When he vanished through the far archway, the silence felt colder.
A Winter Court guard escorted us through echoing corridors carved from ice, keeping several paces ahead. Frost etched every wall, glimmering faintly with reflected light. The older human guard spoke low as we walked.
“You see him?” he muttered. “That’s what they say the fae are—beautiful till you realize they’ve forgotten what hearts are for.”
“Shut it,” the younger hissed. “He’ll hear you.”
“He’s gone,” the older said. “And she ought to know what she’s walkin’ into.” His eyes flicked to me. “If he looks at you like that again, lass, don’t hold it. Some say they steal warmth from whatever they fancy, just to remember what it feels like.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” I said dryly.
He huffed, almost a laugh. “Got a mouth on you. Good. Might be the last thing that keeps you human in this place.”
The fae stopped before a door framed in silver filigree. Then he opened it and stepped aside. “Your room. Best you stay in it. This castle doesn’t take kindly to wanderers.”
When he and the human guards left, the door sealed with a soft thud.
The chamber was vast and cold. Frost traced the windows in perfect lattices. A single fire burned in a shallow hearth, its flames blue and quiet. I set my satchel on the table and stood still, listening.
In this room, the air hummed faintly, as if the palace itself were alive. Outside, snow fell in endless ribbons across the dark horizon, glowing green where the auroras bent through the clouds.
I pressed a hand to the glass. The cold bit deep, sharp enough to sting.
He was made of winter. I had no doubt about that now.
But standing there, my breath fogging the glass, I couldn’t tell if it was fear or anticipation that kept my heart from freezing.
Chapter three
Kaelith
The doors closed behind the mortal with a soft hiss of frost, and the silence they left behind felt heavier than the hall itself.
The sound should have satisfied me. It didn’t.
For a heartbeat, the echo of her voice clung to the stone—warm, human, stubbornly alive—then it was gone, swallowed by the hush that ruled this place. I stood there longer than I should have, staring at the snow she had tracked across the floor. It melted slower than it should have. Everything in Winter did.
“She did not kneel,” one of the guards murmured.
“I noticed,” I said, my tone enough to freeze further comment.
They retreated toward the doors. I didn’t watch them go. I kept my gaze on the faint footprints leading away from the dais, each one a tiny act of defiance pressed into the ice. The mortal’s courage—or ignorance—still irritated me. Both, probably.
But irritation wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
I turned toward the steps, fingers brushing the frost along the banister. The ice hummed faintly beneath my touch, answering my mood. Power wanted release, but I swallowed it down. Controlfirst—always.
The air changed as I left the grand hall. Corridors stretched long and hollow, their arches etched with runes that breathed dim blue light. I had walked them a thousand times, yet that night the silence bit deeper. The council would be waiting; they always were when I broke some unspoken rule.
The Frostfather would want a report.She was offered. She arrived. She lives.Efficient. Bloodless. The way he liked things.
But I could still hear her answering me in the hall:Unfortunate, but true.The faint lift of her chin when she said it—no tremor, no pleading. Just stubborn fire wrapped in mortal fragility.
Foolish. Brave. Dangerous.
A faint smile had pulled at my mouth before I caught it. Saints above, I was worse than the diplomats who wrote poetry about humans they barely touched.
I took the next turn too sharply, cloak whispering against the wall. Two Frostguard straightened as I passed. “Your Highness,” one said.
