Maybe it was because my homeland of Aenir was so chaotic and loud, by comparison.
An elderly couple shrouded in fur cloaks passed us by. The woman's gaze lingered on Liam, eyes darkened with disgust. Her husband glanced between us and gripped his wife's shoulders tightly, steering her toward the opposite side of the street.
Tucking a raven lock behind his ear, Liam offered them his most charming smile. I scowled. Startled by my rude expression, the woman turned away.
Her husband was happy to return my sneer, though.
"Not very princess-like," Liam chided.
"People like that don't deserve good manners," I said, burrowing into his side to share his warmth. "And I'm not a princess."
"Yet." Liam threw his cloak around my shoulders.
My little brother looked nothing like me—we weren't related, and everyone could tell. Men born with his warm brown skin never had pale green eyes—not unless they were a half-blood.
Most people called his kind foul-blooded. Laws forbid the intermarrying of races, and the children of these cursed unions were shunned. Two muted elements ran through their veins, rather than the purity of one.
One of his parents must have been Earthborn, the other Stormborn. He stood out in our home of Aenir, the country of pallid Stormborns, their hair the color of wind and air.
My father and I were pure-blooded Stormborns. More than a few people had shot us judging glances for taking a half-blood under our wings. But I had always regarded Liam as my little brother—nothing less.
Shaking off my annoyance, I raised my head.
"Why," Liam asked. "Were you moping by the lake if you can't stand the cold?"
"I was thinking," I said.
"Overthinking, you mean. Just be likable."
I snorted. "You're supposed to say, 'be yourself.'"
"That would be sabotage, sister," Liam said, pulling me across the bridge.
Frigid water rushed beneath our feet, but warmth bloomed on the river's other side. An orchard of leafless trees stretched into the distance, and a fire blazed at its center—stumps scattered around the flames, seating myriad people wrapped in heavy fur.
The people of this frozen country had matching countenances. I'd seen them smile only once—when they gathered around the fire, drank cider, and sang to the trees.
An odd tradition, but one Liam and I had made a point of attending every winter.
Well, Liam liked it. I simply came with him to ensure he didn't embarrass himself. The boy couldn't sing.
Neither could I.
An iron pot was roasting over the fire, and a rosy-faced man doled out its contents to participants. The drink was free if you brought your own mug. Producing two from beneath his coat, Liam handed them to the old farmer. I watched the cauldronmaster ladle warm, mulled wine into the mugs, and grabbed mine eagerly from Liam when he offered it.
Sweet heat! It curled from the liquid and pressed into my palms. Sighing in blissful solace, I found a stump away from the crooning crowd to sit and defrost.
Liam sat beside me. "I have a plan."
"Why does that worry me?" I narrowed my eyes.
"Tonight—" He shimmied closer. "You know how our people are. Every woman in the ballroom is going to try to ruin your chances. I'll guard the perimeter, make sure you'll have no distractions."
"You're going to help of your own volition?" I leaned forward. "What's in it for you?"
"People who are staring at the prince aren't guarding their coin purses."
"I swear to Solathair, Liam, if you get caught robbing someone?—"
