Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
IVRAEL
N o matter how hard I try, I can’t help watching Lara out of the corner of my eye as we ride from the starport gate back to Starfrost Manor.
When she confronted me about my plans the night of the ballroom fire, power practically radiated from her, shining from every pore.
Now, I see none of that power.
Has her anger faded, taking with it the outer expression of the magic that is her birthright—her bloodright? Has it simply retreated inside her?
And if so, what will it take to bring it to the surface again?
My jaw clenches. The last thing I want is to kill a ballroom full of people every time I need to evoke a magical reaction from Lara.
A horrific thought occurs to me: is it possible her power has evaporated entirely?
No—that’s not possible.
If she manifested the power once, then she carries the bloodright to the magic. Nothing can change that.
I will count on her sister’s presence to bring it out of her again.
Flying in the air beside me, Lara sits half-asleep atop her crystalline horse, her hand wrapped around the leather rein I conjured for her to hold onto. She’s wrapped the tattered, makeshift cloak Adefina stitched together for her out of two older cloaks around Izzy.
In turn, Izzy has pulled it forward to cover as much of the two of them as it can. The green undercloak shows through holes in the outer red woolen one, and the younger Evans sister is sleeping, as far as I can tell.
Part of me wants to wrap Lara in the black cloak I wear tossed over my own shoulders. Even though she fares better here than a full-blood human would, she’s often chilled.
I could do without the cloak. Despite my occasional need for warmth, the cold does not affect me. I am the Duke of Starfrost, and nothing within my own domain can harm me. But that’s not the real reason I could give her my cloak and yet I do not.
I did allow Lara to wrap herself in my cloak after the night I bought her from Roland. She used it all the way back to Starfrost Manor. And when I retrieved it from her, the cloak still held her body heat and her alluring scent. The heat dissipated quickly. But her scent…that remained for much longer than I’d anticipated.
My control grows weaker every day. I cannot risk immersing myself in her scent.
Not even if I want to.
The hooves of our ice-horse constructs slice through the frigid air, leaving trails of diamante dust in their wake. Each beat sends shivers through the magical matrix I’ve woven to create them—another reminder of how much weaker even my considerable powers have grown.
Khrint’s sharp intake of breath draws my attention to the landscape. My valet sits rigidly atop his mount, his white-blond hair whipping in the wind as he stares downward.
“My lord,” he says, his voice tight with concern. The formal address doesn’t mask the tremor underneath. “The cardena vines—they’re flowering early this cycle. And those purple blooms among them...”
He trails off, clearly disturbed by the sight of warm-weather plants infiltrating our frozen domain. The cardena should be dormant, their silver-white stems coiled beneath the ice until the proper season. Instead, their leaves push through the frost, and delicate purple star-flowers—shadowblooms that have no business growing in Starfrost—twine through their branches.
“Yes.” I keep my voice level, though anger burns in my chest at this latest evidence of our world’s decline. “The barrier between the cold lands and the warm continues to weaken.”
The Icecaix and Starcaix realms are intertwining. I had noticed on the way out to the starport, but apparently Khrint was still too traumatized by the fire to pay attention.
Now I scan the terrain below, noting more signs I’ve been trying to ignore. Patches of dark soil show through what should be unbroken ice. Warm mist rises in thin tendrils where it should freeze instantly. Even the air feels wrong—still cold enough to bite but lacking the sharp, pristine quality that marks proper Icecaix territory.
Khrint’s usual stoic demeanor cracks further. His fingers tighten on his reins until the leather creaks. “If this corruption spreads much further?—”
“The damage can be corrected, can’t it?” Tenyt interrupts. My young guard’s voice carries an edge of fear that makes him sound more like the servant boy he is than the trained warrior he’s becoming. His ice-horse shifts beneath him, responding to my anxiety.
Or perhaps my control is slipping.
I consider my response carefully, aware of Lara’s eyes slowly opening as she yawns, her attention shifting to our conversation, even as her sister continues sleeping.
