Frost spidered across the wall beside me, glowing faintly gold where his presence lingered.
He turned his back. “You don’t belong in Winter,” he said hoarsely. “And I am a fool for forgetting that.”
“Maybe Winter’s the fool,” I whispered. “For thinking it could stay frozen forever.”
He froze, shoulders rigid, and for a moment, I thought he might turn back. But he didn’t.
I stood there long after he’d gone.
The frost on the wall still glowed where his hand had been—not silver, not blue, but faintly gold, as if Winter itself hadn’t decided what to do with the warmth he’d left behind.
It pulsed once, then dimmed, but didn’t fade. Neither did the heat in my chest.
My pulse felt too loud in the silence. Every inhale scraped against the air, brittle and thin. The gown’s cold weight pressed against my skin, but all I could feel was the ghost of his nearness—the space between us that hadn’t existed for one impossible heartbeat.
I should have been angry. I told myself I was.
Angry that he’d humiliated me in front of the Court. Angry that he’d treated me like something fragile to protect, then something dangerous to avoid. Angry that he’d walked away first.
But beneath it all was something else—something I didn’t have a name for.
When I reached my chamber, Maeryn was waiting, expression unreadable, eyes flicking over me with the precision of someone counting bruises.
“You shouldn’t wander the halls after a feast,” she said softly. “Winter likes to keep what wanders.”
“I’m not lost,” I said.
“No,” she murmured. “But he is.”
I froze. “What?”
She busied herself with the fire—or the illusion of one; it glowed but didn’t warm. “The prince. He’s been losing his way since before you arrived. You’ve simply given it shape.”
“I don’t understand.” Before I could ask more, she was gone, the door closing with a whisper that sounded too much like a warning.
I sat on the edge of the bed and unfastened the frost clasps at my throat. My reflection shimmered faintly in the mirror opposite—pale skin, flushed cheeks, eyes that still looked like they were searching for him.
“He is made of winter,” I whispered to the woman in the glass. “And I am becoming a flame.”
Chapter eighteen
Kaelith
The frostlight in my study flickered with each breath I took—soft, rhythmic, too close to a heartbeat.
I ignored it.
I had reports to review, emissaries to answer, and a stack of correspondence sealed in wax bearing the mark of the Autumn Court.Their messengers always arrived wrapped in civility—concerned, curious, cooperative.That was how Autumn preferred to poison things: slowly.
Still, I broke the first seal.
The scent hit before the words did—a faint sweetness undercut by decay, like dying leaves steeped in amber. Enchantment. Old, practiced, and polite.
To the Frostbound Heir,
I send my concern and sympathy for the unrest in Winter. The thinning of the Veil troubles all our realms. Yet perhaps within your unrest lies opportunity.
The script shimmered faintly, the ink shifting between gold and bronze. My pulse kept time with it.
