The Frostfather’s voice silenced everything. “Lady Calenne, are we boring you again?”
A ripple of nervous laughter followed, but the king’s eyes didn’t leave me. They were pale and endless, like ice without depth. “And you, mortal? Tell me, do humans still trade prayers for miracles?”
I swallowed. “Sometimes.”
“Do they work?”
My fingers tightened on the goblet. “Not often.”
He smiled faintly. “At least we share that, then.”
The hall laughed again, obedient and fearful. I couldn’t tell whether it was me he mocked or his own gods.
Across the table, Kaelith’s jaw tightened once more.
The musicians struck a new melody—lower, slower, threaded with something that felt like warning. The frostlight in the chandeliers dimmed a fraction, turning the air a muted silver-blue. Then the Frostfather leaned back, satisfied. “Let the revels begin.”
The hall erupted into motion—more music, laughter, the flash of white silk and silver hair as fae rose to dance. The floor glittered as if made of starlight caught in ice.
I sat perfectly still, the world spinning quietly around me.
Fenrir’s head rested on my boots. His ear twitched once, and his tail thumped faintly—small comforts in a room full of predators.
Kaelith’s gaze found me again across the shifting light. His expression didn’t change, but the pulse at his throat was visible—steady, deliberate, too human for what he was.
When I lifted my glass, his eyes followed the motion. When I set it down, his followed that too. He was pretending to be indifferent, but I could feel the hunger in every glance.
And the worst part? I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to stop.
I couldn’t look away from Kaelith’s stare. The air between us stretched thin, full of things unsaid—too dangerous, too familiar. Then, mercifully—or not—a warm laugh cut through the chill.
Kael.
He appeared at my side with a goblet in one hand and a grin that belonged in a sunlit world. “Tell me, little flame,” he said, voice carrying just enough to draw attention, “has anyone warned you that refusing a fae at a feast is a grave offense?”
I blinked. “I wasn’t aware I’d refused anyone.”
“Not yet,” he said, setting down his glass and extending his hand, palm up. “But you’re about to.”
Every pair of eyes nearby turned our way. Heat flared at the back of my neck. I glanced instinctively toward the dais—Kaelith sat impossibly still, his gaze unreadable but unmistakably fixed on us.
“I don’t dance,” I murmured.
Kael’s smile deepened. “Then you’ve just been waiting for the right partner.”
Imeantto say no. But the entire hall was watching, waiting for the mortal to falter, and something rebellious in me refused to give them that satisfaction. So, I set my hand in his.
The contact was immediate fire. His skin radiated warmth that chased away the chill of the room, and for a heartbeat, I thought I saw steam curl from where our palms met.
The crowd parted for us. Music shifted to a lilting, slower rhythm—strings and wind threading like breath through frost. Kael led easily, every movement fluid, confident. The kind of grace that made it seem as though the air itself wanted to please him.
“You burn hotter than you look,” he murmured, leaning close enough that his breath touched my cheek.
“Maybe you should stop testing the temperature,” I replied, trying for lightness, but my voice came out unsteady.
He laughed quietly. “Oh, I’m testing something.”
My heart thudded. His hand slid from my waist to my back, steady but not possessive, as he guided me through a turn that made the world blur. The silver lights caught the copper tones in his hair; his eyes glinted molten in the frostlight.
