Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
IVRAEL
W ith both Uanna and Svalkat lurking about the manor acting as spies, I feel like a dancing oloball juggler trying to keep all my self-replicating toys in the air as they multiply.
I’m exhausted. And that’s before Khrint materializes at my elbow as I stride down the gallery.
“Lady Uanna requests your presence in the conservatory.”
Of course she does. “Tell her I’m occupied with estate business.”
“I did, Your Lordship. She insisted. And Baron Svalkat has also asked to see you.”
I rub my eyes with one hand and then pinch the bridge of my nose. “Where is our dear baron this morning?”
“In the library.” Khrint’s expression remains neutral, but his tone suggests volumes. “Examining your collection of texts on Caix magical theory.”
Examining my private papers is what he means. At least the truly dangerous documents are secured elsewhere .
“Very well. I’ll see Lady Uanna.” I stride past Khrint, then pause. “Oh, and please inform the baron that while I appreciate his scholarly interests, some of those texts are quite valuable. I’d hate for any harm to come to them.”
“Of course, Your Lordship.” Khrint’s bow remains perfectly proper even as a dangerous glint enters his eye. “I’ll ensure the baron understands the extraordinarily delicate nature of your collection. Perhaps I’ll mention the fate of the last person who damaged one of your rare volumes.”
There was no such person. But of course the baron won’t know that.
“A cautionary tale worth sharing, I’m sure,” I say.
Khrint’s smile holds just the right edge of menace. “Absolutely.”
I nod, satisfied that Khrint will convey the warning with all the subtlety of a blade wrapped in silk. The valet has always excelled at delivering threats couched in perfect court etiquette. The admonition will be delivered with perfect courtesy.
The conservatory is the only room in Starfrost Manor other than the kitchen where I maintain a temperature above freezing. Originally built to house rare plants from other realms, it now serves primarily as a receiving room for guests who find the manor’s climate uncomfortable. I’ve had it closed off for cycles—not even the servants go inside.
I can’t imagine why Uanna is in there. She hates the heat.
When I enter, she’s standing at one of the windows, backlit by the pale morning sun. She’s draped herself artfully against the glass, her hair cascading down her back. The pose is calculated to remind me of more intimate moments.
It would have worked, once.
“Darling.” She turns, extending one hand with the same practiced grace she’d shown when settling onto my lap the night before. Her pale hair catches the light, and I forcibly push away memories of how it had felt wrapped around my fingers. “I’ve barely seen you since I arrived.”
“I’ve been occupied.” I take her fingers and brush my lips lightly across her knuckles—once again deliberately maintaining the proper distance of a court greeting.
My mouth still remembers the bruising force of our kiss, the taste of wine and desperation, but I keep the touch formal. Impersonal.
Her fingers tighten on mine, and I catch the faintest tremor in them. Whether from anger or something else, I’m not certain.
“Too occupied for old friends?” The words carry a double edge, reminding me of how thoroughly we’d demonstrated our ‘friendship’ in the dining room.
“What do you want, Uanna?” I meet her gaze steadily, though part of me wants to look away.
In the harsh morning light, I can see the hint of a bruise on her lower lip—evidence of how far I’d let things go, how close I’d come to losing control. To falling back into old patterns that could destroy everything I’ve worked for.
She drops the coy act, her pale blue eyes hardening like a lake freezing over. Gone is any trace of the vulnerability she’d shown last night, when for a moment we’d both pretended we could recapture something long lost. “I want to know what game you’re playing.”
I notice she doesn’t mention our interlude in the dining room. Doesn’t reference how close we came to rekindling something better left in ashes. Because we now use even silence as a weapon, understanding that every moment of weakness can become ammunition.
The space between us feels charged with everything we’re not saying. With the ghost of what we once were, and the reality of what we’ve become.
I remain carefully expressionless, though my fingers itch to touch the bruise I left on her lip. Not from desire, but as a reminder of why I can never let my guard down again. Not with her. Not with anyone.
