“Witchfire!” someone shouted, and the word tore through the hall like a blade.
Fenrir snarled. The sound swallowed the rest of their accusations. Every guard took a step back; even the councilors flinched. His breath misted in hot clouds that refused to freeze. He looked larger in the steam, primal, ancient.
I could barely feel my legs. The heat that had saved me now left my skin cold again, clammy beneath the soaked fabric. My vision flickered—white, then gold, then the black of closing eyes.
Through it all, Kaelith’s voice cut clear. “The trial is ended,” he repeated.
A councilor found his courage. “Your Highness, she—”
He turned his head, just enough for the frostlight on his armor to flare. “Do you question Winter’s heir?”
Silence. Even the frostlight in the sconces steadied. The air trembled as if the whole palace considered its next breath.
“Remove yourselves,” Kaelith said. “All of you.”
They hesitated. Then, one by one, the councilors withdrew, robes whispering over wet stone. Guards followed. When the last footstep faded, only Fenrir, Kaelith, and I remained.
The quiet pressed in until I could hear the faint drip of melting ice. My knees gave. Kaelith crossed the distance between us before I hit the floor.
The world tilted—his arm catching my weight, his armor cold against my cheek. Frostlight pulsed at his wrist again, brighter this time, but it didn’t freeze me. It warmed.
“Easy,” he said, low, steady, the voice of someone commanding himself as much as me. “Breathe.”
“I’m trying.” My teeth chattered around the words. “That was your test?”
“That was not my intention.”
“What was?”
“To keep you alive.”
I laughed weakly; it sounded like breaking glass. “You’re terrible at it.”
His mouth twitched, almost a smile. “You’re welcome.”
Fenrir pressed his head beneath my hand, whimpering once. Kaelith shifted, helping me sit against the circle’s edge. His glove hovered near my shoulder, uncertain whether to touch. I could see droplets sliding down the black of his armor, catching the last glow of the runes before freezing again.
“Does it always do that?” I asked, nodding toward the frostlight still flickering across his fingers.
He looked down at it as if noticing for the first time. “No.”
“Then what does it mean?”
“It means something changed.”
His tone made it sound like an accusation against himself.
I wanted to ask more, but the exhaustion hit all at once. My body felt hollow, bones filled with the echo of that impossible warmth. The room swayed.
Kaelith rose and spoke softly in the fae tongue. Fenrir obeyed, stepping aside. Then he bent, one arm beneath my knees, the other supporting my back. I tried to protest, but he lifted me as though I weighed nothing.
“You don’t have to—”
“Apparently, I do,” he said. “The Frostfather will have his questions, and I need you alive long enough to answer them.”
That should have sounded cold. Instead, it felt like a promise.
As he carried me toward the corridor, I turned my head just enough to see the circle one last time. The stone still smoked faintly, glowing gold beneath the frost as if the warmth refused to die.
