"I believe I may know where Snow White has gotten off to.”
“And how would you know that?”
Princess Aurora lifted a delicate hand, her fingers closing over the silver clasp of her cloak. “She sent me a letter. I have it in my carriage.”
Raveena studied her. The girl didn’t flinch. There was steel there. Ambition, to be sure.
Interesting.
Raveena gave a small nod. “Lead the way, Princess.”
She followed the girl out of the great hall, leaving the other women behind. The frost-touched doors closed behind them like the lid of a box snapping shut. Raveena exhaled.
"You made it here to the Frost Kingdom quickly with Snow's disappearance."
"We were passing through."
"We?"
Princess Aurora nodded but didn't elaborate. "I had started a correspondence with Snow some years ago. I thought I'd stop in and visit."
"How lovely."
The night was bitter. Shards of ice glittered on the stone walkways. Frost crept in, branching patterns along the carriages lined up outside the Winter Court’s northern hall. The scent of firewood and something fishy—seaweed, perhaps—clung faintly to the young princess, wafting back each time her cloak fluttered in the breeze.
Aurora turned, her face soft in the moonlight. “It’s just inside. I didn’t want to risk carrying it in, in case it was intercepted. I thought you would understand.”
Raveena did understand. Far too well. She did not climb into the carriage as instructed. “I’ve played this game too long to walk into a trap without knowing whose move it is.”
Aurora's polite smile didn't waver. But her eyes darkened ever so slightly. “You think I would trick you?”
“I think you’re not the innocent girl you pretend to be.”
"You're right about that. I lost my innocence years ago. As do most princesses slated to live a life not of her choosing."
"What is it that you want, Aurora?"
"What every girl wants. To love whom she chooses freely."
Funny. That was what Raveena wanted, too. That and her castle. She wanted Graham and her castle. This little girl was singing Raveena's tune.
No. That was someone else singing. The song was so sweet. So achingly beautiful, it bent Raveena to her knees.
The door to the carriage opened. A girl sat inside. Her red curls were wild in the wind. Her lips parted in a melody that shimmered through the air like spun sugar and silk. The notes wrapped around Raveena’s thoughts like warm hands. She knew—knew—somewhere deep inside that she should cover her ears, turn away, run.
The music poured through her veins like honeyed wine. Her eyelids grew heavy. Her body swayed. And then she felt nothing but calm and sleepy as she stepped willingly into the carriage.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Iwas brought here to court the Snow Princess, but I've decided to have the Snow Queen instead.”
The king’s chambers reeked of clove oil and mothballs. The grandeur of it was lacquered over with age. Heavy drapes sagged at the windows, their velvet faded, their tassels dulled with time. The rugs were thick but fraying at the edges. The furniture was grand but stiff, as if no one had sat in it for a decade without armor or gout. Dust floated like lazy ghosts in the shafts of moonlight, cutting through the tall arched panes, and the fire in the hearth sputtered like it too was on its last legs.
And yet, there stood the golden boy prince. Towel slung low on his hips. His tunic lay crumpled on the floor beside a discarded sash, one boot tipped on its side near the hearth, the other nowhere in sight. A silver comb had been left askew on the vanity. A wine goblet—half-full, staining the edge in a careless ring—perched precariously on an ancient table carved for kings, not playboys.
That pissed Graham off more than the boy's words. Raveena loathed disorder. She kept her life, her castle, her image, in perfect lines and polished corners. The sight of Charming’s chaos, his carelessness, was just galling. Graham wanted to sliceoff the prince's bare feet that had tracked water through the room. His fingers itched to reach for his blade, to run the golden boy through right there. But his eyes flicked to the snow bear's pelt beneath the prince’s bare feet. One drop of blood would ruin the rug. Raveena would be more furious about the bloodstain than the corpse.
“Mother wanted me to court the girl. And I did. But gods, she bored me. Always pouting or preening or pretending to be above it all. Raveena, though—she’s a woman. Sharp. Hungry. She doesn’t wait to be caught; she hunts. She chased after me, while I always had to chase Snow. That gets tiring, you know. Wears on a man’s ego.”
