Music began again, hesitant at first—thin, crystalline notes from an unseen ensemble that shimmered through the air like icicles breaking. Fae nobles resumed their murmured conversations, though I caught my name between their words like a splinter.
The mortal.The thaw-bringer.His distraction.
I tried not to listen.
At the far end of the hall, the Frostfather’s throne loomed—carved from solid ice, faceted so sharply it threw back the frostlight like a hundred tiny mirrors. The king sat still within it, pale eyes reflecting nothing at all.
And beside him stood Kaelith.
He was dressed in deep-slate armor edged in silver, runes faintly alive beneath the surface. A faint halo of frostlight traced his shoulders, a mark of both power and warning.
He didn’t look at me at first. But when he did, it was like the whole room tilted.
His gaze caught mine across the distance—cool, assessing, almost cruel. Then it faltered, the smallest hitch in his composure, so brief I might have imagined it.
He looked away too late.
The frostlight along his wrist flared bright and sharp before dimming again. The nobles noticed.They always noticed.
Kael appeared beside me, all sun-warm charm and trouble. “Ignore them,” he murmured under his breath, offering me his arm. “They whisper because they envy your warmth.”
“They whisper because I’m not supposed to be here,” I said, taking it anyway.
“Both can be true.”
As he guided me toward the lower tables, I felt Kaelith’s gaze again, heavier this time. When I glanced up, he was still watching—expression unreadable but his focus absolute. The line of his throat, the flex of his jaw, the way his gloved hand tightened briefly against his side—all of it spoke of restraint stretched thin.
The Frostfather raised a glass, his voice echoing through the hall like the cracking of ice. “To the fragile truce that binds mortal and fae. May it not shatter under its own weight.”
Laughter followed, soft, hollow, and practiced. My throat ached with the effort of not reacting.
Kael leaned close enough for his breath to warm my ear. “You’re holding your own.”
“I don’t feel like I am.”
“That’s how you know you are.”
I managed the faintest smile, even as my skin prickled beneath Kaelith’s stare. He hadn’t moved from the dais, but his presence filled the room as surely as the cold. And when the music shifted, I saw his knuckles pale against the goblet in his hand.
At first, the feast was almost beautiful.
The tables glittered with dishes carved from translucent ice—frozen petals, crystal fruits, wine that shimmered like liquid frost. Nobles toasted with voices too sweet, too careful, each word polished until it gleamed.
It was all so dazzling it almost disguised the cruelty underneath.
Almost.
I’d barely taken my seat when a noblewoman drifted toward me, her gown the color of snow caught in moonlight. Her smile was soft and poisonous.
“I’ve been dying to meet you,” she said, voice lilting. “The mortal healer who warms our prince’s hall.”
“I don’t warm anything,” I said carefully.
“Oh, I think you do.” Her gaze slid to Kaelith—still standing beside the Frostfather, still watching. “The frostlight trembles when you enter a room. Tell me, is it true human tongues can taste the difference between ice and snow?”
Laughter rippled through the nearby tables, soft and sharp as broken glass.
“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “Most of us are too busy trying not to starve.”