She blinks, and I see the moment she realizes what we’re discussing.
She tries to hide it, but I catch the slight turn of Lara’s head, the way her spine straightens. Now, the barest whispering sound of her movement draws my attention instantly.
“The planet can be saved,” I say finally, choosing each word with precision, knowing that Lara is actively listening now. My own knowledge presses against me, reminding me of exactly what that salvation will cost. “If we act quickly enough. The solution lies in…ancient magics.”
The words taste like ashes in my mouth. Ancient magics —a pleasant euphemism for blood sacrifice and death.
But I can’t speak that truth, not with Lara’s now-suspicious gaze burning holes in my side. Not when I’m still trying to convince myself that her death is a price I’m willing to pay.
The copper-gold curls whipping around her face catch the starlight, making her look more like the royal she truly is than the servant she believes herself to be.
She’s fully awake now. Wind-chapped color stains Lara’s freckled cheeks, and I force my fingers to remain still on my reins rather than reach over to brush back those wayward strands of hair.
“And how exactly are my sister and I supposed to help with that?”
No matter how much I may want her, no matter how much my hands ache to touch her, how much my body throbs when she’s around, I cannot allow myself to care for her—not beyond what it takes to gain what I need from her.
And what I need from her is the power to save my people. What I need from her is her blood. And her sister’s blood, as well.
I guide my mount slightly higher into the chill air, where the twin moons of Trasq cast competing shadows across the landscape below.
Lara’s gaze follows me despite my attempt to escape it.
“Your bloodline carries certain... properties that will be essential to restoring balance.” The words I finally manage to say sit like ice on my tongue. Cold. Unmoving.
I’m reminded of the old Caix saying, Truth binds reality. Lies allow chaos to seep through the cracks.
My world is cracking, and chaos is sliding in, filling it.
Lara tugs her mount’s reins, bringing the construct upward and banking close to mine.
She shouldn’t be able to control the creature. Is it a sign of my power weakening? Or of hers growing? I welcome the second possibility—but the first makes my gut twist.
The ice horse’s flanks brush against my mount’s, sending a shower of frozen chips flying between us as she berates me. “That’s not an answer. How many more people have to die to save your precious magic? Like those who burned to death at your ball?”
The accusation strikes deeper than it should. I remember the screams, the smell of burning flesh as Lord Oesterin turned the elegant ballroom into an inferno. The rotating star ceiling had reflected the flames like a kaleidoscope of destruction. And yet...
“Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good. Would you condemn an entire world to slow death to save a handful of lives?”
Lara glares at me.
I don’t tell her how the magic fails a little more each day, how even now I can feel the weakening in my own abilities.
How many more ice constructs I’ll be able to create is uncertain. The thought of Trasq dying, of the Eternal Dream becoming truly eternal for my people, haunts my nights.
“Don’t pretend this is about noble sacrifice,” she spits back, and there’s that fire again, burning through her words. “You’re talking about murder.”
My hand instinctively moves to where the Starfire Crown rests, still hidden inside my coat. If she knew its true purpose, knew the price that must be paid in Evans blood to restore the magical magnetics of our world...
“My lord,” Khrint interrupts my thought with practiced diplomacy, his professional mask firmly in place despite the tension crackling between Lara and me. “Perhaps we should discuss the route to the spaceport?—”
“No.” Lara’s voice cracks. “I want to know if I heard correctly after the ball. Do you actually plan to put me or my sister on the Icecaix throne?”
I urge my mount higher still before answering her. “There are several possible paths forward. The throne may be one of them.”
The half-truth burns like acid. Yes, Lara will sit the throne—briefly—before her blood helps power the crown.
“Convenient how you never give a straight answer.” Bitterness laces her words, and something in my chest tightens painfully. The urge to tell her everything—about the crown, about her true heritage, about the terrible choice between her life and an entire world—nearly overwhelms my carefully maintained control.
But I can’t. Not when the fate of Trasq hangs by a thread. Not when every passing moment of this day brings us closer to collecting her sister Izzy—the final piece needed to restore magic to my dying world.
