I stood at the balcony overlooking the courtyard as soldiers—hersoldiers—marched beneath me in orderly rows. Obsidian helmets glinted like beetle shells in the thin autumn light.
The air smelled faintly of frost.
In the palace garden, decorations for the celebration were underway despite Heliconia not setting a date yet. White roses in full bloom. Ice sculptures in the shape of Aqras and other mystical creatures. The obsidian stonework was a lovely touch. Really warmed the soul. I gripped the railing until my knuckles bleached white, trying not to think about whatwould come after I spoke my vows. If I’d even live long enough to attend the party in the garden or if I’d already be dead then.
Farther out near the stables, a few Autumn soldiers caught my eye. They steered clear of the Obsidians, huddling with one another as if there would be any strength in numbers. A couple of them stole glances up at me, their faces pale with fear. I forced a smile. Lifted a hand in a small, confident wave. The Autumn king, unbothered, unconcerned, unshaken.
Inside, I was shaking hard enough to rattle bones.
“You should not be out in the open,” Lemuel said sharply behind me. “Any one of her soldiers could decide to make themselves king with a single arrow.”
“Ah, Lemuel,” I sighed. “Must you always ruin a perfectly good panic attack?”
He stepped beside me, arms folded. His robe sleeves frayed where he’d tugged them raw over the years. “I ruin nothing. You stand in full view where a single shot could end both your rule and your life.”
“That’s the point,” I said lightly. “If they see me, they assume I am powerful enough to be unconcerned with the risk.”
He paused, looking visibly shaken at my words. “And are you?”
“Unconcerned with risk?” I flashed him a grin. “Always.”
His lips compressed into a thin line. “You played a dangerous game with her yesterday.”
Played. Past tense. As if the game had ended. Heliconia likely thought it had. Likely thought she’d won.
Lemuel lowered his voice. “Majesty, the real throne cannot stay hidden indefinitely. If she discovers where you moved it?—”
“She won’t.”
“I hope you’re right,” Lemuel said. “There are a lot of lives counting on you.”
“Maybe they shouldn’t,” I said. Lemuel’s brow went up. “The Autumn fae counted on my father, and look where it got them. Drained and halfway to the Afterlife.”
“Your father made many mistakes,” Lemuel said. “I hope you do not repeat them.”
“My dear Lemuel,” I murmured, “my father would never have survived the day Heliconia walked into his hall.”
“Survival is not victory.”
I opened my mouth, some witty retort half-formed—when the temperature dropped. A suffocating chill slid around my throat like a gloved hand. The air turned brittle, crystalline. Frost spidered along the marble railing beneath my fingers.
She was here.
I didn’t turn. I did not give her the satisfaction. “Your Majesty,” I called over my shoulder. “Isn’t it bad luck for me to see the bride before the wedding?”
Heliconia’s voice drifted from behind us, smooth and deadly as a drawn blade. “I’d wager your luck has run out, whether you look at me or not.”
I turned then.
Her gown today was a sheet of winter—white, silver, and crystalline layers that rippled like snowdrifts. Her hair fell like a spill of ink against all that white. Her eyes were pale and sharp, glinting like frost-rimmed glass.
She looked… amused.
Which was probably not quite as bad as if she were angry, but it felt dangerously close.
“You look radiant,” I said, sweeping an exaggerated bow. “Frostbite truly brings out the glow in your complexion.”
Her lips curved faintly, but her words dripped with acid. “Charming until the end.”
