“I’m not implying anything,” he said. “I’m stating that you’re drawing attention neither of us can afford.”
Neither ofus. That phrasing did strange things to my chest.
I crossed the few steps between us before I could think better of it. “Maybe your Court should learn to mind its own business.”
“It’s not my Court I’m worried about.”
“Then what are you worried about?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze fell to my mouth and stayed there. For one heartbeat too long.
When he finally looked up again, his expression had shifted—less frost, more fracture. “You don’t understand what this place does to people.”
“Then explain it.”
His jaw tightened. “It turns warmth into a weapon. And I can’t protect you from that if you insist on wielding it.”
I almost laughed, though it came out as more of a breath. “You make it sound like smiling is treason.”
“It is,” he said softly. “Here, it is.”
We were too close now, standing in the shallow pool of light spilling from the chandelier above us. I could see the faint shimmer of the runic line along his gloves, the one that usually glowed with frostlight. It didn’t now. His hands were trembling slightly, though he hid it well.
“You shouldn’t care,” I said quietly. “That’s the part I don’t understand. And you keep trying not to.”
He exhaled, a sound that was almost a laugh and almost a groan. “I’ve never tried so hard in my life.”
Something in me broke loose at that. “Why?”
The word left me before I could stop it, and for a moment neither of us breathed.
He stepped forward until there was barely space for air between us. His voice dropped to a rough whisper. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Then tell me. This place holds secrets like bargaining chips. I’m tired of guessing when you could all speak plainly.”
“I can’t.”
“Won’t, you mean.”
His eyes closed briefly, as if that single distinction hurt. When they opened again, the restraint was cracking around the edges. I could see it—the faint tremor in his breath, the muscle ticking in his jaw, the way his hand lifted halfway before he forced it back down.
“You don’t make this easy,” he murmured.
“Me?” I demanded. “You don’t make anything easy.”
He smiled then, a small, helpless thing that didn’t belong on his face. “No. I suppose I don’t.”
The silence between us thickened. The frost on the walls began to melt, droplets running like tears. I should have moved, should have said anything to break it, but I couldn’t. Every instinct screamed to close that inch of air left between us.
His hand twitched once more at his side—then he turned sharply, pacing away as if distance were oxygen.
“Stay away from my brother,” he said without turning.
“Or what?”
He looked back over his shoulder, eyes darker than I’d ever seen them. “Or I’ll stop pretending I can ignore it.”
He left before I could reply, the sound of his footsteps fading into the frozen hush.
