Chapter 4
Iam dreaming. I know I am dreaming, yet the cold feels real enough to bite.
I stand on the frozen lake, the surface stretched wide beneath a sky the colour of bruised light. The ice gleams in thin, fragile sheets that splinter beneath each hesitant step. A long shadow glides beneath the surface, a dark shape that circles me like a predator biding its time.
I follow it toward the center of the lake. My breath ghosts over the air in thin ribbons. The ice hums beneath my feet, trembling with each shift of weight. I take another step, then another. The shadow drifts closer.
Something collides with me.
I gasp and look up, slipping on the glassy surface. Luceran stands there. His hair glitters with frost. His eyes catch the dim light. He does not reach for me. He does not speak.
The lake groans.
A thin crack darts outward from my heel like a streak of lightning. Another splits from the toe of my boot. The ice shudders beneath me. My heart climbs into my throat.
“Luceran,” I whisper.
He watches.
The ice gives way.
I plunge into blackness. The water is so cold it steals every thought from my mind. My lungs seize. My limbs go rigid. I sink, drifting down into the dark while shards of broken ice spin above me. Through the wavering surface I see him. Tall. Unmoving. Watching me disappear.
I reach for him or for the light or for anything at all.
He does nothing.
The last of my breath escapes in a thin trail of bubbles.
I snap awake.
Air crashes into my lungs. My body jolts upright with a gasp that tears at my throat.
I splash water everywhere, stirring waves around me, and only then do I understand.
I am in a bath. A deep, steaming bath. Warm water envelopes me, sinking into my frozen bones until my skin flushes a soft pink.
Every breath feels like the first breath I have taken in hours.
A fire burns in the large hearth to my left, its glow casting amber pools across the stone floor. A pot hangs above the flame, steam curling upward with the scent of herbs filling the room as it bubbles softly.
It takes another moment for the truth to settle.
This room is untouched by winter.
No frost on the walls. No icy breath slipping beneath the door. No cold clinging to the air or crawling under my skin. Only warmth. Only light. Only the faint fragrance of something earthy and healing.
I sink back against the bath, shuddering as the last memory of the lake dissolves into the steam.
For the first time since entering this cursed palace, I am warm.
But there is no time to enjoy it. A Fae female scurries past the massive copper tub, her arms piled high with towels.
She places them on a chair beside me, but when I part my lips to thank her, she darts away in the opposite direction and stirs the broth over the fire.
She stays only a moment before she is moving again, this time toward a wardrobe.
She throws the door open and rifles through the dresses inside, muttering under her breath.
I lean forward in the tub.“Thank you,” I call.
She does not respond. She does not even look at me.
She seems older, though with the Fae I cannot judge. She looks like she might be in her fifties, which probably means she is thousands of years old. Even so, she is lithe and slender, her hair pale as snow, threaded with silver and braided into a tight coil at the nape of her neck.
Maybe she did not hear me. I draw in a breath to try again, but another voice stops me before I can speak.
“Feeling better?”
My head snaps toward the far corner of the room. In the shadows, one blue eye and one gold eye gleam like twin stars.
It takes a second for the rest of it to register. How low the water sits. How clearly my body must be visible beneath the still surface. Heat floods my face. I drag my arms across my chest and sink lower, slipping until only my head is above the edge of the tub.
“You were just sitting there, watching me?” I snap. My hand flies to my neck, and I feel that someone has knotted my hair into a messy bun on top of my head.
“I am sitting in my castle,” Luceran replies, voice cold enough to frost the air. “And I am looking in a direction where you unfortunately happen to be. The bargain was for a servant. Not a house guest pampered with bubble baths and warm broth.”
I glance down at the water.
“There are no bubbles.”
He almost smirks. “You have been lying in there for quite some time.”
My eyes narrow. “Tell me again how long you have been sitting there?”
His posture shifts at that. He straightens, and the intensity in his gaze sharpens until I wonder if Fae sight can cut through copper.
“You did not answer the question,” he says. At the same moment, a strand of long, ivory hair slips free and falls over his blue eye.
For a moment, I forget the question entirely.
Luceran notices, so he asks again.
“Are you feeling better?”
Words fail me. I only nod. I nod far too long, staring at him while flashes of the dream surge up, icy water closing over my head, his unmoving silhouette watching me sink.
