“Mm.” Liora leaned forward to draw a precise line along her upper lid. “Yes, I’m aware.” She looked up then, past her own image to the scene outside. Wilhelm had stopped in the middle of the courtyard to say something to the girl. Shay tilted her head back, laughing as snowflakes landed in her hair.
Liora’s eyes narrowed. “Look at her skin,” she said lightly, though her fingers tightened on the brush. “So pale it almost disappears against that snow.”
Hunter followed her gaze. “Aye,” he agreed. “Like a little ghost.”
“As white as snow,” Liora repeated. She laughed, the sound bright and sharp. “Snow White. That’s what she looks like. That’s what I shall call her from now on.” The name tasted bitter and sweet on her tongue—an endearment and an insult all at once.
Outside, Shay laughed again, the sound lost on the wind. Inside, the queen smiled at herself in the glass, at the man who served her husband, at the kingdom she believed rested entirely in the palm of her perfectly manicured hand.
Hunter smiled faintly, because the queen was amused and because he was loyal enough to echo her. He shifted his attention back to the window, measuring the distance between king and guard, between stables and gate, as any good captain would. “Fitting, Your Majesty.” Hunter echoed, “Snow White.”
ThefirsttimeShayrode Grimm outside the castle walls, the world felt big enough to swallow her whole. Snow had stopped falling an hour before, leaving the sky a pale,watery blue. Sunlight broke through in thin shafts, catching on ice-rimmed branches and glittering the blanket that covered the fields. The air was so cold it bit the inside of Shay’s nose.
Grimm stamped in place as the stable boy tightened his girth. His breath steamed in short puffs, dark ears flicking back and forth. “He’s eager,” Shay said, running a mittened hand down his neck. The black colt—still young, but broadening—arched his crest and snorted, tossing his mane like a proud peacock’s feathers.
“He matches you today, Highness,” the boy said, grinning. “Black against the white.”
Shay laughed. “We’ll disappear together.” She could feel the eyes of the guards on the battlements as she put her boot into the stirrup. Hunter had doubled the patrols since the last rumors of raiders along the river. But for this one day, no one had tried to tell her no.
“Ready?” King Wilhelm called from the gatehouse arch, his cloak hitched against the wind.
“Yes!” Shay swung up into the saddle. The familiar warmth and breadth of Grimm’s back settled under her, comforting as a hug. She squeezed her calves, and he immediately started walking.
“Stay within sight of the walls,” Wilhelm said, commanding and protective. His gloved hand closed briefly over her ankle, grounding. “The guards and I will watch you from the tower. Any trouble, you turn and ride back. Straight line. You understand? And stay away from the western ridge. The mining caravans are moving today, and those men are too rough for a princess’s eyes.”
“Yes, Father,” she said dutifully. She liked how he always explained things like she was capable, not fragile.
He gave her a brief, approving nod and stepped back. Wilhelm lifted his hand. “Let them see you, Shay,” he said, voicebooming through the open gate. “Let them see how strong the blood of this kingdom runs.”
She could not yet grasp the politics hidden behind his words. She only knew that when the gate chains clanked and the portcullis rose, something inside her rose with it. Shay clicked her tongue. Grimm surged forward. For a moment they were under the shadow of the gate, stone pressing in on both sides, cold dripping from the arch like water. Then they burst out into white light. Grimm’s hooves threw snow behind them as he broke into a canter, then—when she leaned forward and let the reins slip—a full, pounding gallop. Wind tore at Shay’s cloak and burned her cheeks. Her hair whipped out from beneath her hood like a black ribbon. She laughed, the sound snatched away by speed.
The castle shrank behind them: walls, towers, banners all turning into a gray line against the sky. Ice crystals kicked up by his hooves hung in the air like diamond dust, pricking at her exposed skin with a thousand tiny, freezing kisses. Ahead, the field rolled away in gentle dips and rises, dotted with dark, leafless trees. A flock of pigeons rose from a hedgerow, their wings a disorganized flutter. Shay steered Grimm along the edge of the frozen creek. The ice gleamed, frosted white. She imagined they were racing some thin, silent twin of themselves, reflected in the glass. “You’re magnificent,” she told her steed, leaning forward to pat his neck.
