She glanced at me, a flicker of approval crossing her face. “You understand more than most mortals who’ve lived here years.”
The warmth that had been pulsing beneath my skin all morning seemed to flare at her words, faint but insistent, like an ember refusing to die. I tucked my hands into my sleeves before she could notice.
But she already had. Maeryn’s expression didn’t change, though her voice softened. “Whatever lives beneath your skin now, keep it quiet. The Hold listens. So does he.”
She didn’t have to say whohewas.
We stood in silence for a long while. Frostlight shimmered across the glass above us, fractured by some unseen movement—like the reflection of a ripple that hadn’t yet reached the surface.
Finally, I said, “If Dream remembers things that never were … then what happens when it remembers me?”
Maeryn turned toward the doorway, her shadow stretching thin across the frost. “Then you’d better pray it remembers kindly.”
Chapter twenty-three
Katria
If Winter had music, it would sound like silence dressed in glass.
The great hall shimmered with it that morning—columns rimmed in frostlight, chandeliers heavy with ice that rang faintly whenever someone spoke too loudly. Courtiers drifted like snowflakes, pale and purposeful, their voices hushed enough to pretend civility.
I’d learned to keep my head bowed just enough to seem invisible. It rarely worked.
Kael appeared before I could finish my tea, his grin bright enough to outshine the frost. “There you are, little flame.”
I rolled my eyes. “You shouldn’t call me that.”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you shouldn’t tell a prince what to do? Besides,” he said, taking the seat beside mine without invitation, “it suits you. And it keeps the icicles from growing back in my brother’s temper.”
A few nearby nobles turned sharply at that, pretending not to listen. Kael either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He lounged against the marble bench, one arm slung casually along its back, so close I could feel the heat of him through the layers of my sleeves.
“You shouldn’t talk about him like that in front of his Court,” I murmured.
He leaned closer, voice lowering. “His Court, not mine.”
There was something in the way he said it—careless but edged. He plucked a piece of candied fruit from the tray and offered it to me between two fingers. “Try it. You look like you could use a little sweetness.”
“I’m fine.”
He arched a brow. “You’re in the middle of Winter’s court, surrounded by creatures who think warmth is treason. No one is fine here.”
I shouldn’t have laughed, but I did—a small, startled sound that made his smile deepen. It was dangerous, that smile. It was the kind that made you forget where you were until you noticed every other face watching.
I straightened in my seat. “People are staring.”
“Good,” Kael said easily. “Let them wonder why the mortal laughs before noon. It’ll give them something new to whisper about.”
His tone was light, but the words carried more weight than he intended. Whispering had become a sport in Skadar Hold, and I was the newest prize.
Still, it was hard not to feel lighter when he was near.
“Tell me,” Kael said, spinning his cup idly, “do mortals always stare so hard at things they don’t understand, or is that your special talent?”
“I was thinking,” I said, “about how you manage to make arrogance sound charming.”
He grinned. “Practice. And a better tailor.”
Another laugh escaped me before I could stop it. For a heartbeat, the hall felt less like a prison.
