“Not the way you do, I think.”
The remark caught me off guard. “And what way is that?”
“Like you’re trying to figure out whether he’s real or just the idea of someone you should hate.”
I didn’t have an answer for that—maybe because it was too close to the truth. Kael only smiled, as if my silence pleased him.
He turned, brushing frost from the nearest column and tracing a lazy circle into the ice. “You should see Summer sometime. There’s a garden like this, but the flowers don’t need magic to bloom.”
“I doubt your brother would approve of me traveling,” I said.
“Then don’t ask him.”
I laughed quietly despite myself. “You really are reckless.”
“Not reckless,” he corrected. “Optimistic. There’s a difference.”
He faced me again, sunlight woven into every line of him. “Tell me, Katria Vale—if Winter let you go tomorrow, would you run?”
“Yes,” I said, without thinking.
Kael’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable—interest, maybe, or respect. “Good,” he said softly.
And before I could reply, he bowed again with that effortless grace and stepped back toward the archway.
“I should go before someone decides I’ve melted the wrong heart,” he said, winking. “Enjoy the garden, little flame.”
Then he was gone, leaving warmth and unease behind, both impossible to tell apart.
Almost as soon as he was gone, Maeryn stepped out from behind one of the pillars, eyes darting after him. “You shouldn’t speak with him,” she whispered.
“I didn’t invite him,” I replied.
“I know. But the Summer Prince never does anything without reason.” She hesitated, as though she might say more, then only added, “The Court watches everything he touches.”
I turned toward the frozen fountain again. The fae woman’s face was cracked now, her expression softer, almost sorrowful. Or maybe I imagined that.
“Do they watch his brother the same way?” I asked.
Maeryn’s lips thinned. “The Frostbound Heir is not a man one watches. He’s one you survive.”
That should have frightened me. Instead, I felt the old ache of confusion. Kaelith’s distance hurt worse than any cruelty could have. He’d saved me from the frost’s judgment only to vanish behind its walls again. Even now, I couldn’t tell whether he regretted sparing me—or himself.
“Do you think,” I asked quietly, “he regrets saving me?”
“I think regret and mercy are the same in Winter. Both make you weak.” Maeryn lowered her gaze. “You should return to your rooms, Lady Katria.”
Her answer lingered long after she left me alone in the garden.
The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It pressed closer, listening. I walked the length of the glass walls until my breath fogged the panes,tracing pale clouds over their perfect surfaces. Beyond the glass, snow fell in soft ribbons of white, but every so often a flake glowed faintly gold before fading to gray. I reached out, touching the glass. A thin film of warmth bloomed beneath my fingers. The frost melted there, too, just like before.
A ripple ran through the pane. Not enough to break it—just enough to remind me that even ice could move.
When I drew my hand back, the mark it left behind didn’t fade; it pulsed once, a faint golden shimmer that refused to die. For a heartbeat, it looked alive.
I turned, half expecting Kael’s laughter again or Kaelith’s scorn, but the garden was empty. Only Fenrir stood at the archway, silently watching me. His silver fur glimmered faintly with frostlight, his breath misting in slow, steady clouds.
“Did he send you?” I asked.
