The corridor outside the feast hall was cooler than the room I’d left, and quieter too.
Kaelith’s footprints were still visible in the frost, each one a perfect imprint, the only evidence he’d ever lost control at all. I followed before I could talk myself out of it.
He didn’t get far. He stood at the base of one of the great frostglass pillars, hands braced on the edge of a marble balustrade, head bowed slightly. The air around him shimmered faintly with cold.
“Prince Kaelith,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
He didn’t turn. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“And you should? Aren’t we both expected at that dreadful feast?”
The pause that followed was taut. Then he exhaled, a thin plume of mist escaping his lips. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”
“I didn’t come to thank you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
His head lifted at that, though he still didn’t face me. “Good.”
“Because that was humiliating,” I said. “I didn’t need your rescue.”
He turned then, like a cat stalking prey. “You think that was rescue?”
“I think it was unnecessary.”
His eyes caught the frostlight, gray and sharp as cracked ice. “You would have let them continue?”
“I would have handled it.”
“They would have destroyed you.”
I took a step closer. “You don’t get to decide what destroys me.”
His jaw tightened, the muscles along it flexing once. “Someone must.”
“Then maybe it should be me.”
That pulled his attention fully. His expression flickered—a flash of frustration, or admiration, or both. “You have no idea what you invite when you speak like that.”
“Maybe not,” I said quietly, blowing out a breath.
For a heartbeat, everything stilled. The frostlight dimmed.
He moved before I saw it—one step closer, then another, until he was standing directly before me. His breath fogged between us, mingling with mine. The heat in it shouldn’t have existed here, but it did.
“You should hate me,” he murmured, almost to himself.
“I tried.”
His eyes flicked to my mouth, then back. His gloved hand rose—hesitated—stopped inches from my jaw. I could see the faint tremor in it, the thin layer of frost spreading from his fingertips into the air between us.
“Don’t,” he murmured, and I didn’t know whether it was meant for me or himself.
“Don’t what?”
A sharp exhale fled his lips, a war raging in his eyes.
He reached for me—or maybe I leaned toward him first, I couldn’t tell. The distance between us vanished to a breath, his control unraveling thread by thread. My hand reached up to his chest, my palm flat against its solid ridges.
Then, with a sound like ice fracturing, he pulled away. The air rushed cold where he’d been.
