Epilogue
Raveena lay sprawled among the tangled sheets. Her silver hair spilled like frost across the pillow. Her bare shoulders gleamed in the pale moonlight. Beyond the towering window, snow drifted lazily from the heavens, each flake spiraling like a whisper from the gods.
She lifted one hand, palm facing upward, and summoned a single snowflake with a thought. It obeyed. The flake floated toward her, delicate as breath, and came to rest in her palm.
The flake was perfect, so symmetrical, so beautiful. Alone, it was a masterpiece. Joined with a thousand others, it became a force of devastation. A blizzard could bury armies. Starve villages. Snuff out warmth and hope with quiet, merciless certainty.
People should have learned long ago: the cold demanded respect.
Slowly, deliberately, Raveena turned her hand over. The snowflake drifted to the stone floor. At contact with the hardwood floor, it melted into nothing.
Behind her, the bed shifted. She didn't look immediately, choosing instead to trace the last glimmer of the melting droplet with her gaze. Only when the man moved closer did she lift her eyes.
He rose naked from the bed, all golden skin and unguarded laughter, a man who believed—poor fool—that he had conquered the Snow Queen.
He glanced back at her, his smile wide, boyish, painfully trusting.
Raveena tugged the corners of her mouth into a smile in return. A small, brittle thing. A mimicry of warmth she had learned long ago. If he had been wiser, he would have noticed the strain behind it.
"That was amazing, Vee."
Raveena rolled her eyes at the nickname.
She let her gaze travel over him, cold and assessing.
He was a fine specimen by any standard—broad shoulders, strong arms, a chest dusted lightly with gold.
His body spoke of long hours astride a horse, of tournaments won, of idle summers spent in pursuit of glory.
His jaw was strong, his spine straight, his stamina impressive in the mindless, bludgeoning way of men raised on blood sport and battlefields. But carnal tactician he was not.
Already she could feel the dull ache blooming between her legs, bruises she would need to tend once he had gone to preen or boast to his men. She would soak them away in a steaming bath, slather herself in oils to ease the sting.
Still. The tumble had been worth it. He was hers now.
Conquered. Captured. Caged.
He moved about the room, gathering the clothing he'd so carelessly scattered in his eagerness to reach her. His tunic snagged on the corner of a chest. One boot kicked halfway beneath a tapestry. At least he was cleaning up after himself.
Raveena exhaled a long, contented sigh at the disappearing mess.
That had been the worst part of allowing him to paw at her, fumbling hands grabbing, yanking, scattering as if urgency excused untidiness.
While he'd thrust into her, her gaze kept snagging on the his discarded socks even as his rough kisses branded her throat.
Her own gown, of course, had been treated properly. It lay folded neatly across the chaise’s arm, safe from unsightly wrinkles, preserving its silken sheen. Even in the throes of seduction, Raveena could not abide disorder.
Chaos might rule the hearts of men, but she was order incarnate. Precision. Control.
And now, surveying the slowly reasserted neatness of her room, the dutiful gathering of garments, she allowed herself a rare moment of satisfaction.
The prince might believe he'd conquered her, might swagger home to his father’s court flushed with victory—but the truth was as simple, as inevitable, as the snow gathering against her windowpanes.
She had claimed him. And soon, through him, she would claim so much more.
He returned to the bed, leaning into her.
She supposed he wanted a kiss. She supposed she still had to play the wanton until their marriage vows were spoken.
Then she'd put him in his own bedroom in the western tower and leave him to his hunts while she got down to the business of running her kingdom.
"I'll just make sure the coast is clear before I head out," he said with a wink, pressing a loud, careless kiss to her lips.
Raveena blinked. Then blinked again. "Why would the coast need to be clear? Are you expecting an attack in the queen's quarters?"
"No," he chuckled. "No, attack. But we wouldn't want your stepdaughter to catch wind of…" Here he made a motion between them.
The air around her dropped a degree. "Why would you care what Snow White thinks?" she asked carefully, testing each word as if it might snap her tongue in half.
He chuckled again. The sound grated. How anyone could think his laugh charming was beyond her. "Come now, Vee-"
"Na." Her voice was a lash of ice. "Raveena."
"Oh. Kay. Raveena. A little fun before Snow and I say our vows is all well and good. But there won't be any vows if she knows I bedded you."
Ice formed on Raveena's breath as she exhaled low and slow. "You still think you're going to marry her?"
He gave a baffled little laugh, as if she were the slow one. "Of course, I'm going to marry her. What did you think? That I was going to marry you?"
There it was. Laid bare. She felt the slow, awful heat rising from her chest to her cheeks—not the warmth of passion, but the scalding brand of humiliation.
He saw it too. Saw the flicker of emotion she hadn’t masked fast enough. His smile softened, almost apologetic, the way one might pity a bird that had flown into a window.
"Oh," he sighed. "That is what you thought. Oh, Raveena."
The heat of his sigh was unbearable. For a moment, she thought it might burn her alive. Then she crushed it.
The cold swept in, swift and merciless. She pulled it around her like a second skin, like the armor she should have never laid down for him. The shame froze inside her, sharp as icicles driving into her ribs, brittle as the frost-crusted edges of a broken heart.
He didn't even see the storm gathering behind her eyes. She didn't care if he saw it or not. He would not be marrying her stepdaughter. That simpering Snow White would not be getting this kingdom that Raveena had rightfully stolen by marrying Snow's father.
Prince Charming was her key to keeping her throne. He was going to take her hand in marriage, not Snow White's. Raveena would have his heart. She'd have it carved out and put it in a box if necessary, but she would have it.