14. Violet
Chapter fourteen
Violet
I shouldn’t be here. My feet carry me deeper into the restricted section of the library, where Jack’s warnings about dangerous magic echo in my mind.
Yet something draws me forward, a strange tug in my chest that makes my heart pound. I stumble upon a cozy nook between towering shelves of forbidden texts, the perfect hiding spot from Jack’s brooding presence.
Why does this place feel so familiar? Like it’s been waiting for me? The feeling reminds me of that electric spark whenever Jack is near, but I push that thought away. I’m not ready to examine what that means. The section appears untouched for centuries, layers of dust coating every surface except where my hands have disturbed them .
A leather-bound journal catches my attention. The cover is embossed with intricate frost patterns, similar to the ones Jack creates when he’s agitated. When I open it, the pages crackle with age.
The handwriting inside is elegant but hurried, as if the writer was desperate to get their thoughts down. My breath catches as I read the first entry:
My son grows more powerful each day. The ice in his veins comes from my line, but his mother’s warmth still lingers. I fear this combination makes him vulnerable to emotion, to weakness.
The ancient prophecy speaks of one who will bring about our realm’s downfall. One born of ice and fire. I cannot take the risk that Jack’s humanity, inherited from his mother, could fulfill this dark portent.
I must eliminate every trace of warmth within him, strip away his capacity for love and compassion. Only then can I ensure our kingdom’s survival. The boy must become pure ice, or everything we’ve built will melt away.
The words blur as tears threaten to spill. What kind of monster would deliberately try to freeze the humanity out of their own child? My fingers clench the weathered pages, fury building in my chest as I think of a young child, subjected to his father’s cruel manipulation.
My heart pounds as the pieces click into place. This isn’t just some boy, this is Jack. All this time, I thought he had been human before making his bargain with Winter. But this... this changes everything. He wasn’t some mortal who traded his humanity—he was born into this. Born to be shaped into Winter’s perfect weapon, with a father determined to strip away every trace of warmth and compassion.
No wonder he’s so fucked up about emotions. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. Jack never had a chance to be normal. His own father systematically tried to destroy his humanity from birth.
Bile rises in my throat as my mind conjures images of a small boy, isolated and afraid, being molded into something cold and distant. Something inhuman. My knuckles turn white as I grip the journal tighter, rage and heartbreak warring inside me.
This must be Jack’s father’s journal. I flip through more pages, scanning entries about magical experiments and observations of a young Jack.
The boy shows too much compassion. Today, he created butterflies of ice to amuse the servant children. Such frivolity cannot be allowed to continue. Winter must be absolute. Pure.
“Fuck,” I whisper, sinking to the floor. The next entry makes my blood run cold :
I’ve consulted the ancient texts. There is a way to purge the warmth from his nature. The spell requires sacrifice, but for the good of the realm, I will do what must be done.
The following pages detail a ritual. Not to protect the realm as the prophecy claims, but to strip Jack of his human mother’s influence—to make him purely winter. My fingers shake as I read the final entry:
The deed is done. My son’s heart is properly frozen now. When he takes the throne, he will rule as winter should—without mercy or weakness. I’ve ensured any prophecy of a mate will be seen as a threat, not salvation. The realm will remain as I decree—eternally cold.
I slam the journal shut, my mind racing. The interpretation of the prophecy wasn’t a warning about me destroying the realm. It was about undoing Jack’s father’s magical manipulation. About restoring balance.
This fucking asshole manipulated his own son. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. Everything Jack believes about himself, about mates, about ruling—it’s all based on his father’s twisted ideas.
Footsteps echo in the corridor outside. I quickly shove the journal into my pocket, my heart thundering against my ribs. I need time to process this, to figure out how to help Jack see the truth.
I find Cora in the kitchen, kneading bread dough with practiced movements. She spots me hovering in the doorway and waves me over with flour-covered hands.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She gestures to a stool near the counter.
“Just doing some light reading.” I pat the journal hidden in my pocket. “Hey, can I ask you something? How long have you worked here?”
“Oh, centuries.” She continues working the dough, her movements rhythmic and soothing. “Why do you ask?”
“I was reading about something called the Year Without Summer. 1816?”
Her hands still. “Dark times. The mortal realm suffered terribly that year.”
“What happened?”
“It was shortly before His Majesty took the throne.” She glances around before lowering her voice. “The king was... struggling. His power manifested in ways we’d never seen before. The cold reached beyond our realm, affecting your world.”
My stomach churns. “You mean Jack caused a global winter?”
“Not intentionally.” She shapes the dough into a loaf. “He was dealing with tremendous pressure. His father had just passed, leaving him to rule alone. The isolation, the responsibility—it was too much.”
Like now , I think. When he’s trying so hard to push me away.
“The crops failed that year,” I say. “People starved.”
“His Majesty never forgave himself. It’s why he’s so controlled now, so careful with his power.” She slides the loaf into a pan. “Though lately...”
“The blizzards back home.”
“They’re getting worse, aren’t they?” She wipes her hands on her apron. “Just like before.”
The implications hit me like an icy wave. Jack’s rejection of our connection isn’t just hurting us—it’s affecting both realms.
“Has anyone told him?”
“Would he listen?” Her gentle smile holds a hint of sadness. “His Majesty can be rather... stubborn about certain things.”
Yeah, no shit. I think of the journal burning a hole in my pocket, of all the ways Jack’s father twisted his understanding of power and control.
“Thanks, Cora.” I stand, my mind already racing with possibilities. “I think I need to do some more research.”
I stride through the castle corridors, the journal’s weight heavy in my pocket. Something about my conversation with Cora nags at me. The timing of everything seems too convenient—Gabriel’s bargain, the warming realm, Jack’s increasing isolation.
I pause mid-step. Wait .
Gabriel knew exactly where to find me that first night. He appeared moments after I settled into my room, armed with the perfect leverage to ensure my cooperation. And his suggestion about transporting me back—the attempt that left me feeling violated and sick...
Son of a bitch.
The pieces click together like a twisted puzzle. Gabriel’s been manipulating both of us from the start. Getting me to help “save” the realm while pushing Jack toward increasingly desperate measures. That bastard knew exactly what he was doing, playing us against each other while pretending to be the helpful advisor.
My hands shake as I pull out the journal, flipping to the last entries. There, in faded ink:
Although I am the only one who recognizes him, my eldest son’s bitterness grows daily. Though born first, the prophecy speaks only of the Winter King with eyes of frost. Gabriel lacks this mark of divine right, and his rage at being passed over threatens to consume him. I fear what lengths he may go to seize power that was never meant to be his.
“Fuck.” The word echoes off the stone walls. My stomach churns as the truth hits me. Gabriel isn’t just Jack’s advisor—he’s his brother. A brother deliberately excluded from inheriting the throne because he wasn’t the one chosen by prophecy. No wonder he’s been so invested in everything going wrong. He’s probably been planning this revenge for centuries.
I press my palm against my forehead, trying to process it all. Every suggestion, every piece of “helpful” advice he’s given... it was all calculated to drive Jack into making choices that would weaken his position. And I’ve been an unwitting pawn in Gabriel’s twisted game of chess .
I need to tell Jack. But how? He trusts Gabriel implicitly, and I’m just the mate he’s determined to reject.
Still, I have to try.