The room is warm, but I shiver.
I am startled by a soft thump. I turn to see the female laying out a dress and coat on the velvet-draped bed across the room. When she finally glances at me, it is fleeting and empty of feeling. Her attention shifts past me and lands on Luceran instead. She bows.
He gives her a single nod, and she disappears as swiftly as she came, closing the door behind her.
I look at him with a mixture of curiosity and irritation.“Who was that?”
Lord Frostwyn grips the arms of his chair. Frost ripples across the fabric beneath his hands as he rises. He steps forward into the amber glow of the fire and smooths that errant strand of ivory hair back into place.
“If you have indulged long enough in my hospitality, kindly get your ass out of my tub and get to work.”
His words snap the last of the dream’s chill out of me. Even any foolish flicker of attraction is gone in an instant.
“Gladly, if you would step out so I can get changed.”
He snorts, sweeping aside his fur-lined coat and planting his rune-etched fists on his hips. “You think in all my years I have not seen the naked body of a human woman? You believe yours is somehow special? Breathtaking enough that I am desperate for a glimpse?”
I gulp, arms curling tighter around myself, suddenly painfully aware of every inch of exposed skin.
“It would be gentlemanly to at least turn around,” I manage.
He lifts his chin, considering.“If it will get you out of the tub and to work faster, then very well, Neve Devlin.”
He pivots with a dramatic sweep of his coat, the fur flaring behind him as he turns to face the wall.
I wait a few seconds, just to be sure he will not suddenly whirl back, before reaching for the nearest towel.
I snatch it and drag it toward me. Rising from the water steals the warmth from my skin in an instant.
The towel snags on the tub and I fumble with it, glancing anxiously between the tangled fabric and Luceran’s rigid back.
At any moment he could turn and see me bare.
But he does not. He stands perfectly still, silent, the picture of disdainful patience.
Perhaps he is a gentleman after all.
I finally manage to free the towel and wrap it tightly around myself. A glint in the corner of my eye draws my attention to a decorative silver plate perched on a table near the fire. The amber glow turns its surface into a perfect mirror, reflecting every detail in the room.
My breath catches. I can see myself. So clearly.
Then I swallow hard, because the plate is angled directly toward Luceran and I have the sickening suspicion that he is watching the reflection. Watching me.
I tug the towel tighter around my body. I cough in warning. His shoulders tense, ever so slightly.
“Are you finished?” he says, voice rough.
I cannot help thinking he already knows.
“I appreciate how accommodating you have been, but I need to dry myself and get dressed. Perhaps, my lord, I could have a moment of privacy.”
Luceran glances at me over his broad shoulder, golden eye catching the firelight. His gaze sweeps over me so quickly it almost looks accidental, but I am not fooled.
“Very well,” he says.
He turns toward the door. Frost crackles across the floor in his wake, thin lines chasing his footsteps. He does not reach for the handle. Instead, with a casual wave of his hand, a swirl of snowflakes rushes forward, coils around the metal, and pulls the door open before vanishing on a cold draft.
He pauses and tips his chin toward the bed.
“These should serve you better than the rags you arrived in, and wear gloves and a scarf at all times. I did not bargain myself a servant only to waste half the day watching her soak in a bathtub.”
My head tilts. “So you were sitting there half the day then?”
The air changes.
A cold wind rolls off his skin. Frost cracks outward from his boots, racing across the floor and climbing the copper tub. The water around my legs chills so suddenly I gasp and leap out just as a sheet of ice forms across the surface.
“Do not mistake this offering for kindness,” he growls through his teeth. “I am protecting my investment. I intend to get years of service from you before your brief life ends.”
He sweeps a cold gaze around the room.
“This room will keep your fragile body from freezing to death. But remember why you are here and remember what is at stake if you test my patience.” His voice deepens. “I am Lord Frostwyn. I am the winter, and until your father’s debt is paid, you belong to me.”
He strides through the doorway, and the door slams shut behind him in a violent gust. The cold leaves with him, sucked out as if he dragged it along in his wake.
Still I gasp for breath. It is not only the cold this male carries. It is power, raw and ancient, the kind that could bring kingdoms to their knees with a single word.
And I hate that I feel so small beneath it.