I frown and march toward her. Before I can second-guess myself, I reach around and take the wooden spoon right out of her hand.
She gasps as if I’ve stolen a family heirloom.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she snaps, snatching it back with surprising strength.
But I’m already committed. I grab it again. She gasps louder this time.
When she reaches for it once more, I jerk the spoon out of reach.
“It is bad enough that I must live my days here in this icebox,” I say, breath shaking with a mixture of fear and determination, “with terrors inside these wallsandoutside. But I will not creep around like a mouse. I will not cling to shadows and hide behind corners. I will not become another ghost of this place.”
Atilia scowls down her nose at me, folding her arms as she assesses my foolish bravery.
“So what exactly do you plan to do?”
My shoulders sag as all the bravado drains out of me.“I will apologize for the library. He will forgive me, and things will go back to how they were.”
Atilia blinks once. Slowly.
“Really?How they were? You think your situation was so much better before?”
“Of course not,” I groan. I push in front of her so I’m standing at the pot, fingers tightening around the spoon. “But I felt as if he was starting to… I thought that…”
Atilia laughs, a sharp, cutting sound that slices right through me. Shame floods my cheeks, burning hot in the cold kitchen air.
“Is your headthatfull of dreams, girl?” she says. “You see things that are not there. Luceran is the Lord of Winter, and this place,” she sweeps a hand to the frost-laced walls, the breath of cold drifting in from the windows, the hearth that fights to stay alive, “isthe reflection of him. Frozen. Hollow. He feels nothing. So whatever glimmers you think you’ve seen are nothing but illusions you’ve spun for yourself.”
Her words sting like sleet against bare skin, but I refuse to flinch. I step fully into her place, nudging her aside as I stir the oats with more force than necessary.
“Perhaps I have more faith in Lord Luceran than you do,” I mutter over my shoulder.
Atilia exhales a mocking, pitying breath. “Silly little humans,” she sighs. “So dramatic. So sentimental. How easily you misplace your affections. How you yearn for torment. How you ache for things you cannot have.”
My head snaps toward her, glare sharp enough to shatter ice.“I do not want him.”
“Of course you don’t,” she says breezily, untying her apron. “Why would you? A male like that?” Her tone is wickedly amused, as if she knows more than she should. She lays the apron on the bench and moves toward the door. “Since I’ve had to cover so much for you lately, I think I’ll take an extended break from service. Good luck, Neve Devlin.”
The door clicks shut behind her.
Want him.How ridiculous.
Yes, he is attractive. Anyone with functioning eyes knows that. But I’m not foolish enough to mistake attraction for anything deeper. I may have daydreams, but I live in reality, and reality is simple: We are nothing but lord and servant.
All I want is to make amends. To ease this bargain enough that he won’t hate the sight of me. To calm the storm that rages whenever we cross paths.
Because if I can behave myself,for oncein my damned life, then maybe the kindness I’m sure is buried somewhere beneath all that frost will rise to the surface.
Maybe Lord Luceran will let me see my father again.
Just once.
I stay in the kitchen, tending the oats over the fire, a pot of tea simmering beside it. I keep the heat steady with the same methodical focus I use when tallying numbers in the tower.This has to be perfect.It’s the only chance I have.
Footsteps echo down the hallway.
My head snaps toward the sound and I move. Quickly. Purposefully.
I rush into the dining hall, straighten the linen cloth, smooth every wrinkle until it lies flawless across the table. I place the plate, align the silverware, adjust the goblet so even its shadow falls neatly. Then I bring out the oats and tea, steam curling from the dishes, tangling with my nervous breath.
