The cold in the corridor is not what makes me shiver. Her heavy stare holds me in place, each word sinking into my skin like fangs. I cannot look away. I cannot move. I feel like glass about to crack.
Then she steps back, her expression shifting into an unsettling smile, as if the moment before never happened.
“What was I saying?” She taps her chin lightly. “Right. I will show you where you may go, and what you must never approach.” She glances toward the tall windows, toward the pale sky beyond. “It is nearly afternoon. I must leave before dusk if I hope to make it home before the cold worsens.”
The tour is relentless. She moves as though she has walked these halls her entire life, and perhaps she has. I cling to every direction, every warning, every sharp turn.
We pass under a low archway into a narrow stone corridor that opens into a long galley. Counters carved from dark granite line the walls, and iron pots hang unmoving in the cold air. She gestures without stopping.
“The galley. This is where all meals are prepared.”
Next she leads me into a cavernous dining hall. A long, narrow table stands at its center, the wood gleaming beneath the thin shafts of light slipping through frost-clouded windows. Only one chair sits at the head.
“This is where Lord Frostwyn dines,” she says. Her tone is matter-of-fact, but she does not step inside. She simply points, then continues down a smaller hallway. She stops beside a modest door and taps it with two fingers.
“And this is where you will eat. Alone.”
The room inside is little more than a stool and a tiny table pushed against the wall. No windows. No fire. Just a space for someone who is meant to be unseen.
My stomach twists, but she is already moving.
“The kitchen is staffed only part of the week,” she continues. “The rest of the time, you will prepare and serve his meals yourself. Ensure they are warm when he demands them. He may revel in the cold, but he does not tolerate cold food.”
Of course he doesn’t.
We move on, deeper into the castle. She pushes open a pair of tall, dust-filmed doors, revealing what once must have been a grand ballroom. Now it is silent and vast, light filtering through cracked stained glass, the colors warped. The floor is scuffed where dancers must have spun long ago, and frost has crept up the columns like blooming vines.
“It was beautiful once,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “Filled with music and warmth and celebration. But those days are gone.” She turns away.
When we walk next to a tall line of windows, she gestures casually at the expanse beyond.
“The rose garden.”
I suck in a breath. I remember it from last night. Luceran standing barefoot among the roses, snow curling around his ankles, frost clinging to the thorned vines as though they drank the cold.
We continue past the glass, and just beyond the garden we reach a large, ominous door. Something about it makes the fine hairs along my neck rise. I pause, drawn toward it, and reach for the handle.
“What is that?” I ask.
Before my fingers can touch the metal, the Fae female snatches my wrist with stunning speed. Her grip is iron. Her eyes sharpen to points.
“Who do you think you are, girl? Opening doors in the home of a Fae lord?” Her voice drops into something low and dangerous. “That place is not for you. Do not dare venture inside.”
She releases me with a flick, as if I burn her.
“Lord Luceran will be furious and wrathful if you do.”
My pulse thrums in my throat. I nod quickly and step back from the door.
She turns without another word and climbs a dark spiral staircase. The steps creak beneath us, and the air grows colder the higher we go. At the top she opens a smaller door and ushers me inside.
The room beyond is cramped and lit by a single, narrow window. A desk sits in the center, littered with papers, scrolls, and bits of charcoal. Shelves line the walls, stacked high with files and ledgers, none of them labeled in any way I understand.
“This,” she says, gesturing to the cramped space, “is your workroom. You will organize his records, manage the household accounts, as well as document tax payments, and file every document he leaves for you. Miss nothing. Lose nothing. Lord Frostwyn will not tolerate incompetence.”
I look at the sea of papers, the dust, the sheer chaos. But it is paradise compared to where I thought I would be going.
“I am not working in the mines?” I ask.
