His expression shifts, the grin fading as his eyes darken, his voice dropping into something quieter. “You heard me.”
My breath hitches, sharp and unexpected. I’m used to his flirting, but this is far more direct than usual.
Then his face cracks and his chin dips. “Sorry. Must be all this excitement.” He wets his lips. “I’m only kidding. Unless you don’t want me to be.”
I stare at him, unsure how to respond, unsure what I even feel.
“Neve Devlin,” a voice booms from the top of the stairs.
I turn to find Luceran standing there, heavy fur shifting in the wind.
“I have work for you inside,” he says. Then his gaze narrows on Pax. “Shouldn’t you be lifting something, foreman?”
With that, Luceran turns and disappears back into the castle. I bite my lip to stifle a laugh.
“He clearly doesn’t think you’re so pretty,” I say.
Pax sighs. “Clearly.” He offers one last soft smile. “Hopefully, I’ll see you again soon.”
I nod politely but do not reply, lowering my gaze as I turn for the stairs and jog up them one by one.
Inside, the bustle continues. Broken windows are stripped of their warped frames and replaced with fresh glass hauled up from the lower villages, the new panes catching the pale winter light like sheets of ice. Snow is shoveled from balconies and battlements, from courtyards that have not seen bare stone in years.
Cobwebs are wiped from vaulted ceilings. Dust is scrubbed from banisters. Every surface is cleaned, stone, wood, iron. Rugs are beaten out in the courtyard, sending clouds of dust spiraling into the air.
Unlike Pax, I have no desire to escape the hard work.
My fingers ache from the cold water used to wash the long tables in the great hall. My shoulders burn from hauling buckets and carrying armfuls of linens, but I do not mind. It is satisfying. Each task leaves something visible behind, something changed, and with it I am shown more of the castle. Including the ballroom.
It takes a group of men to break through the great double doors, their hinges locked tight, frost sealing the seams where wood meets stone. The first shove barely moves them. The second sends a sharp crack through the air as ice fractures. It is only when wooden poles are wedged between the doors and the men lean their full weight into them, boots skidding on the frozen floor, that they finally groan open.
Cold spills out.
My breath catches in my throat, then the ballroom steals it from me entirely.
The walls are almost entirely glass, vast arched panes framed with swirls of gold rising from floor to ceiling, each one frosted over in lace-like patterns. Pale light pours in, fractured and softened, turning the room into a cathedral of ice and sky. Beyond the glass, the world is white and endless, snowfields stretching out like a dream.
Above us, a chandelier hangs suspended from the high, domed ceiling.
Once, it must have been crystal and gold, a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Now it belongs to winter. Every tier is encased in ice, each dangling prism transformed into long, dripping icicles that catch the light and scatter it in shards of silver and blue across the marble floor. For a moment, it feels as though I am standing inside a snow globe, sealed away from time, preserved in perfect, breathless stillness.
No dust.
No decay.
Just beauty.
Someone exhales behind me, a low whistle of awe. Even the men who moments ago strained and cursed at the doors stand silent now.
I take a single step inside, my boots sliding slightly, and try to imagine music here. Laughter. Silk skirts sweeping across the floor. Bodies pressed together as they spin in unison.
“All of you, get out,” Luceran booms.
My spine stiffens. I swallow hard. Have I managed to wander into another room I am not meant to be in? I turn to find Luceran filling the doorway, the workers giving him a wide berth as they hurry past, just short of breaking into a run.
The cavernous room empties in moments, and I take a step to move around him as well.
“Not you,” he says.
