Witch.
Kael’s shoulders tensed beside me. “Friendly lot.”
“They’re afraid,” I whispered.
“Of you,” Kaelith corrected. “Or what they think you’ve done.”
The words stung more than they should have. I wanted to ask if he believed them too, but his jaw had already set in that familiar line that meant I wouldn’t get an answer.
As we crossed the threshold, the temperature dropped so sharply my breath came out white and slow. Even Fenrir hesitated, hackles raised. The Hold seemed to exhale a sigh that rolled across the courtyard—part welcome, part warning.
The courtyard of Skadar Hold closed behind us with a sound like a glacier sealing shut.
Inside the walls, the air changed. It pressed closer, colder, heavy with the taste of metal and old magic. Runes glowed faintly under the snow, tracing veins of light through the stones. Every footstep echoed, followed by another half-step that wasn’t ours—as if the Hold itself was listening and repeating.
No one spoke. The guards along the ramparts watched in silence, their faces pale beneath frost-rimmed helms. Each time I met a pair of eyes, it dropped away again. Not reverence—fear.
Kael muttered near my ear, “You’d think we’d brought the plague.”
Kaelith’s answer came low. “In their minds, we did.”
A pair of doors loomed ahead, carved from dark ice shot through with veins of silver. Beyond them lay the inner ward. As the gates creaked open, a wave of cold rolled out so sharp it stung my teeth.
Inside, the grandeur of Winter spread before us: columns of blue glass rising like frozen trees, corridors arching high enough to swallow echoes. The light from the aurora bled through narrow windows, turning everything the color of bruised moonlight. Beauty and menace intertwined until I couldn’t tell them apart.
Our steps carried us deeper. The farther we went, the louder the whispers became—thin, overlapping, impossible to tell apart. My namesurfaced among them, distorted, half-sung.Katria Vale. The mortal. The witch.
Kael glanced at me. “Ignore them.”
“That’s difficult when they’re using my name like a curse.”
He gave me a quick, rueful smile. “It’s what they do best here.”
Kaelith didn’t slow. “They’ve always feared what they don’t understand. Keep walking.”
We turned a corner and nearly collided with a line of servants carrying crystal basins. The eldest of them—a woman with silver hair plaited tight—stopped dead when she saw us. Her hands trembled; water sloshed over her wrists and froze instantly.
She bowed too low. “My lord.”
“Rise,” Kaelith said. His tone was even, but the command carried frost in it.
She obeyed, eyes flicking toward me just once before she hurried past. When she was gone, I saw where the water had spilled: across the floor, the thin film of ice reflected us upside down. My reflection was pale and wavered at the edges, as if the Hold itself couldn’t quite decide whether to keep me.
Maeryn found us near the grand staircase. She moved quickly, skirts whispering like dry leaves and her face drawn tighter than I’d ever seen it.
“My lord,” she said to Kaelith, bowing. “The king’s temper rises by the hour. The frost on the upper halls won’t hold another storm.”
Kaelith’s expression didn’t change, a perfect mask of emotionless ice. I wondered how long it had taken him to learn that skill. “Then I won’t keep him waiting.”
Maeryn’s gaze shifted to me, softening for an instant. “You should stay behind.”
Before I could answer, Kaelith said, “She stays with me.”
Maeryn’s eyes flicked between us, assessing, worried. “Then at least remember the rule of Winter Court—let the frost speak before you do.”
“I’ve spent a lifetime doing that,” he said quietly.
She hesitated then looked at me again. “Whatever you hear in that hall, don’t answer it. Not with words.”
