Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
IVRAEL
T he next morning, my plans for that night settle around me, freezing into place as I stalk through the corridors, my fingers twitching with the need to create something, to destroy something—to do anything but think about the way Lara ran from me last night.
But as I round the corner toward my study, I catch a glimpse of Lara disappearing down a side passage. Before I can follow, rapid footsteps echo through the hallway. A messenger in Prince Jonyk’s livery bursts into the corridor, his chest heaving.
“Your Lordship!” He drops into a hasty bow. “Urgent news from His Highness.”
“Speak.”
The messenger straightens, his voice carrying the practiced cadence of one who has memorized his message precisely. “His Highness Prince Jonyk sends his deepest regrets, but he must proceed directly to the Ice Palace. He cannot break his journey at Starfrost Manor as planned. ”
Ice crystals shiver in the air around me as fury rises in my chest. “His entourage?”
“Will arrive as scheduled, Your Lordship. His Highness felt it would be discourteous to disappoint you entirely.”
Discourteous. My laugh emerges harsh and cold. “How thoughtful of him.”
As the messenger bows and withdraws, my mind races. Has word of what I did to Svalkat reached Jonyk already? It must have—the baron would have ensured that. But if Jonyk knows I maimed and banished his spy, why send his retinue into what he must suspect is a trap?
Unless he’s using his courtiers as bait, testing me. Seeing if I’ll dare to move against them without him present. Or perhaps he hopes to provoke me into revealing my hand.
No, I remind myself. If Jonyk truly suspected me of treason, he wouldn’t risk his loyal followers. Which means either he doesn’t know anything.
Or—worse—he knows exactly what I’m planning and is moving to counter it.
I need to communicate with Vazor. If Jonyk’s absence is a calculated move rather than simple caution after Svalkat’s dismissal, all our careful plans may need to change.
But first, I want to find Lara?—
No.
There’s no time for what I want. Not anymore.
Tonight must proceed mostly as planned. Jonyk’s absence changes nothing—may even make things easier, if he truly doesn’t suspect the full scope of what I’ve set in motion.
I head for my study, my steps quick and purposeful. I need to get a message to Vazor to ensure he understands that while Jonyk’s absence may be strategic rather than fearful, it doesn’t matter.
The plan proceeds. It has to.
I reach my study and lock the door behind me. Pulling out a fresh sheet of paper, I begin composing my message to Vazor. I seal the message with my personal sigil, then summon Khrint. He appears within moments, as if he’s been waiting nearby.
“Have this delivered to our usual contact,” I tell him. “Immediately.”
He bows and withdraws, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Everything balances on a knife’s edge now. One wrong move and it all collapses.
But if we succeed...
I move to the window, staring out at the snowy grounds. I press my hand against the cold glass, watching frost spread from my fingers.
By tomorrow, nothing will ever be the same.
T he sunlight filtering through the windows still does nothing to warm Starfrost Manor when I make my way down to the kitchen a few clicks later.
Each step feels heavier than the last. Not from dread—I passed that point long ago—but from the sheer mass of plans layered upon plans, lies stacked on lies until sometimes they feel as though they threaten to crush me.
I pause outside the kitchen door, listening to the controlled chaos within. Adefina’s voice rises above the clatter of pots and pans, issuing rapid-fire instructions with her usual Starcaix practicality—though I hear her throw in a few Earth colloquialisms she’s picked up from Lara over the last year.
Lara. My jaw clenches at the thought of her as I push through the door, and the kitchen falls silent save for the crackling of the hearth fire.
Adefina turns from where she’s supervising the preparation of what appears to be an entire herd’s worth of meat, artfully arranged on silver platters.
“Your Lordship.” She dips into a curtsy, managing to make the gesture seem both respectful and slightly sardonic. “Come to check on the preparations?”
With a nod, I move closer to inspect the platters. “These look perfect.”
“Did you expect anything less?” There’s a hint of challenge in her tone that I might not tolerate from another servant. But Adefina has earned certain liberties over her cycles of service.
