The smile faltered. It was the smallest victory, and it cost me every ounce of calm I had.
The fae recovered quickly. “How quaint. I suppose you’ll find our ways confusing, then. All this splendor—so unlike your humble mortal hearths.”
“Confusing, no,” I said. “Transparent, maybe.”
The laughter that followed was quieter this time—uncertain, edged with something like admiration. Her smile tightened.
Before she could answer, the Frostfather’s voice rolled over the hall.
“To the truce that endures,” he said, lifting his glass. “And to the mortal who embodies it.”
Every gaze in the room turned to me.
Kaelith’s expression didn’t change, but the air near him seemed to strain—frostlight pulsing faintly, as if reflecting something beneaththe surface.
A noble across the table leaned forward, eyes bright with mischief. “Tell us, mortal. Does the Frostbound Heir find your warmth … endearing?”
I froze.
The laughter this time was open, unkind, echoing through the hall like shattering ice. Kaelith’s gaze snapped toward the speaker.
“Enough.”
His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The sound struck like a physical force, low and resonant, making the air itself bow.
The laughter died instantly. A thin layer of frost crawled up the sides of every glass until the wine froze solid.
Kaelith’s gloved hand was still around his goblet—now a shard of frozen blue. His jaw was locked, his composure fractured.
The noble swallowed hard. “We only—”
Kaelith’s gaze silenced him before the words could finish.
The Frostfather’s pale eyes gleamed with something between amusement and warning. “My son forgets himself,” he murmured.
“Perhaps,” Kaelith said evenly, “the Court forgets its manners.”
The temperature dropped further, frostlight flickering like dying stars. No one spoke.
I sat very still, pulse hammering, aware that every eye in the room was now divided between us—the mortal and the heir who’d just broken his perfect calm.
Kaelith turned away first. “Enjoy your feast,” he said to no one in particular, and set his goblet down hard enough for it to crack.
Then he left the dais, the frost fracturing beneath each step.
Kael exhaled softly beside me. “Well,” he muttered, “that went better than it could’ve.”
I shot him a look. “Better?”
“He didn’t kill anyone.”
“That’s your standard?”
“In this Court? It’s a high bar.”
I tried to smile, but my throat felt tight. When I looked back toward the doors Kaelith had disappeared through, the frost still shimmered faintly in his wake, a path cut by anger and something far more dangerous.
Something that wasn’t cold at all.
