Astrid stares at him. She can’t believe what he’s done for her, can’t believe he’s created this secret little pocket world of her home—just for her.
“It’s perfect. I… don’t even know what to say.” She slowly rotates, taking in the golden pine cones, the bloodred of the berries on the holly. She spots a gap in the trees and walks through it.
The crunch of Zryan’s footsteps in the snow follows hers until they emerge on a rocky bank. Before her is the Glass Lake of Isfjeller, named for its waters, which mirror the surroundings so clearly you can’t tell which is real and which is the reflection. Beyond it lies mountains, so many mountains, tall and snowcapped. It’s like they really are in Isfjell. The illusion is extraordinary. She listens for the generators here, but nothing. No Vitalas. This is pure magic.
Astrid looks back at the prince. His dark hair is a shock against the white world around him, his eyes glowing silver in the muted winter light. She misses the place she called home more than anything, but in this moment all she sees is him. He’s all she wants to see.
She walks to him. He dips his head as she stops directly in front of him, so close she can see the black rings around his irises. “Why?”
“It’s the least I could do for the woman who saved my life.” She lowers her gaze, but he takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifts her face to meet his. “The way you screamed my name has been playing on repeat in my head ever since.”
Her pulse jumps at his confession. At the firm grip of his fingertips on her chin. She clears her throat, nerves clogging it. “Well, I suppose it makes us even: you saved my life, I saved yours. Not that Skylar would have killed you.”
“I’m not so sure…” he mutters, then cocks a brow, letting go of her. “Having never seen snow, too, it would have been a tragedy.” He runs a finger across a branch and watches as the snow topples to the ground.
“And what do you think of my winter wonderland? Does it live up to your expectations?”
His gaze fixes on her, and the intensity of it snatches the air from her lungs. “Trust me, Astrid, we are well beyond the bounds of expectation.” He breaks eye contact, surveying the forest, the mountains,instead. Astrid takes a shaky breath. “Your home is incredible. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fucking freezing, but I can see why you love it.”
“That’s what you get for showing off. You know how ridiculous that—well, I can’t even call it an outfit.” It’s also ridiculously hot, but she doesn’t say that. “Bastet literally wore the same costume.”
“I lost a bet to Simone.” He grins. “I assure you, it’s not something I already had in my wardrobe.”
“What was the bet?” She tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, and he tracks the movement.
“I couldn’t possibly tell you that, Dimples.”
Astrid’s fingers still, flirtation morphing into mild alarm. “Wait, are you and Simone…?”
Zryan laughs. “Arach no! My sister’s more her type.”
“Oh.” Astrid turns, hiding her relief, and gazes out over the lake. “But you and Simone are close?”
Zryan comes up behind her and pulls her against his torso, wrapping his arms around her bare waist and resting his chin on top of her head. Her body seizes up at the unexpected contact, at how good it feels. She finds herself relaxing into him, allowing him to envelop her, hyperaware of every place their skin meets.
“Do you mind? I need your body heat,” Zryan murmurs close to her ear while his thumb idly strokes her side. Astrid doesn’t trust herself to speak, so she just nods awkwardly. “I’m friends with a couple of the Dreki, Simone being one of them. Jelani, too, who you might have seen at the welcome feast. Being the crown prince of Vatra didn’t exactly come with many opportunities for genuine friendship, though I’m sure if anyone understands, you do.”
“I do.” She had a few friends at the Moon Palace, but those friendships ended when she moved away. “What about the other courtiers? What do you think of them?”
He huffs, and the warmth of his breath on her neck has her shoulder blades contracting. “Axel is the only one of that set I can stand, and he’s more like a brother to me.”
She angles her head so she can see him. “And the other territories, the barons and baronesses? Are you… close with any of them?”
Zryan narrows his gaze. “Now what is it you actually want to askme, Dimples? Are you fishing for something?” He wraps strands of her hair around his forefinger, rubbing it with his thumb.
“No,” she says, swallowing, as he tugs at the strands, then lets go. “No, I just wondered how they all fit with you and your father. We don’t have the same setup in Arturea.” No, in Arturea it is very different. Each territory is managed by a group of councillors, voted for by the people and then approved by the queen, and no one sits on the council as a circumstance of their birth. Only the Arturean Crown is passed from parent to child.
Zryan tightens his arms around her, forcing a sharp breath to escape her. “I’m friendlier with some more than others, though I have a working relationship with all of them. I used to visit the other territories a lot, up until recently, anyway. Between me and you, there’s a bit of tension there.”
From the remnants of the note she’d seen, there’s more than a “bit” of tension, but she can’t tell Zryan she knows that. “Oh? Why’s that?”
“Have you met my father?”
Astrid huffs a laugh. “Point taken.”
“It’s complicated, the relationship between the crown and the baronies.” He starts idly stroking along her ribs again, and she has to bite her lip to stop the moan on the tip of her tongue. “They have different priorities than my father, or they want things that my father won’t give. Like a chance at Isla Draka.”
“They wantdragons?” The last thing Arturea needs is more Vatran riders breathing down their necks.
