The frostlight above me flickered once, twice, then steadied—too bright, too sharp.
I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing.It didn’t work.
For as cold as the Winter Heir was, he was thawing. And I suddenly realized that the rumors of his attentions were something more solid than ice.
The hall felt too big once he was gone.
Sound returned slowly—the tick of melting frost, the faint hum of distant voices somewhere deeper in the Hold—but none of it belonged to me. The air still carried his presence, sharp and cold, threaded through with something warmer that shouldn’t have survived here.
I sat down before my knees decided for me. The chair was still chilled from the frostlight, but when I touched the table, it wasn’t cold anymore. It pulsed faintly, almost in rhythm with my pulse. The frost had learned something new from us, and I wasn’t sure whether to be afraid or comforted.
I pressed my fingers to my lips. They still tingled. He hadn’t touched me, not really—but the space between us had burned all the same.
“Fool,” I whispered to no one. I wasn’t sure if I meant him or myself.
Outside, the wind had shifted. It carried less bite, more whisper. The kind of sound that felt like it came from far away—too far to follow, toonear to ignore. I stood and crossed to the tall frostglass windows, leaning close until my breath fogged the surface.
The reflection that met me looked unfamiliar. Paler, sharper. As though some part of the Hold had begun sculpting me in its own image.
“I’m not one of you,” I said softly.
The frost on the glass rippled. Just slightly.
A chill ran down my spine. I stepped back, but the ripple didn’t fade—it deepened. For a heartbeat, I thought I saw something move behind the reflection. A shape, tall and indistinct, eyes like dim light under water. Watching.
Then it was gone. Only my own face remained. I pressed my hand flat to the surface. It should have frozen there. Instead, warmth bloomed under my palm, radiating through the glass like breath against skin.
Something was changing in me. Or around me. I couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
A soft knock broke the silence. Maeryn stood in the doorway, carrying a folded cloak over her arm.
“You look pale,” she said. “Colder than usual.”
“I’m fine.”
She gave me a look that said she didn’t believe it for a moment. “He was here.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“Then you’re not fine.” She stepped closer, draping the cloak around my shoulders before I could protest. It smelled faintly of snowmoss and something sharper—iron, maybe. “You’re trembling.”
I hadn’t realized it. The adrenaline had left me hollow. “It’s just the cold.”
“Is it?” she asked quietly.
I didn’t answer. There were too many truths I didn’t know how to name yet.
Maeryn studied me for a long moment then sighed. “The Heir’s restraint is a fragile thing. Don’t be too near when it breaks.”
Her words should have felt like warning, but they didn’t. They sounded like inevitability.
After she left, I found my way back to my chambers and stood for a while by the window. The snow outside fell silently, each flake catching the last red threads of the aurora before vanishing into shadow.
I told myself that the warmth creeping through the glass wasn’t him. That the ache in my chest wasn’t longing.
But when I finally turned away, I caught the faintest shimmer on the edge of the frostglass—like a reflection bending to watch me leave.