“I wasn’t aware I was playing any games.”
“No?” She moves closer, her perfume filling my nose—ice roses again, the scent that had once intoxicated me now cloying and sharp. “Then why is Baron Svalkat here? And why do you allow that human girl such freedom in your household?” The last words emerge with particular venom, and I remember how Uanna had smiled when Lara found us together.
I step back, breaking her attempt to crowd me, to use the familiarity of her body against me as she had last night. “The baron is here at Prince Jonyk’s request, as you well know. And my household staff arrangements are hardly your concern.”
“Everything about you is my concern.” She reaches for me again with the same assured touch she’d used to caress my shoulders, but I sidestep. “We had an understanding, Ivrael.”
“Did we?” I raise an eyebrow, though my gut twists at the memory of the future we’d once planned together. “I don’t recall making any promises.”
Her face flushes that telling pale blue—the same color she’d turned last night when I’d pushed her away from me. “Perhaps not explicitly. But your mother?—”
“My mother is dead.” I keep my voice cold, as frozen as the walls I’ve built around my heart. “And whatever arrangements she might have wished to make died with her.”
“Is that what this is about? Defying your mother’s wishes?” Uanna’s laugh is brittle. “Or is it about that human? Do you actually intend to keep her?”
The possessive rage that surges through me at her words takes me by surprise—as powerful as what I’d felt seeing Lara in the doorway, watching me kiss another woman. I clamp down on it before frost can crystallize in the air. “I intend to manage my household as I see fit.”
“Your household?” Her lips curl into the same triumphant smile she’d worn when Lara caught us together. “Or your harem?”
“Careful, Uanna.” Ice creeps into my tone, matching the chill that had settled in my chest when I’d watched Lara flee. “You forget yourself.”
“Do I?” She steps closer again. For a long moment, we stare at each other, and I see in her eyes the same knowledge—that whatever we once had is as dead as the promises we never quite made. Finally, she inclines her head. “Very well. Keep your little human toy. But when you tire of her—and you will tire of her—don’t expect me to be waiting.”
“I won’t.” The words emerge harder than I intend, weighted with the understanding that we can never go back to what we were. That last night’s kiss was truly a goodbye to whatever innocence we’d once shared.
She sweeps past me, pausing at the door. “Oh, and Ivrael? Do try to dress her properly before the prince arrives. It’s embarrassing enough that you keep a human servant. The least you could do is make her presentable.”
The door closes behind her with a decisive click, but her words linger in the air like frost.
She’s right, damn her.
I’ve let Lara continue wearing those Earth clothes for far too long—the worn sweater, those blue jeans that cling to her curves in ways that haunt my dreams. I tell myself it’s to maintain distance, to remember she’s just another servant.
But that’s only part of the truth.
I stand motionless, fighting down the urge to freeze the entire room solid as I admit to myself what I’ve been avoiding: I like seeing her in those clothes. They’re a reminder of who she really is, where she came from. Every time she passes me in that faded sweater, every time I catch myself staring at how those jeans hug her ass, it’s a punch to the gut—a reminder that she doesn’t belong here. Shouldn’t be here.
It was easier when I could pretend the shabby clothing was protection. That keeping her in Earth clothes would somehow keep her separate, make her less tempting. Less real. That it would help me remember she’s temporary, that I can’t allow myself to care.
But Uanna’s right about one thing—Jonyk is coming. And he’ll see her worn clothing not as the shield I intended, but as a slight to his position. As if I think so little of his visit that I can’t be bothered to dress my servants properly.
Or worse, he’ll see it as a sign that she’s special. Different. Worth noticing.
The temperature in the room plummets as I imagine Jonyk’s cold eyes on her, calculating her worth, wondering why I’ve kept her in such distinctive clothing. He’s always had a weakness for unique possessions, and Lara...
