Two white horses are harnessed to the front, so beautiful they do not seem entirely real. Their manes are carefully braided with silver ribbon, the braids so intricate they look like woven ice. Their tack gleams with polished metal and tiny gemstone studs that sparkle among the falling snow.
Luceran stands beside the open carriage door.
He frowns the moment he sees me. “What took you so long?”
Before I can stutter an explanation, he gestures sharply toward the carriage with a curt nod.
“Get in.”
I obey at once, hurrying down the steps. I lift the hem of my dress and reach for the carriage frame, only to jerk in surprise when Luceran extends his hand to me.
I freeze, then gulp and place my hand in his.
His grip is firm, cold, steady. But luckily my gloves absorb most of his chilled touch. He helps me step up into the carriage with far more care than I expect. My heart lurches unhelpfully at the gentleness of it.
He climbs in after me, shutting the door with a solid thud. The interior is warm, lined with velvet, plush cushions and fur throws, but he fills the space completely when he sits across from me. His legs spread wide, his knees knocking into mine without hesitation or apology.
He does not seem to notice.I notice far too much.
I tear my gaze away from his hands, his shoulders, the runes faintly glowing beneath his clothes, and turn to the small window.
There is no driver.
I blink. “Who will drive the carriage?”
Before he can answer, a tiny head pops up from the driver’s perch, a sprite with translucent wings beating wildly. It grins at me, baring a mouthful of jagged teeth. Another sprite appears beside it, laughing in an unsettling, high-pitched trill.
Then the whip snaps. The horses rear, hooves slashing the air, and the carriage lurches violently forward.
I yelp and pitch toward Luceran, my hand slamming against his thigh to catch my balance. Even through my gloves, even through his trousers, the solid cords of muscle are unmistakable. My eyes widen, and I snatch my hand back as though burned once more, pressing myself as far into my seat as the carriage allows.
Luceran does not comment. He only watches me with a look I cannot interpret.
Then the horses charge from the courtyard and into the sleet, the world blurring into white as the carriage speeds toward the frozen wilds.
7
Ifeel like a traitor as the carriage glides away from the castle. I should hate what this winter has done to Brunemar, what he has done. And yet, shamefully, there is a stark, aching beauty in the desolate ruins of these lands.
Outside the window stretches an endless sweep of ivory, a landscape so pale it seems to swallow the horizon. Snow falls in soft, unbroken curtains, drifting over frozen rivers and settling against towering walls of ice that shimmer and refract the most dazzling blues I have ever seen.
My father used to tell me stories of how green this land once was. Rolling meadows, sunlit glades, flowers so bright they hurt the eyes. I saw none of it myself. Before I was born, the forever winter had already claimed Brunemar.
It cost my family so much.
It costeveryoneso much.
And the culprit sits in silence right across from me.
Lord Luceran Frostwyn fills his side of the carriage completely, with broad shoulders brushing the velvet walls, long legs spread so far his knee bumps mine every few minutes with the movement of the wheels. Each accidental touch sends a small jolt through me, and he crowds me so completely I can’t help but feel it is deliberate.
His hair is sleek today, half tied back to reveal the sharp lines of his face, the rest falling in a smooth, pale curtain over his shoulders.
Sometimes when I risk glancing at him, his gaze meets mine, blue and gold. For a heartbeat, neither of us looks away.
Then he grumbles low in his throat, as if annoyed with the very idea of eye contact, and snaps his attention back to the window, staring at nothing at all.
I pretend I am not breathing too shallowly.I pretend my hands are not sweating inside my gloves.
