The Court will whisper that you’re cursed. The only way to survive that is to give them something else to talk about.”
“Like what?”
His gaze found mine then, sharp and steady. “Like the Frostbound Heir defying his king.”
My throat went dry. “That will make them turn on you.”
“They already have.”
I didn’t understand the look he gave me next—half fury, half exhaustion, all restraint. He took a step forward. I should have moved back, but then the space between us vanished, leaving only the heat of his breath and the hum of something dangerous in the air.
“Why did the humans send you?” he rasped, the question more rhetorical than one demanding an answer. “You shouldn’t make me choose.”
“Choose what?”
His jaw flexed. “Between the realm and—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “You don’t understand what you’ve done.”
“So tell me.” I lifted my chin. “All you people do is talk in circles.”
He almost laughed, but it broke somewhere in the middle. “You’ve made Winter remember it has a heartbeat.”
The words sank into me like a brand. He reached up then—slowly, as if fighting himself—until his fingers brushed the side of my face. Even through the chill of his skin, I felt the tremor in his hand.
“You should rest,” he said finally, pulling back. “Stay here tonight. No one will disturb you.”
“What about you?”
His eyes lingered on me for a moment too long. “I’ll be outside. Guarding the door.”
It wasn’t a request. It was a sentence—for both of us.
