Only the faintest echo of warmthremained, fading fast.
By the time I reached my chambers again, the warmth Kael had left behind had gone, replaced by the familiar weight of cold that wasn’t just temperature—it was mood.
When the door opened softly behind me, I half expected to see Kaelith again. But it was Maeryn.
She carried a folded shawl of pale gray fur and a tray of tea that steamed faintly blue. Her eyes flicked from my face to the frost pulsating on the walls like veins, taking in everything without surprise.
“You’ve been out,” she said simply.
“I couldn’t stay still.”
“Or wouldn’t?”
“Does it matter?”
“Only to Winter,” she said, setting the tray down. “The Hold feels everything that moves within it.”
“I noticed.”
Maeryn glanced toward the frostlight patterns. “It’s listening.”
“To what?”
“To you.”
I tried to laugh, but it came out thin. “You make that sound normal.”
“Normal doesn’t mean safe.”
She poured the tea and handed me a cup. It smelled faintly of mint and something floral I couldn’t name. I took a careful sip; the taste was cold, even when steaming.
“You saw him,” she said at last.
“Kaelith.”
It wasn’t a question.
I nodded. “He doesn’t like me wandering.”
“He doesn’t like anything he can’t control.”
There was no malice in her tone, just quiet observation.
“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.
“Wrong?” She tilted her head, as though testing the word. “No. But right and wrong lose their shape here. Intention is what matters.”
I frowned. “You sound like you’re defending him.”
“I’m explaining him.” Her gaze softened. “The prince is … disciplined. He must be. Every heartbeat in him belongs to Winter before it belongs to himself. That kind of restraint leaves little room for warmth.”
“He doesn’t seem to want any.”
“Wanting and allowing are rarely the same thing.”
Her words sank like stones into the silence.
I looked down at the tea, at my reflection rippling faintly in the blue surface. “He warned me not to answer the walls.”
