The nobles stood motionless, heads bowed, pretending not to notice that the runes along the dais flickered out of rhythm. A few cast furtive glances toward Kaelith, as though hoping the Frostbound Heir might steady the room simply by breathing.
He didn’t. He stayed perfectly still beside the throne, every line of him carved from composure. Only his eyes betrayed motion, flicking once from the spreading frost at my feet to the faint gold still shimmering there.
The Frostfather leaned forward. “Tell me, healer—can you mend what does not wish to heal?”
“I don’t know,” I said carefully. “I mend what I can.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one that’s true.”
A ripple passed through the hall—something between a gasp and a shiver. Frost crawled up the nearest pillar, spiraling in a pattern that almost resembled writing.
The Frostfather smiled as if pleased by a secret no one else could see. “The Veil hums through you. You carry its song in your pulse.”
“I don’t hear anything,” I whispered.
He tilted his head. “Then perhaps it listens instead.”
My stomach turned cold. Behind him, Kaelith’s hand tightened imperceptibly around the edge of his gauntlet. A single breath of frost escaped the seams, a halo of white before he stilled it again.
“Father,” he said softly. “The mortal doesn’t understand our ways. Perhaps—”
“Do not shield her,” the Frostfather snapped. The voice split again—two tones now, overlapping like broken glass. “You’ve forgotten what happens when Winter softens.”
Kaelith’s jaw clenched. “I haven’t.”
“Then remember.”
The frost at the base of the throne flared, sudden and bright, racing outward like lightning frozen in mid-strike. It reached my shoes before I could move. The temperature dropped hard enough to sting.
My breath came shallow, visible. Every part of me screamed to back away, but pride—or stupidity—kept me still. If I moved, they’d smell fear.
The Frostfather’s eyes narrowed. “Still breathing. Still warm. The last mortal who stood there turned to glass before the Court finished its applause.”
I didn’t look away. “Maybe your frost has grown tired.”
A gasp. A hiss of collective disbelief. Even the air seemed to halt.
Then Kaelith moved—just a fraction, one boot forward, enough to draw the Court’s attention from me to him. His voice was calm, cold, precise. “The mortal speaks without understanding. Allow me to correct her ignorance—after she rests.”
The Frostfather stared at him for a long, unnatural moment. The echo of his laughter returned, softer this time. “You always were merciful. A dangerous flaw.”
He waved a hand. The frost receded in a rush, leaving behind a ring of faint gold where it had touched. No one spoke.
Kaelith’s gaze met mine across the space between us—conflict barely masked beneath the calm. For the briefest heartbeat, I thought I saw something like regret flicker there. Then he turned away.
“Take her,” the Frostfather said. “Let her learn what Winter remembers.”
Two Frostguards approached. Their armor hissed with cold as they fell into step beside me.
As they led me from the hall, the nobles bowed again, the motion perfectly synchronized, perfectly soulless.
I looked back once. Kaelith was still at the throne’s side, unflinching. His expression held no pity, no warmth—only that conflict, honed into silence.
And for the first time, I realized silence here was not absence.It was the sound of something waiting to break.
The events of the hall stayed with me long after I left it.
