I told myself I didn’t care. That it was only conversation. A distraction.But Winter didn’t forget warmth once it found it, and neither, it seemed, did I.
The castle had grown quieter in his absence. The hum beneath the floor returned, steady and low, like the sound of something thinking far beneath the surface. The frost along the walls was alive again, tracing faint, shifting lines that glittered faintly gold before turning silver once more.
I paused to watch it. The markings almost looked like writing, like someone had tried to carve meaning into the ice and failed.
That was when I felt it—pressure, not touch, but close enough.
I turned.
Kaelith stood at the far end of the hall.
The frostlight burned brighter around him, drawn to his presence as if in recognition. He wore no armor now—only a dark tunic trimmed in silver, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His gloves were still on, as though even here he feared what his hands might do.
We stared at each other across the distance. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. The quiet stretched until I felt it settle beneath my skin.
When he finally stepped forward, the frost beneath his boots didn’t crack. It bent.
“You’re far from your chambers,” he said, voice calm, almost indifferent.
“I was only walking,” I answered. “I needed air.”
His eyes flicked to the courtyard behind me, where faint traces of gold still shimmered on the frost. His jaw tightened. “And found something else instead.”
“I found your brother,” I said. “He was kind enough to speak with me.”
“That’s not always kindness,” he replied, tone flat but sharp enough to sting.
I crossed my arms, mirroring his stillness without meaning to. “You don’t approve?”
“I don’t interfere,” he said. “But Winter doesn’t take well to warmth. It spreads. Unpredictably.”
“Maybe that’s not always a bad thing.”
His gaze caught mine then, too direct, too steady. “It is when it burns what it touches.”
We stood there in silence again. The frostlight flickered between us, pale and restless. I wanted to look away, but he made it impossible. There was something different in him tonight—something wound too tight beneath the calm.
“Do you always patrol corridors for lost mortals?” I asked, trying to lighten the air that refused to move.
“I don’t patrol,” he said simply. “I notice.”
“Notice what?”
He hesitated. “Things that shouldn’t be.”
I almost laughed. “Then you’ll have your work cut out for you.”
The smallest flicker of something—amusement? frustration?—touched his eyes before it vanished. “You shouldn’t wander alone. Not here.”
“I thought I was safe in your Court.”
“No one is safe in my Court,” he said quietly.
I didn’t know whether that was a warning or an apology.
He stepped closer, the air cooling with him. “Next time you feel the walls watching,” he said, “don’t answer them.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he was gone—turning, the frost swallowing his footsteps like he’d never been there.