I curl my fingers into fists, frost crackling across my knuckles. I can’t risk it. Can’t risk him noticing her, questioning her presence, wanting her for himself. The proper Caix servant’s clothing I’ve been avoiding giving her might be the only protection I can offer.
Even if it means losing those daily reminders of who she really is. Even if it means watching her disappear into the uniform sameness of my household staff. Even if it means giving up the secret pleasure of seeing her in those damn jeans that make me want to...
I shake my head sharply, dispelling that dangerous train of thought.
This isn’t about what I want. It’s about keeping her alive long enough to serve her purpose. And if that means dressing her like every other servant, erasing any trace of her Earth origins, then so be it.
The irony doesn’t escape me—that the very thing I used to distance myself from her might have ended up putting her in more danger. That my selfish desire to keep her in those clothes that remind me daily of my eventual betrayal might have marked her for Jonyk’s attention.
I force myself to thaw the room, to release my death grip on my control. I’ll have new clothes made for her immediately. Proper clothes. Safe clothes.
Even if seeing her in them feels like watching her fade away.
Even if it means giving up one of my last excuses for keeping my distance.
Because in the end, none of that matters. Only her survival matters—at least until I no longer need her alive.
A quiet cough draws my attention. Khrint stands in the doorway, and from his expression, he’s been there a while—perhaps even long enough to have witnessed that last exchange with Uanna. And my reaction to it .
“What is it?” I ask.
“Baron Svalkat asked me to inform you that he’s discovered some fascinating theories about the interaction between technology and magic.” Khrint’s tone is carefully neutral. “He wondered if you might join him to discuss them now.”
If I refuse, he’ll assume I’m hiding something.
“Tell him I’ll be there shortly.” I pause. “Have you seen our esteemed baron’s correspondence lately?”
“Three letters dispatched to the Ice Palace yesterday, Your Lordship.” Khrint’s expression doesn’t change. “All sealed with his private sigil.”
“Naturally.” Which means we couldn’t examine them without detection. “And has Fintan returned from the village?”
“Yes, Your Lordship. He brought back Lord Vazor’s response.” Khrint glances around before adding quietly, “The letter is in your study.”
Where I can’t retrieve it until I deal with Svalkat. Who is undoubtedly watching to see where I go.
“Very well.”
I make my way to the library, where I find Svalkat exactly where I expected—seated at my private desk rather than the reading tables, a stack of books spread before him.
“Ah, Ivrael!” He doesn’t bother standing. “I’ve found the most intriguing passages about the theoretical limits of magical fields when exposed to different types of technology. I don’t suppose you’ve done any practical research in this area?”
As if he doesn’t know exactly what he’s asking. “I try to avoid anything that might damage our realm’s magic.”
“Of course, of course.” He shuffles through some papers. “Though I did notice some interesting calculations in the margins of this text. Your handwriting, isn’t it?”
Before I can respond, a commotion erupts in the hallway. Raised voices, the sound of breaking glass, and then Uanna’s distinct tones: “You clumsy creature! Look what you’ve done!”
Svalkat’s eyes gleam. “ Trouble with the staff?”
I’m already moving toward the door when Lara’s voice joins the fray: “Maybe if you hadn’t deliberately stepped in front of me?—”
“How dare you accuse me?—”
I throw open the library door to find Lara and Uanna squared off in the hallway, a shattered crystal vase between them. Lara’s face is flushed, her golden-red curls escaping their tie. Even angry she’s beautiful enough to stop my breath.
“Lady Uanna,” I say, my voice sharp enough to cut through their argument, “I trust you’re unharmed?”
Uanna’s eyes narrow. “No thanks to your servant.”
Lara’s jaw clenches. “I already apologized for the accident.”
“Accident?” Uanna’s laugh is musical and cruel. “You deliberately?—”
“Enough.” I gesture at the shards of crystal scattered across the floor. “Lara, clean this up.”