“Never.” I pick up a detailed list written in her precise hand. “Though I note you’ve included several cooked dishes.”
“For those members of the retinue who might share your peculiarities.” Her lips twitch. “And of course, for the human servant.”
Human . I stop myself from giving a sarcastic snort. There are no humans in my household, though no one knows that yet. I force my thoughts away from that path.
“Speaking of which.” I glance around the kitchen, noting Lara’s absence. “Where is?—”
“She’s helping Fintan with the fires out back.” Adefina’s tone turns careful, measuring. “Wouldn’t want anyone getting cold during the festivities.”
The irony in her voice is unmistakable. Most of the Ice Court would prefer the temperature well below freezing. The few preparations for warmth are purely for the comfort of any non-Icecaix servants.
And for me, though few know of my occasional need for heat. True, several of my staff believe I take a perverted pleasure in warmth, but they would be horrified to learn it’s not merely a preference.
“Very well.” I hand back the list. “Carry on.”
Outside, the winter air bites even through my coat. I tell myself I’m merely inspecting the grounds, ensuring everything is perfect for tonight. But my feet take me toward the barn where Fintan maintains the fires that keep my non-Icecaix herd animals from freezing.
I spot something pale against the snow near the perpetually burning pile of wood. Drawing closer, I recognize a scrap from the torn remnants of the dress I destroyed in my moment of weakness. The fabric is scorched and filthy, but unmistakable.
She burned it. Of course she did. What else would she do with the evidence of her moment of surrender? Of my loss of control?
“Your Lordship?” Fintan’s deep voice startles me from my contemplation. He stands a respectful distance away, his horns casting strange shadows in the pale sunlight. “Did you need something?”
“No, I—” I catch myself before I can offer explanations. I am the Duke of Starfrost Manor. I need no reason to be anywhere on my grounds. “How are the fires holding up?”
“Well enough.” He shifts his weight, glancing toward the barn. “Though it takes more wood than usual lately. Like the cold’s getting deeper somehow.”
I know why. The failing magic affects everything on Trasq, even the natural laws of heat and cold. But I can’t tell him that.
“And how are the servants managing?” I keep my tone casual, disinterested.
Fintan’s expression tightens almost imperceptibly. “Most do well enough. The human girl, though...” He trails off, then seems to gather his courage. “Begging your pardon, Your Lordship, but she wasn’t made for this kind of cold.”
Something hot and possessive flares in my chest. “You seem quite concerned about her welfare.”
“Someone should be.” The words slip out before he can catch them. His eyes widen as he realizes what he’s said.
I should punish such insolence. Instead, I find myself studying him more closely. The way his gaze keeps drifting toward the barn. The protective set of his shoulders.
“You care for her.” It’s not a question.
Fintan straightens to his full height, impressive even for his species. “She’s kind. Treats everyone like they matter, even after everything...” He cuts himself off, but the accusation hangs in the air between us.
Even after everything you’ve done to her.
I could have him flogged for such implied criticism. Should have him flogged, to maintain my reputation if nothing else. But until mere clicks ago, I had planned to assassinate my ruling monarch at the party I’m giving tonight in his honor.
What’s one servant’s unspoken censure compared to that?
Besides, his obvious affection for Lara tells me something valuable: she inspires loyalty even in those who should view her as beneath them.
It’s a trait that could prove useful in the days to come.
Assuming we both survive the ball.
“See that the fires are well-stocked for tonight’s festivities,” I say finally. “We wouldn’t want anyone getting cold.”
The words echo Adefina’s earlier sarcasm, though Fintan won’t catch the reference. He bows and returns to his work, but I notice how he positions himself between me and the barn entrance.
As I turn to leave, movement catches my eye. A flash of golden-red hair in the barn’s shadowy interior. Has she been there the whole time, listening? The thought sends an odd thrill through me.
Let her listen. Let her wonder why I’m down here discussing her with Fintan.
Soon enough, she’ll understand everything.
And then she’ll be dead.