“Faster, Grimm. Show them what we can do.” He obliged, stretching under her with powerful strides. Each push of his hindquarters vibrated up through her bones. She felt every muscle moving, every breath. They were one creature: black against white, heartbeat against frost. For a little while, she wasn’t a princess in a castle. She was just a girl on a horse, flying. She only knew the fierce, clean joy that filled her lungs like cold light.
When at last she eased Grimm back to a trot, then to a walk, his sides were damp under the saddle blanket. Steam rose from him in faint curls. Shay’s toes ached from the cold; her fingers stung as she flexed them on the reins. “We should go back,” she said softly, though every part of her longed to keep going, past the line of the forest, down into the hills. “They’ll worry.” Grimm flicked an ear back as if he’d heard and reluctantly shortened his stride.
Shay turned him toward the distant shape of the castle and urged him into an easy trot. As they rode, she twisted in the saddle to look over her shoulder, committing the wide white world to memory. “Someday,” she whispered. “Someday we won’t have to turn back.” Grimm shook his head and snorted, and it felt like agreement.
Shayhadn’tseenthecurtains twitch in the high tower window as she left the castle’s safety. She didn’t see the shadowed figures watching her go.
Far above the courtyard, Queen Liora did not notice her daughter’s joy at all. Her attention, as always, was fixed on herself. Hunter stood in his simple captain’s coat, sword belted at his hip, shoulders squared out of habit. The scar at his jaw caught the light. He was a good man. Loyal. Brave. Trusted. Useful.
“Close the windows,” she said softly. “I don’t like the light from the courtyard on my skin.” He obeyed without question, crossing the room with measured strides to draw the heavy curtains. The chamber darkened, shadows deepening aroundthem. Now only the braziers and the mirror cast light. When he turned back, Liora walked toward him—not hurried, not hesitant, but with the slow, easy confidence of someone who knows exactly what every shift of her hips does to the person facing her. “Your king is out in the snow, playing with a horse,” she said. “My daughter clings to his hand like a burr. And you”—she let her gaze climb deliberately up his body, from boots to throat “—you come when I call.”
“It is my duty,” Hunter said, though his throat worked as he swallowed.
She stopped in front of him, so close he could smell the oil on her skin and the faint salt of her sweat. Tilting her head, she studied his face. “Is that all it is?” she asked. He met her eyes then. Too honest, she thought; that had always been his problem. There was heat there, yes, and need, but also something softer. Something that would have to be used carefully.
“I serve the crown,” he said. “The king, the realm… and you, my queen.”
“Then serve me,” Liora said. As she spoke she dropped her dress from her shoulders, letting it fall smoothly to the floor, caught only for just a moment on the perk of her nipples. Her hands rose to his chest, fingers brushing the leather over his heart. She felt the drum of it, hard and fast. She smiled and slid her palms up to his shoulders, then around his neck. The move brought her naked body flush against his clothed one. He sucked in air, and she felt him tense, then give, like metal being heated and bent.
She liked that. She liked it very much. “You talk so well on the training field,” she murmured, letting her mouth hover near his ear. “All those orders, all those shouts. Let’s see how well you speak for me.”
Her hands worked at the fastening of his coat. He didn’t stop her. When the leather fell away, she pushed him back toward the open space of bare stone before the mirror. His boots scuffed on the floor. The back of his heels hit the edge of the cushion where she had been kneeling, tripping him. With a small, surprised grunt, he went down. She followed, straddling him in one smooth motion. The stone beneath the cushion was still cold. Hunter felt it through the thin layer, the chill a stark contrast to the heat of the woman now settling over his thighs. His hands came up automatically, hovering at her waist, not quite daring to touch.
Liora took them in hers and placed them where she wanted them. “Do you know why you are here?” she asked.