I remain silent, letting the bitter wind carry away the words I cannot say.
Lara falls silent then, her rigid posture radiating fury that seems to warm the very air around her. Her knuckles whiten on the reins, and I force myself to look away from the sight, even as my mind races through possibilities I’ve already examined and discarded a thousand times, searching for some way to save her.
The ice horses carry us through the night, and Lara pulls ahead of me. She handles her mount with unconscious ease. Even with her sister pressed against her back, she rides as if she was born to it—another sign I try not to read too deeply into.
My magic flows through the constructs, letting me feel every shift of their riders' weight. Through this connection, I sense Lara's exhaustion, the slight tremors running through her muscles. The constant tension in her spine—her fear and defiance at war throughout her body.
I remind myself that I swore to become as hard and cold as necessary to do what I know I have to do. So I shouldn't be monitoring her so closely. Shouldn't care about her comfort or fatigue. She's merely a means to an end—a necessary sacrifice to save my world.
But then she turns slightly, adjusting her cloak around her sister, and moonlight catches her profile.
Goddess, she’s beautiful.
Even half-frozen and exhausted, she burns with an inner fire that makes my careful control waver.
Ahead, Starfrost Manor rises like a frozen dream, its white walls gleaming in the moonlight. I've always taken pride in my domain, in the power and beauty it represents. Now I see it through Lara's eyes—a prison disguised as a palace.
She thinks she hates it here. Thinks she hates me.
Maybe she does.
If so, she's right to do so.
I watch her tug her sister closer as we approach the manor, her protective instincts obvious in every line of her body. If she knew what I had planned, she would try to kill me where I stand.
Part of me almost wishes she would succeed.
But I've seen the future that awaits if I fail. I've watched our magic weaken year by year.
I’ve studied every inch of the problem, tested every theory, explored every alternative. But the truth remains unchanged: Lara’s death—and her sister’s—are essential components of the only solution I’ve found to save our dying world.
I've run the calculations countless times, searched for any alternative that wouldn't require their deaths.
There is none.
And so I must become the monster she already believes me to be. Must ignore the way my heart races when she's near, the way her presence makes my magic sing in my veins. Must forget how she felt in my arms that night in the gallery, warm and alive and more real than anything in my frozen world.
The knowledge sits hard in my chest, colder than any magic I command.
The ice horses sense my darkening mood, their steps growing more rigid, mechanical. I force my thoughts back to the present, to maintaining the constructs that carry us.
To the role I must play.
Starfrost Manor's courtyard opens before us. Fresh snow blankets everything, untouched and perfect. Like a clean slate, waiting for whatever bloody story we're about to write upon it.
Lara sits straighter in her saddle as we approach, and even exhausted, even afraid, she carries herself like the queen she could have been in another life. Another sign I must ignore, another reminder of everything I'm about to destroy.
The knowledge of what I must do sits in my chest like a shard of ice, colder than any magic I command. But I am the Duke of Starfrost, and I will do whatever necessary to save my world.
Even if it means sacrificing the only warmth I've ever known.
I guide us down to land in the Starfrost Manor courtyard. Our mounts’ hooves touch the frozen ground with barely a sound, the magical constructs moving with the dexterity that marks my better creations.
“Dismount,” I order, then soften my tone at Lara’s flash of rebellion. “Please.”
She slides from her mount with surprising agility, given our long ride. When she stumbles slightly on the landing, I reach out instinctively to steady her. The brief contact sends a jolt through my carefully maintained control—her skin burns like fire against me.
“I’m fine,” she snaps, pulling away as if my touch burns her as well. Perhaps it does.
She turns and helps her sister, still groggy, off the back of the frozen steed.
I dismiss the constructs with a wave of my hand, and the ice horses dissolve into swirling snow that dissipates on the wind. The speed with which they dissolve serves as yet another reminder of why my plan—terrible as it is—must succeed.
Before I lead the sisters into the manor, I take a moment to study the scorched remains of Starfrost Manor's western wing, where the firelord's attack left its deepest scars.
