The mortal tribute intrigues me. Such warmth, in a place so cold. Has she melted anything yet, I wonder?
My jaw tightened. I set the parchment down, fingertips tracing the edge of the seal as if examining a blade.
Typical of Queen Sareth—every word sharpened into something that could cut either way.
I should have stopped reading.Instead, I flattened the page and continued.
Even frost melts when it begins to feel.
The words caught somewhere low in my throat, though I didn’t know why.
I exhaled through my teeth, slow and measured—a habit from training.Control begins with breath.The frost on the desk steadied for a moment, then pulsed faintly in rhythm with my heartbeat.
Too warm.
I pushed back from the desk and crossed the room, counting each step as if it might ground me.Four steps. Turn. Four back.It didn’t help. The air had shifted—not cold, not truly. I could feel it prickling against my skin, an invisible heat crawling up through the fabric of my gloves.
A faint shimmer clung to the letter. Not visible frostlight—something else,like sunlight bleeding through thin ice.
“Subtle,” I murmured. “Clever.”
Autumn’s magic was scent and memory. It worked through suggestion. It made youwantto linger.
I didn’t.
I reached for the letter again, intending to burn it. But my hand hesitated over the page. I couldn’t stop reading the single line that shimmered beneath the seal.
Does she look at you yet the way Winter once looked at Spring?
The air thickened, pressing close tomy throat.
I took another breath—slow, purposeful, the kind that used to silence tremors after a battle. It didn’t silence this.
My chest felt too tight. Heat bled through the seams of my gloves until the frostlight along my wrists flared bright gold.
Gold.
I stared at the glow. It wasn’t possible. Frostlight never burned that color. And yet, for the last several days, it had.
It pulsed again, slower this time, as if mocking me.
“Enough,” I said quietly. My voice didn’t sound like mine—too rough, too alive.
Fenrir stirred by the hearth, one ear flicking. He made a low, uneasy sound.
I pressed my palms flat to the desk, focusing on the burn until it steadied back into cold.
Then I looked down at the letter and saw the faint shimmer of runes curling beneath Sareth’s signature. Hidden words, revealed only after warmth touched them.
Longing makes loyal servants of us all.
The script twisted once, then faded into ash.
I stood still for a long time, letting the frost settle around me again.
Then, softly: “So that’s what this is.”
It wasn’t fascination. It wasn’t weakness. It wasenchantment.And it had already taken root.