Her eyes flash with that defiant fire she so often tries to hide. But she drops into an awkward curtsy. “Yes, Your Lordship.”
From the library doorway, Svalkat watches the scene with undisguised interest. “Such a shame about the vase. Wasn’t it a gift from your mother?”
Of course he would know that. I suspect he knows the history and value of every object in Starfrost Manor by now.
“I have others.” I turn to Uanna. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with my servant.”
“Oh?” Her perfect lips curve up. “About her clumsiness? Or her deplorable manners?”
“About whatever I deem necessary.” I keep my tone mild, but ice crystals form in the air around us.
Uanna’s face goes carefully blank at my words, and she sweeps away. Svalkat lingers a moment longer before reluctantly returning to the library, though I notice he leaves the door open.
Lara has already retrieved a broom and dustpan from a nearby closet. She works efficiently, her movements precise despite her obvious anger. The worn fabric of her sweater pulls tight across her shoulders as she bends to sweep up the glass, and I catch myself staring at the curve of her spine.
“Leave it,” I tell her. “Follow me.”
She straightens, still holding the broom. “But?—”
“Now.”
For a moment, I think she’ll refuse. But then she sets the broom aside and falls into step behind me. I lead her through the servant’s corridors, away from prying eyes, until we reach a small sitting room I sometimes use for private meetings.
“Shut the door.”
She does, then stands with her back against it, watching me warily. Smart girl.
“What happened with Lady Uanna?”
“Nothing.” At my raised eyebrow, she amends, “She stepped in front of me as I was carrying the vase. I couldn’t stop in time.”
“And did she step in front of you deliberately?”
Lara’s silence is answer enough.
I rake a hand through my hair, probably ruining its careful styling. “You need to be more careful.”
“I am careful.” Her voice stays quiet, but there’s steel beneath it. “Maybe if your lady friend was less determined to make my life difficult?—”
“She’s not my—” I cut myself off. “That’s not the point. Uanna is dangerous.”
“Because she’s your lover?”
The question catches me off guard. “How did you?—”
“Everyone knows.” Her lips twist. “The servants talk. And she’s not exactly subtle about it.”
No, she’s not. And that’s part of the problem.
I move closer to Lara, close enough to catch the scent of woodsmoke in her hair. “Listen carefully. Uanna has Prince Jonyk’s ear. If she decides you’re a problem...”
I let the sentence hang. Lara shivers but lifts her chin. “I can handle her.”
“No, you can’t.” The words come out harsher than I intend. “You have no idea what she’s capable of.”
“And whose fault is that?” She meets my gaze directly. “You bought me, brought me here, and then told me nothing about your world except what I’ve managed to piece together myself.”
She’s right, damn her. I’ve kept her ignorant, believing it would protect both of us. But now that ignorance might get her killed.
I reach out without thinking, brushing my fingers against her cheek. Her skin is warm, so warm, and she gasps, flinching away at the contact.
“Don’t.” She steps back, bumping into the door. “You don’t get to touch me like that. Not when you’re the reason I’m here in the first place.”
The rejection stings more than it should. I drop my hand. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“No, you’re trying to protect yourself.” Her voice cracks. “If you wanted to protect me, you would have left me on Earth.”
The truth of her words slams against me. But I can’t tell her why I need her. Not without risking destroying everything.
Instead, I focus on the immediate problem. Because Uanna was right about one thing—I’ve been neglecting my duties as Lara’s owner, too focused on keeping my plots hidden to tend to all my duties.
“You need proper clothing. Something that marks you as part of my household.”
“Why? So everyone will know who owns me?”
“Yes.” I move closer again, crowding her against the door. “Because right now, you look like any human slave. Which means anyone could decide to... borrow you.”
Her eyes widen as she finally understands. “They wouldn’t.”
“They would. They have.” The memory of other humans I’ve seen destroyed by court politics makes my voice rough. “The right clothing will mark you as mine. Protected.”