The wing's distinctive, blue-trimmed windows—those that survived—have been boarded over to protect the interior from the frequent snow.
Even in the moonlight, I can tell the once-pristine white walls are still blackened in places, though the workers have begun scraping away the soot. Scaffolding climbs the exterior like skeletal fingers, and new marble blocks gleam incongruously among the smoke-stained stone.
The ballroom's destruction pains me—not for the loss of the room itself, but for what it represents. The rotating star ceiling, once the pride of Starfrost Manor, now lies in ruins, its delicate magical mechanisms destroyed.
The veranda where countless nobles once gathered to escape the heat of dancing now stands empty, its elegant columns scarred and crumbling.
In my absence, workers have managed to clear away most of the debris and begin laying new foundation stones, but it will be months before the wing returns to its former glory. If it ever does.
Like so much else in my world, some damages cannot be undone—they can only be covered up and rebuilt into something new.
The rest of the manor stands as it always has: a sprawling testament to Icecaix architecture, with its soaring white walls and delicate blue accents that mimic the eternal winter of our realm.
The central portion, housing the dining rooms, sitting rooms, great hall, and my private chambers, still presents its usual austere face to the world, though the scent of smoke lingers even here.
And the eastern wing remains untouched, its spires reaching toward the starry sky.
“It looks like something out of a fairy tale,” Izzy says softly.
Lara adds with bitter irony, “That’s fitting.”
At my signal, Tenyt rushes ahead to open the doors, and Khrint follows him to alert the staff that we have returned.
As I turn to lead the Evans sisters inside, I tell myself this will all be worth it in the end.
The sisters’ footsteps echo behind me as we enter Starfrost Manor, their human warmth radiating through the chilled air like trapped sunlight.
I force myself not to look back at them—particularly at Lara. My awareness of her presence burns against my skin even without visual confirmation.
“Welcome home, Your Lordship,” Khrint murmurs as we cross the threshold.
The words ring hollow.
I pause in the grand foyer, allowing myself a moment to appreciate how the ice-white walls reflect the moonlight streaming through the high windows, the way the pale blue trim looks even darker in the glow of the single magical Caixlight floating through the air.
The marble floor gleams like fresh snow, and I notice how Lara and Izzy unconsciously draw closer together, their shoulders touching as they take in the austere beauty of their prison—Izzy for the first time, Lara with the dejection of a longtime inmate.
“The kitchen is that way,” Lara says, gesturing toward the back of the house. “We should probably?—”
“No.” The word emerges sharper than intended, frosted with command. “You’re not servants any longer.”
Both sisters freeze, and I catch the flash of suspicion in Lara’s eyes. She’s right to be wary. Every step of my plan depends on transforming these Earth girls into something the Icecaix Court will accept—or at least fear enough to follow.
I turn to my valet, fighting to keep my voice steady despite the way my pulse quickens at the thought of what comes next. “Have the blue suite prepared. Light fires in the bedchamber and the sitting room.”
As Khrint leaves to take care of my request, Lara’s intake of breath is sharp, a crack in her composure. I finally allow myself to look at her directly, and the confusion and hope warring on her face sends an unwanted shiver through me.
I step closer, drawn by her warmth despite my better judgment. “You’re to be presented at court. Both of you. So we can’t have you sleeping in the kitchen.”
Lara’s eyes narrow. “Why not? You were fine with me sleeping in the kitchen before.”
My voice cools to match the temperature of the marble beneath our feet, and I force myself to step back and turn toward the stairs without answering her question. “Allow me to show you to your rooms. You should rest tonight. Tomorrow, we begin preparing you for your roles at court.”
“And what roles would those be?” Lara’s question carries an edge sharp enough to draw blood.
Again, I ignore her. My footsteps echo through the foyer as I head toward the stairs, listening for the sisters to follow.
Soon , I tell myself. Soon everything will align. I will do what must be done .
But even I’m beginning to doubt the lies I tell myself.