A shiver rippled down her spine. She was his. Entirely. Willingly.
The magic curled back into her fingers, unspent. She let her hands fall to her sides. Pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders, she decided to hide the secret adornment from the world.
She knew she should wipe the smile from her face before facing her audience. Queens were ruthless. But she was too full, too sated to concern herself.
The chamber was a contradiction—opulent and ruthless, much like the women who ruled within it. Velvet drapes the color of crushed berries hung heavy over the frost-rimmed windows, muffling the sounds of the howling wind outside. A crystal chandelier glittered above, each shard humming faintly with captured magic, casting prismatic light over the war-scarred stone walls. The long Frostfire Table dominated the room, carved from a single slab of glacial obsidian veined with flickers of silver that pulsed faintly with heat. It was said to have been forged in the heart of a fallen star—beautiful, unyielding, and cold.
Around it sat the queens, princesses, and strategists of the realm, their bodies draped in silk and fur, their minds honed like blades. Behind them, maps lined the walls, dotted with glowingsigils and animated tokens that moved across borders in real time. A rack of scrolls stood in one corner, flanked by a rack of spears. Beneath their jeweled slippers, the floor was polished stone, scored with faint gouges from past battles and boots—scars of decisions made and challenged in this very room.
They turned toward her as one, seated in a crescent arc around the Frostfire Table, their expressions carved from varying degrees of worry, suspicion, and quiet hunger.
“Snow White is missing,” said Lady Tern, her white-gold braid looped over one shoulder like a serpent.
"Are you certain my stepdaughter is not out in the woods looking after a dove with a broken wing or a mouse caught in a trap?"
“The stables were in disarray. Broken reins. A bloodied saddlecloth. We suspect foul play.”
Raveena stopped just shy of the circle. Her face was composed. Inside her mind was a storm. Someone had taken Snow? Someone had done her dirty work for her? But who?
“Where were you, Queen Raveena, when the precious girl went missing?” Lady Charming turned from the fire, gaze full of accusation.
Raveena didn’t flinch. She lifted her chin higher. The soft shift of her shoulders caused her cloak to part at the collar, revealing the unmistakable bruises at her neck. Dark and tender, shaped by desire, Graham's marks bloomed like violets against snow-pale skin.
Her lips curved in a slow, measured smile—one that balanced disdain and amusement with effortless precision. “I was otherwise engaged.”
A few of the ladies arched painted brows. One or two exchanged looks. And then—there it was—the smallest twitch of a smile on Lady Hollowmere’s mouth. The smirk in Queen Elsbeth’s eyes. The entire barracks had seen her enter thesoldiers’ quarters. And by the sounds that likely echoed through the stone walls… heard what happened next.
Raveena didn’t need to name Graham. The knowing looks said enough. She had, indeed, been otherwise engaged. Certainly not hiding in the stables with a blade in her hand.
Still, the timing was too perfect. Her carefully laid plans interrupted. Her pawn removed from the board before she could make the move herself.
Raveena's hands were clean. But her thoughts were anything but. Who had done this before she could?
The door slammed open. Prince Charming stormed in, his hair windblown, eyes wild. His armor appeared buckled hastily, as if he hadn’t fully dressed before galloping to the castle. “What are you all doing? Sitting here sipping wine while the princess is missing?”
Lady Veyne narrowed her eyes. “You dare barge into this chamber and address queens in this manner?”
“You forget yourself, princeling,” said Queen Elsbeth, her voice low and lethal.
“I will be king of Thornhall once I wed.”
“If you wed,” Lady Charming interjected, rising now, her hand firm on her son's shoulder. “We must find Snow White first or there will be no ceremony.”
Charming stepped forward, brushing his mother’s hand away. “I will search every cavern and cursed path from here to the edge of the realm to bring her back,” he declared. “So that she may stand beside me when I marry?—”
He turned, eyes locking with Raveena’s.
“—Queen Raveena.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The stable doors had been thrown open. Fresh snow blew in, crusting along the threshold. Broken reins hung like snapped tendons from the stalls. A saddle lay discarded in the aisle, one stirrup torn, the other twisted as though yanked in haste or desperation.
Graham stood just inside the entrance. Behind him, his soldiers fanned out. The torches on the stable walls guttered in the cold wind. The horses, still in their stalls, shifted restlessly, nickering low, their breath ghosting in the frigid air. They smelled the tension.
So did he.
At first glance, it looked like an ambush. Boot prints scuffed into the dirt. Blood on the wood near the back exit. The tang of magic still lingering in the air, faint but sharp—like the final crackle before a fire goes cold.