I push the thought aside and head back inside the manor. There are still preparations to be made, plans to be finalized. I can’t afford to be distracted by one girl, no matter how she haunts my thoughts.
But as I walk away, I can’t help glancing back at the scorched remnants of her dress. Such a small thing, really. Hardly worth noting on a day when so much hangs in the balance.
So why does the sight of it feel like a pronouncement of doom?
N ow, I have only one more task to complete before I go to dress for the ball.
I find Uanna in the library, staring with a discontented expression out the frost-covered windows as she winds a lock of her straight, white hair around one finger.
The sight reminds me of Lara’s golden-red curls, and I shove the comparison aside. I can’t afford distractions now.
“Lady Uanna,” I greet her, and she glances back at me before staring out the window again.
“Darling, so lovely to see you.” Her tone drips honey-sweet venom. “I’ve been hearing the most delicious gossip this morning. I heard you actually dismissed poor Baron Svalkat rather permanently. Over a servant, no less.”
Heat flares beneath my skin, but I keep my voice steady, ignoring her barb. “You look radiant today.”
She turns, one perfect eyebrow arching. “Do I? How fascinating that you’ve suddenly noticed.”
I move closer, my boots clicking against the floor. “I’ve been remiss in my attention to you.”
“Remiss?” Her laugh is sharp as shattered ice. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“What would you prefer I call it?” I stop just outside her personal space, close enough that she must tilt her head back to meet my gaze. “My unconscionable neglect of the most beautiful woman in the Ice Court?”
Her pale blue eyes narrow. “Are you drunk, Ivrael?”
“Stone sober, I’m afraid.” I reach for her hand, brushing my thumb across her knuckles. “And seeing things much more clearly now.”
She allows the touch but doesn’t soften. “And what things would those be?”
“That I’ve been a fool.” The words taste like ash, but I force them out. “That I’ve forgotten what truly matters in our world.”
“And what does truly matter?” She steps closer.
“Power.” I lift her hand to my lips. “Position. Proper alliances.”
“Proper alliances?” Her voice holds equal measures of amusement and suspicion. “Like the one we once shared?”
“Perhaps.” I lower her hand but don’t release it. “Would you do me the honor of attending tonight’s ball as my chosen companion?”
There. The formal phrase hangs between us like crystal, delicate and dangerous. To refuse would be a social slight she can’t afford. To accept means binding herself to whatever happens tonight.
She studies my face, searching for the trap she must suspect. “Why now?”
“Because Prince Jonyk’s absence changes the dynamics of tonight’s gathering.” True enough, if not the whole truth. “And because I find myself remembering how well we once worked together.”
She steps closer and slides her free hand up my chest. “And what exactly do you remember?”
I catch her hand before it can reach my face. “I remember that no one plays the game better than you do.”
Her smile is both pleased and predatory.
I step closer, until our bodies almost touch. “You know as well as I do that everything in our world is about power. Who has it. Who wants it.” I pause deliberately. “Who’s willing to take it.”
Her breath catches. “Dangerous words, Your Lordship.”
“These are dangerous times.” I release her hands and step back. “So what do you say? Will you stand with me tonight?”
She makes a show of considering, though we both know she’ll accept. The potential benefits outweigh any risks she might suspect.
“Very well.” She smooths her already perfect hair. “I accept your invitation to be your chosen companion this evening.”
“Excellent.” I bow over her hand again. “Shall I send my personal seamstress to assist with your preparations?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Her smile turns knife-sharp. “I came prepared for any... eventuality.”
Of course she did. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a dozen gowns ready, each chosen for a different possible scenario.
“I’ll leave you to your preparations.” I turn to go, then pause. “Oh, and Uanna?” I glance back over my shoulder. “Wear red.”
Her eyes widen slightly at the traditional color of blood allegiance. “Are you certain?”
“Absolutely.” Let her think what she will of that. Let them all wonder what it means.
I stride from the library, my mind already racing ahead to my next move.
I only hope I can live with what I’m about to become.