“Keep the mortal confined to her quarters,” I told him. “She is not to wander. Not yet.”
The guard nodded. “As you command.”
Their voices echoed after me, softer than breath. I caught fragments.
“—never seen him hesitate before—”“—maybe she’s cursed—”
Probably.
At the end of the corridor the great doors of the Frozen Cathedral rose ahead, carved with spirals of light that shifted like water beneath the surface. My reflection warped across them—armor bright, expression blank. The heir of Winter. The perfect son.
If only ithad still been true.
I rested my palm against the door. Frost crept out from under my skin, sealing the tremor that wanted to escape. “Open,” I said, and the doors obeyed.
The Frozen Cathedral waited the way it always did—silent, watching, too grand for comfort. Light from the ice pillars flickered across the floor in long blue lines, making it look as if I were walking through the ribs of some enormous beast that had died standing.
Seven councilors occupied their alcoves, motionless. Only their eyes moved. I took the central dais without bowing; heirs of Winter didn’t bow to anyone but the crown, and the crown wasn’t here.
“Your Highness,” said Serath, the eldest, his voice brittle as old glass. “The mortal envoy has arrived intact?”
“She has,” I answered. “No frostbite, no screams, minimal trouble.”
A few of them smiled the way predators do when they smell weakness.
“Your restraint was … unexpected,” said Vaerin. “Most mortals lose composure before the gates. She did not.”
“I noticed.”
“And you let it pass.”
“Would you prefer I corrected her?” I kept my tone mild. “The floor already has enough stains.”
A dry chuckle passed through them, more insult than amusement. I leaned back in the chair carved for me, pretending not to care that my palm still tingled from touching the door. The ice had remembered her footprints; so had I.
They were waiting for something—an error, perhaps, a sign that the Frostfather’s heir could crack.
“The Dreamstone remains missing,” Serath continued. “Our spies insist the mortal kingdom hides it.”
“Our spies see what they want,” I said. “Belief is not proof.”
A murmur went around the half circle. The air cooled another few degrees.
Vaerin tilted his head. “Your father believes the same. You question him now?”
I met his gaze. “I question inefficiency. If Rhaenor had the Stone, we’d be choking on their arrogance by now.”
The councilor’s lips curved faintly. “Some would call that treason.”
“Then they don’t understand the word.”
My patience was fraying, thin as glass under heat. The mortal’s voice slipped through the cracks—Unfortunate but true.I pushed it away and focused on the frost forming along the table’s edge. A single line of it melted under my thumb before I caught myself.
Serath noticed. His eyes flicked down, then up again. “You seem … distracted, my prince.”
“I’m thinking,” I said. “A dangerous habit, I know.”
No one laughed this time. The silence pressed close, heavy with unspoken caution.