She swallows hard. “Like a brand.”
“Like armor.”
For a long moment, we stare at each other. She’s close enough that I can see the amber flecks in her light brown eyes, count the freckles scattered across her nose. If I leaned down just slightly...
She turns her head away. “Fine. Whatever you think is best, Your Lordship.”
The formal title feels like a slap. I step back, creating space between us. “Return to your duties. And Lara?” I wait until she looks at me again. “Stay away from Uanna.”
She gives a jerky nod and slips out the door. I wait several minutes before following, giving us both time to compose ourselves.
Then I head for the kitchen. Adefina will know where to find suitable clothing, and she’s discreet enough not to ask questions. More importantly, she’s one of the few people in the manor I trust to actually help protect Lara rather than simply spy on her.
“The Evans girl needs a dress,” I say as I swing through the door into the kitchen long enough to talk to Adefina about our clothing oversight.
“A dress?” Adefina asks.
“Yes. I cannot have her skulking around the main house looking like a refugee from Earth.”
“And yet, she is a refugee from Earth, is she not?”
I tilt my head back and stare down my nose at the cook. “She is a servant of Starfrost Manor and she should look the part.”
Adefina doesn’t snicker outright but she might as well have. “I’ll order the proper clothing. I assume you want the village seamstress to use the standard household patterns? She should have a few of our standard house uniform dresses on hand—they could be altered for the girl to wear in the meantime.”
For a moment, I imagine Lara dressed in her true proper clothing, the clothing her bloodline demands. Clothed in dresses made of the finest silken fabric produced by the Starcaix—in an ice-blue ball gown highlighting the golden red of her hair, setting off the pallor of her skin. I imagine tracing the veins showing blue against the creamy, rich softness of her chest…
I clamp down on my response to the thoughts, my nostrils flaring. Goddess, I can still smell her in this kitchen, even though she’s gone.
Everywhere I go, she’s there.
Her scent. That's the problem—or so I tell myself. And yet I inhale deeply, and then I swallow convulsively.
The corners of Adefina’s eyes crinkle as if she’s trying to repress a laugh at my expense. “Is there anything else, Your Lordship?”
I nod brusquely, though the thought of Lara in one of the shapeless blue-and-white maids’ dresses barely assuages my irritation.
“Have the seamstress alter two dresses for her.” I don’t bother to tell Adefina there won’t be time for custom-made dresses. Lara won’t be here that long. “And have the girl change more often,” I add. Perhaps that will stop her from leaving her scent behind everywhere she goes.
“I see…” Adefina says—and I fear perhaps she really does.
The next time I see Lara, a few quintclicks later, she’s wearing one of the maids’ dresses. I am glad to note that she looks the part of a household servant, at least. But the new clothing does nothing to minimize my response to her scent or to tamp down my desire for her, much to my dismay.
I still am able to track her movements through the house by her scent, her sound, even the barest glimpse of her. Anytime I catch sight of her, my attention snaps to her, as if drawn by the kind of magical magnetics I’m trying to ensure remain active in my world.
When I exit my chambers the next morning, I find Uanna leaning against the wall across from my doorway, slowly fanning herself with a lace fan. She falls into step next to me as I move down the hallway.
“I see you took my advice about the human,” she says, snapping the fan shut and gesturing with it toward where Lara disappears around a corner, the blue-and-white uniform still failing to make her blend in with the other housemaids as far as I’m concerned—though she fits in visually, at least.
“I wasn’t aware I needed your advice about my household staff.” I keep walking, hoping she’ll take the hint.
She doesn’t. Instead, she reaches out and places one pale hand on my arm, her fingers like ice even through my coat sleeve. “Come now, darling. You know I only want what’s best for you. ”
I stop and turn to face her. “Do you?”
“Of course.” Her smile is crystalline and sharp. “We’ve known each other most of our lives. Surely that counts for something?”
