I was making my way through the crowd to join him when a large figure stepped in my path, halting me. Tarrin tensed beside me.
“I will have this dance,” the stranger said and held out a hand to me. It wasn’t a request. I stopped myself from turning to Tarrin—or cringing away. Something about the fae’s command let me know I had no other option. Reluctantly, I placed my palm in his, and we made our way to the dance floor.
His hand was freezing, and I wasn’t sure if I was flushed from the evening activities or if he was somehow that cold. Maybe it was a combination. The fae parted for the male who led me away from Tarrin, and as we reached the center of the room, the music halted. Within heartbeats, the dancers’ steps faltered as their eyes locked onthe two of us before they made for the sides, leaving me alone with the stranger in the middle of the dance floor.
At his first step, the music began as if on some silent cue. It was a beautiful number, to be sure, but moodier, somehow darker than the melodies that’d filled the evening.
The fae’s grip was firm, possibly more than was necessary, and he held me close enough that I smelled crisp morning air and pine—two of my favorite things. I filled my lungs with the refreshing scent, which was at odds with the unfriendly male it came from.
“You smell beautiful,” I found myself saying.
His piercing eyes narrowed. “And what is it you think I smell of?” he demanded.
“Crisp morning air with a deep, woody undertone only found in the heart of the forest.” I held his gaze, unfazed by his tone and stare.
“And how do you know such things, Ny-leer-ia?” The way he said my name, dragging out all three syllables, left a vile taste in my mouth that put me on edge. I needed to find my footing, and fast.
“How do I know what you smell like?” I asked, pretending every part of me wasn’t prickling in warning. He just stared, waiting for an answer. “I supposed the same as anyone else; I used my nose.” His question was ridiculous, but then again, I wasn’t sure how these things worked—maybe I shouldn’t be able to scent him.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked.
I took in the biting cold of his hand, his icy demeanor, his eyes, and took a half-second to compose myself.
“The High Lord of Winter,” I said. “Although you’ll forgive me for not knowing your name, High Lord.” I inclined my head slightly as we continued dancing.
“Names are powerful things among the fae. We rarely share our full names; some even forget their family name over time.” He spun me away from him, then pulled me back in a fluid, if not demanding, motion. “My name is Amos, and yes, little human, I am the high lord of the Winter Court.” His proclamation had an edge to it that sent awhispered warning through me from that primordial power:tread lightly.
“Did you know, Nyleeria, that your heartbeat doesn’t increase when you’re afraid? In fact, it drops quite substantially.” I was at a loss. Was such a thing even possible? I’d have to add his observation to the long list of things I needed to reconcile.
“You can tell how fast my heart is beating?”
He nodded.
“How?”
“We can hear such things.” His tone was clipped, impatient.
“Truly?”
He didn’t respond, clearly uninterested in my questions. Fine, I’d dance this precarious line with him. “And what theories do you have on the matter, Lord Amos?” I asked, willing calm into my voice.
“It has me wondering why, instead of fearing one of the most powerful beings on Lumnara—one who could easily end your life—you breath in my scent, and it soothes you. It has me wondering why when you felt the biting cold of my hand, you didn’t immediately pull away. It has me wondering why in a land so strange to you, with so much magic in the room, so many predators, your heartbeat does not falter for a moment. But most importantly, Ny-leer-ia,” he whispered in my ear, “it makes me wonder why you are similar to your companions and yet wholly different.” He sent me back out and spun me around before locking his eyes on me again, expectantly.
Unsure of the answers myself, I stayed mute, and not entirely out of choice.
“What do you have to say to me?” the high lord demanded, and I could feel the prickling again. I understood then what I’d missed; it wasn’t my fear that rippled that sensation through me earlier—it was him rallying his powers.
This wasn’t working. Changing tact, I looked him directly in the eyes, letting him know that I was not some simpering human who would crumble at the unspoken accusations he flung my way.
“I’d say that none of those are theories,” Ichallenged.
Anger flared in his eyes and his magic pounced.
In an instant, silence enveloped me, like the profound hush of snow-covered mountains that turn trees into mere skeletons adorned in glittering white. Whatever he’d done, it sucked the music into its depths, leaving me in that cold, deafening silence.
Releasing his grip, I surveyed my surroundings for an exit. Yet, as a cocoon of biting cold encased us, forcing me to pop my ears, a thick fog swallowed the festivities beyond, as if winter herself had wiped it out of existence.
Mist bounced harmlessly off the exterior of the dome, which meant two things: the high lord wanted to see me clearly, and he didn’t want any witnesses.
