“Let’s not forget the fur,” Marigold chimes in, holding up a white stole. “Faux, of course,” she adds, casting a glance at Astrid. She wraps it around my shoulders.
Astrid steps back to examine me, her eyes narrowing as she tugs at the hem of the gown. “Hmm. It needs something else.” She retrieves a silver circlet adorned with tiny crystals, each one catching the firelight and sending rainbows across the walls. Carefully, she sets it on my head. “Keldarion insisted you wear this. He fetched it from the Winter treasury and everything.”
I glance at my reflection, almost not recognizing myself. The dress clings in all the right places, flowing to the floor. The stole adds a regal touch, and the circlet glimmers, its design framing my face.
“You look stunning!” Marigold exclaims, clapping her hands together. Her joy is infectious, and despite my initial hesitation, I can’t help but smile. “Like a princess!”
“I suppose it’ll do,” I tease, earning a dramatic gasp from Marigold and an amused eye roll from Astrid.
For the first time, I don’t feel like simply a visitor in the Winter Realm but a part of it.
There’s a rap at my door, and Keldarion slips in, looking dashing. My lips curl into a smile at the sight of him. He’s dressed in an elegant blue tunic with a heavy sapphire cape trimmed with white fur. Atop his head is a silver circlet similar to mine.
“Yes.” He rolls his eyes. “Eldor made me brush my hair.” His hairdoeslook nice, falling in a straight sheet down his back. Keldarion holds out his arm, and I take it. “Ready to celebrate solstice?”
“With you?” I grin. “Always.”
48
Rosalina
Arm in arm, Keldarion and I leave the confines of KeepWolfhelm and venture into Frostfang. We seem to be following a flow of people as they all drift to the center of town.
The sound of celebration reaches us long before we step into the square—laughter, music, the hum of a crowd.
“What’s happening?” I cut a glance at the High Prince of Winter, but he has the same smirk on his face as he’s had all morning.
“Keep going,” he urges.
Rounding the final corner, my breath catches. Frostfang’s main square has been transformed. The icy cobblestones, usually muted under a blanket of snow, glisten like diamonds beneath strings of lanterns strung above. Each lantern glows, casting a warm light that dances across the frosted walls of the surrounding buildings.
The city is buzzing with people. Children bundled in thick cloaks dart through the crowd. Vendors line the edges of the space, their stalls draped in silvery cloth and brimming with steaming cider, roasted chestnuts, and pastries dusted withpowdered sugar. But most of the fae are gathered around something in the middle of the square.
It’s a stage. This must be what I saw being built yesterday. It’s enormous, crafted from dark wood and adorned with a cascade of roses. The flowers are an array of colors—crimson, soft blue, and pure white—all impossibly alive despite the chill. Their scent, rich and heady, drifts through the air, mingling with the usual snow and pine.
“How did you get flowers to bloom in Winter?”
Keldarion gestures to a figure at the edge of the structure, dressed in golden armor with a dark green cape over his shoulders. He waves his hand, coaxing a few last buds to bloom.
Ez, of course.
I draw my attention back to the center of the stage. There sits the most magnificent chair I’ve ever seen. It’s plush and grand, with high arms and a backrest carved with delicate frost patterns. The cushions are deep blue. A fur throw is draped across the seat.
It’s a throne. There’s no denying it. And the realization sends a flutter of nerves racing through me.
“What is going on, Kel?”
“Come on, Rose.” He guides me forward.
The crowd parts as we approach, murmurs rippling in our wake. Some people nod or bow, their faces warm with smiles, while others gaze at me in wide-eyed wonder. The gown flows around me, the embroidered stars catching the lantern light. Every step is weighted.
Marigold’s words echo in my mind:You have to look perfect!
I don’t feel perfect. I feel like a girl playing dress-up, entirely out of her depth. But even though I pretended to be an ordinary girl this morning, it’s not who I am. It’s not how these people see me. As I draw closer to the stage, the scent of roses thick inthe air, I lift my chin. If Frostfang’s people can see something extraordinary in me, I can rise to meet it.
At the bottom of the stairs, Dayton steps out, wearing a bright teal jacket, the hood drawn up so only the ends of his blond hair peek out. He offers me a steaming cup of hot chocolate.
“Happy solstice, Blossom.” He smiles and leans in to kiss my cheeks.
