“Because I’m not as restrained as I should be.”
Her mouth curved—somewhere between a smile and a dare. “I’ve noticed.”
Something in me cracked. All the rules, all the vows, all the centuries of control I’d built into the shape of who I was—they fractured under that look.
“Perhaps the villagers were right,” I said, the words rougher than I intended.
Her brow furrowed. “About what?”
“You are a witch.”
She blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”
“Because I’ve been ensnared,” I said, stepping closer, “since the moment you opened your mouth.”
The confession hit the air like a blade dropped point-first. No taking it back.
She didn’t laugh. Didn’t recoil. Her breath caught, quick and shallow, the way it does when someone realizes the danger is mutual.
I reached up, fingertips brushing a strand of hair from her face. My glove hissed as frost melted beneath it, a thin line of steam rising between us. The scent of thawed snow filled the air—sharp, clean, human.
Her gaze lifted to mine, and for an instant I forgot why touching her was forbidden.
One more inch. One more heartbeat.
Then Fenrir growled.
The sound was low but commanding—the kind that breaks spells. He stood in the doorway, hackles raised, eyes fixed not on me but the horizon beyond the balcony.
A moment later, boots struck the stone. A guard skidded to a halt behind the wolf, breath visible in ragged bursts.“My lord,” he gasped. “The southern wards—fractured. The Frostfather commands you to the hall.”
I didn’t move. The world was still heat and heartbeat and the ghost of a touch.
“Now,” the guard said again, softer. Fear laced the word.
Finally, regretfully, I stepped back. The cold rushed in to fill the space I’d stolen, but Katria’s eyes stayed on mine, searching for something I couldn’t give.
“Stay inside,” I said. It came out almost gentle.
She whispered, “And if I don’t?”
“Then Winter won’t be the only thing trying to kill you tonight.”
Fenrir whined once as I turned away. The aurora flared brighter, a vein of crimson splitting the sky. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.
But long after I’d left the balcony, I could still feel the ghost of her warmth on my hand—and the crack it had left inside the frost I called a heart.
The throne hall had always been cold, but that night it felt like a tomb.
The crimson light from the aurora bled through the high windows, staining the frost like blood. The colors shouldn’t have reached this deep into Skadar Hold, but even the walls had begun to disobey their maker.
My father sat upon the throne of frost, glass, and bone, a figure carved from the ruin of winter itself. His eyes followed the red light like a man watching his own blood leave him.
“You’ve brought chaos into my house,” he said.
“I brought order,” I answered. “The Wraiths are gone.”
“They’re not gone.” His voice cracked like thin ice. “You cannot kill what answers to Winter. You can only mislead it. And you’ve done that poorly.”