“It counted for exactly what it was worth.” I remove her hand from my arm. “A convenient arrangement between two people who understood the rules.”
Her nostrils flare. “And now? What are the rules now, Ivrael?”
“Now there are no rules between us at all.”
“Because of her?” Uanna’s laugh is brittle. “She’s a human. A toy. She’ll be dead the instant you tire of her.”
Much sooner than that, but I can’t tell Uanna that. Instead, I say, “My relationship with Lara is not your concern.”
“Relationship?” She steps closer, lowering her voice. “Is that what we’re calling it? Tell me, does she warm your bed as well as she warms your kitchen?”
Ice crackles along my fingertips. “Choose your next words carefully.”
“Or what? You’ll freeze me?” She spreads her arms wide. “Go ahead. The great Duke of Starfrost, defending a human servant’s honor.”
“I’m defending my own honor.” I lean in close, dropping my voice. “And my patience with your games grows thin.”
“I told you this is no game. You’re destroying everything we worked for.” Uanna’s voice goes soft, almost gentle—the same tone she’d used when whispering against my mouth in the dining room. “What happened to you? You used to understand your duty.”
Duty . As if she hasn’t spent years twisting duty into a weapon, using it to justify every betrayal. As if she has any idea what the word truly means.
“My duty is to my lands and my people.” I step back, creating distance between us just as I had before. “Not to whatever schemes you’ve concocted.”
She moves forward again, pressing her advantage with the same calculated grace she’d shown when settling onto my lap in the dining room.
I refuse to back away again.
“Think about it. With my connections at court, your position here... we could be unstoppable.” Her voice carries echoes of old promises, of nights spent planning our future together.
“I’m not interested in court politics.”
Her laugh is genuine this time—a flash of the woman she used to be, before ambition froze her heart. “Liar. You’re planning something. Something big.” She taps her closed fan against my chest, right where my heart pounds beneath my ribs. “I just can’t figure out what it is yet.”
“Stop.” The word emerges rougher than intended. I catch her wrist, feeling her pulse jump beneath my fingers.
“Make me.” She presses closer, tilting her face up toward mine. The bruise on her lip has faded, but I can still see where my teeth marked her. “Remember how good we were together? We could have that again. Better, even.”
“No.” I release her wrist and step away, refusing to be drawn back into that dangerous dance. “We couldn’t.”
“Because of your human?” Uanna’s expression hardens, warmth crystallizing into ice. “Fine. Keep your little pet. But when Prince Jonyk arrives, do try to remember your position.” Her lips curve into a cruel smile—nothing like the way they’d yielded under mine. “After all, His Highness does so enjoy collecting exotic creatures.”
Her words hang in the air between us. My hands clench at my sides, frost forming around my feet as I remember how she’d once promised to keep my secrets. To stand beside me no matter what.
“Was that a threat, Lady Uanna?”
“Of course not, darling.” She pops her fan open again, a barrier between us as final as the death of trust. “Simply a warning. From one old friend to another.”
Friend . It means as little to Uanna as duty .
She glides away, leaving me standing in the frozen hallway.
Through an open door, I catch another glimpse of Lara in her new dress, and something in my chest tightens. The sight of her in proper servant’s clothing should make this easier. Should help me remember my purpose.
Instead, it only reminds me of everything I’m destroying.
Let Uanna think the dress means I’m claiming Lara as belonging to me—as a servant, as a lover. Uanna’s right, of course—the dress does mark Lara as mine.
But the truth is far more dangerous.
Sure, I’ve clothed her to survive court politics, given her a dress to protect her from the machinations of the courtiers in my home. If only protecting her were as simple as changing her clothes. The new dress serves its purpose—but it won’t protect her from what I have to do next. New clothing was never going to protect her from the monster I’m becoming. And when her sister arrives, survival won’t be an option.
For now, though, the dress is perfect camouflage.
It hides her true nature...
And mine.