“Don’t what?”
“Love her.”
It came out smoother than I expected. But it didn’t sound convincing—not to me or him.
The Frostfather descended the steps. Each step left behind a crack that spread outward, tiny fissures racing across the floor. His madness moved with him—visible now in the way his breath shaped frost that didn’t fade, in the strange stillness of his pupils.
“You forget your purpose,” he whispered. “You were born to bind Winter, not break it.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Then prove it.” He leaned in close, and the frostlight between us flared white. “Seal the mortal. Or the next time you lose control, it will be the end of you.”
I left the throne hall before the echoes of his words died.
Seal the mortal.
The command burned behind my eyes like a brand.I told myself I wouldn’t think of her again—that obedience would cauterize whatever heat the enchantment had kindled.
It didn’t.
The corridors blurred past, frostlight flickering along the walls. The castle’s heartbeat followed mine: too fast, too uneven.Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the rhythm of her breath in memory—ragged, defiant, alive.
The enchantment pressed closer then, subtle and merciless. It didn’t speak in words; it spoke in sensation.Warmth unfurled beneath my ribs, spreading low and slow like fire catching silk.
I stopped in the shadows of the northern passage, forcing a breath through clenched teeth.Control. Contain it.
But control was a brittle thing now.Every time I thought her name, the frost around me softened, slicking to mist.
The scent of her lingered in memory—wild herbs, smoke, the faint sweetness of thawing air.My pulse answered. I imagined her hands, the way she’d touched my chest that night in the corridor, the heat where her defiance had met my skin.
The thought alone sent a shock through me.Gold light flared at my wrists. Frost cracked underfoot.
“Enough,” I hissed, but my body didn’t listen.
The magic fed on feeling—it wanted depth, it wanteddesire.And for one wild moment, it gave me what I wanted most: the vision of her, standing close enough for her breath to warm the hollow of my throat, eyes lifted in challenge.
She would have touched me first. I was certain of it.I could almost feel it—her fingertips brushing my jaw, hesitant but brave, like she meant to test if Winter could melt.
The warmth spread higher. My throat tightened.I braced my hand against the wall, knuckles white, forcing the image away.
It isn’t real.It isn’t her.It’s the enchantment.
But the body doesn’t listen to logic. It listens to hunger.
I exhaled hard, fog curling around me, thick and uneven.When it cleared, I realized where my steps had taken me.
Her corridor.
Her door.
I stood there for a long time, gloved hand suspended over the frostglass.Through the thin layer of ice, I could sense her warmth—soft, rhythmic, sleeping.
The enchantment surged. The fire under my skin roared for an instant so fierce it frightened me.
I saw her in my mind again, hair loose, lips parted in sleep, the fragile curve of her throat.Desire flared—bright, consuming, honest.
And then I crushed it.
