He turned to face them. “Is this how Winter keeps its grace now? Gossip in daylight?”
The courtiers went very still. One bowed too quickly. Another looked away. But the third—a man in silver, younger, reckless—smiled.
“Careful, my lord. You sound protective.”
Kael’s eyes glinted, still polite but edged. “Only of manners. You’ve misplaced yours.”
“Maybe I’m only saying what others won’t,” the man said, looking at me. “Everyone knows she—”
“Stop.”
Kael didn’t raise his voice, but something in his tone was colder than the room itself. The courtier’s mouth shut on instinct.
I didn’t move, didn’t breathe. The silence after that felt heavier than the laughter before it.
Kael inclined his head once—graceful, dangerous—then looked at me. “Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s get you somewhere less cold.”
I had a feeling we weren’t talking about the temperature. I followed him because I didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t touch me, but his nearness felt like protection. It shouldn’t have comforted me, but it did.
When we finally stopped near one of the lesser balconies, I asked quietly, “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Step in. Defend me. You barely know me.”
He shrugged, leaning against the railing. “Maybe I just like the look on their faces when they realize they’ve overstepped.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“No,” he said. “But it’s the only one I’m willing to admit.”
I studied him for a moment. “You’re not like your brother.”
Kael’s expression flickered—just a flash of something sharp behind his easy charm. “No,” he said. “I learned a long time ago that cold doesn’t always mean strong.”
Before I could answer, a faint chime sounded from somewhere deeper in the hall—the signal for evening assembly.
He straightened, all effortless composure again. “Try not to start any scandals until supper,” he said lightly. “I’d hate to miss them.”
And then he was gone, leaving me alone with the echo of laughter that wasn’t mine.
The fae were so unlike humans.
Among my own people, cruelty wore a face. It had names, families, grudges.Here, it wore silk and smiled.
They didn’t shout when they hated you; they toasted you instead. They used praise the way humans used blades—slipped between ribs when you weren’t paying attention.
I’d thought superstition made them monstrous. That was what the villagers always said: the fae steal your will, your soul, your heart.Butstanding in that gilded palace, watching the way they measured kindness like currency, I wondered if the difference wasn’t magic but memory.
Humans loved loudly and broke quickly. The fae had simply learned not to do either.
They didn’t speak of faith or gods. They worshiped balance instead—the keeping of rules so old no one remembered who wrote them.Warmth was dangerous here, not because it burned but because it changed things. And change frightened them more than death.
Back home, people prayed to unseen things to keep the frost away.Here, frost was power. It was their life.
I missed noise. The sound of markets, laughter, even argument.The fae didn’t argue; they traded silences like weapons.
And yet, beneath all their control, there were cracks. I saw it sometimes—the flicker in their eyes when Kael laughed too freely or when Kaelith’s composure wavered for a heartbeat. It was small, human, and terribly beautiful.
