Maeryn tilted her head, eyes soft but thoughtful. “Control and care are often twins. Power doesn’t always choose between them.”
“That sounds like something a fae would say.”
She smiled faintly. “It is.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Just curious. Maeryn moved to the window and drew back the curtain. Beyond it, the courtyard glimmered with pale frostlight. For the briefest instant, I thought I saw a shadow cross it—a tall figure striding toward the northern wing. Kaelith, maybe.
The thought made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t care to name.
Maeryn let the curtain fall. “Eat something,” she said. “And keep your thoughts light. Winter listens when the mind wanders too far.”
“I’ll try.”
“Try harder than that.”
Her tone was so perfectly dry I almost laughed, and she gave me a small nod before leaving, the door whispering shut behind her.
For a long time, I just sat there, watching the last traces of gold fade from the floor.
They hadn’t been a dream. Not entirely.
By midday, I needed air—or whatever passed for it in a place that didn’t breathe properly.
The corridors of Skadar Hold were never still. Frost shifted along the walls in quiet patterns that vanished when I looked directly at them. Sometimes, when I walked, I felt a faint vibration beneath my boots, as though the keep itself was murmuring beneath the surface.
The longer I stayed, the more convinced I became that the castle was actually listening, like everyone kept warning me.
I passed an archway carved with runes that pulsed faintly in rhythm with my heartbeat. The sound wasn’t a sound exactly—more the sensation of one, low and constant. I tried humming under my breath to test it. The frost brightened, then dimmed again.
“Noted,” I muttered. “No singing in the hallways.”
The air didn’t appreciate the joke.
Beyond the northern arch, the corridor opened into a courtyard dusted in fresh snow. The sky above was pale and sharp, like frozen glass. The air smelled faintly metallic—snow and starlight and something faintly floral, like memory.
I wasn’t alone.
Kael stood near the far wall, watching the frost swirl over a sculpture of interlocked wings. His clothing was lighter than his brother’s—bronze and pale gold threaded with faint runes. The faint gleam of copper in his dark hair caught the light as he turned.
“Braving the cold?” he asked. “You’re either bold or foolish.”
“Maybe both,” I said.
He smiled, slow and easy. “Then you’ll fit right in.”
“I doubt that.”
“Give it time. The Court warms to novelty. Eventually, they’ll forget to pretend they hate you.”
“I’ll mark that as encouragement.”
“You should. It’s rare around here.”
He brushed a patch of snow from the sculpture’s base, eyes following the faint shimmer of runes there. “This one’s older than the Hold itself. The runes keep the frost from ever melting. The Court likes to pretend it’s symbolic—eternal strength and all that. But really, it’s vanity. Winter doesn’t like to see itself age.”
I glanced up at him. “And what about you? Do you age?”
He tilted his head, considering. “Slower than mortals, faster than myths. Somewhere in between. You?”
