Her fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from my face. “You remind me of someone I knew once,” she said softly.
“Another mortal?”
Her smile was small, wistful. “Another fool who thought courage could melt Winter.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but she stepped back and straightened. “I’ll have the attendants bring what you need. Try to eat something before they arrive.”
“I doubt I’ll keep it down.”
“Then pretend that too.”
The faintest flicker of humor touched her lips, but it quickly vanished. She turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Katria?”
“Yes?”
“When he looks at you tonight—don’t look back too long. Everyone will notice.” When, not if. She already assumed Kaelith’s gaze would find me.
The attendants came just after midmorning.
Three of them, all pale and wordless, carrying bundles of silk and silver combs that gleamed too sharply for comfort. They didn’t ask permission; they never did. One began unfastening my laces, another unpinning my hair. The third carried a vial of frostglass powder that shimmered faintly blue when opened.
I’d expected the cold, but the powder was warm when it touched my skin, sinking into my pulse points like whispered frostlight. “What is that?” I asked.
“Veil-dust,” the nearest attendant said without looking up. “It dulls the scent of fear.”
I almost laughed—almost. “You have a powder for that?”
Her expression didn’t change. “It’s tradition.”
When they were done, I barely recognized myself. The gown shimmered like starlight through snow. My hair, twisted high and threaded with silver frost-vines, gleamed almost white beneath the cold glow of the frostlamps. Only my eyes seemed out of place—too human, too warm, too awake.
Maeryn returned just as the attendants were leaving. Her expression softened when she saw me. “They’ll regret making you part of their theater,” she murmured.
“Or they’ll applaud,” I said dryly.
She adjusted a clasp at my collar. “If they do, don’t bow. Let them remember you’re not one of them.”
Fenrir padded into the room then, silent as shadow, his fur catching the light in waves of white and silver. He brushed against my leg, a mountain of muscle and quiet warning.
Maeryn frowned. “He shouldn’t follow you.”
“It’s not like I control him. I didn’t ask him to join me.”
“Then he’s decided,” she said simply, stepping aside as the snowhound sat at my feet like a sentry carved from winter itself.
When I turned toward the door, Maeryn caught my wrist. “Keep your head high. No matter what they say. They want to see you flinch.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.” She hesitated, then she added softly, “And if Kael speaks to you, remember—he means well, but his warmth is its own kind of danger.”
I gave a small, humorless smile. “Seems to be a theme here.”
The corridors leading to the great hall were alive with movement—servants carrying trays, guards shifting in their stations, nobles gliding through like shards of color amid the frost. My footsteps echoed too loudly. Fenrir’s didn’t echo at all.
Halfway down the corridor, I heard the familiar sound of laughter—warm, disarming, and entirely out of place in this cold kingdom
Kael stepped into view before I could brace myself. His smile was already half-formed, as if he’d been waiting. “I wondered how long they’d keep you locked away before parading you out.”
