Chapter 9
Afew days pass, and the rhythm of life in Castle Frostwyn settles into something that, gods help me, almost feels normal.
On the days Atilia is present, I’m allowed the rare indulgence of sleeping past dawn.
But on the days she is not, I rise before the first pale glimmer of morning touches the sky.
I prepare Luceran’s breakfast, set the table just the way he prefers, tidy the halls he never walks, and then climb to the tower to begin the work that has quietly, steadily become mine.
The mountain of paperwork that once swallowed the desk shrinks piece by piece. Each day the piles of deeds, ledgers, tax demands, and debt records diminish. Each afternoon I file away another sheaf of documents. Each evening I bring Luceran a final report, neatly written and complete.
He barely glances at it.
I’m beginning to wonder if this job is something he actually needs done or simply a chore he thrust upon me to keep me occupied.
But the numbers…The numbers tell a story, one darker than the castle itself.
The farms of Brunemar are drowning in debt.Payment after payment overdue.Family after family slipping behind, and more than half the men in the Aurevault aren’t criminals at all.
They’re farmers who couldn’t pay Luceran what was owed.
Fathers. Brothers. Sons. Soon, at this rate, there will be more humans swinging pickaxes in the mines than tending the land they once called home.
I shouldn’t interfere.
I know that.
But sometimes, when the tower is quiet, when fog coils against the windows and no footsteps echo in the halls, I let my quill wander.
A number adjusted by the smallest fraction.A date shifted forward by a week.A few more days for a struggling family.A little mercy slipped between the lines.
So far, Luceran has noticed nothing. Or if he has, he hasn’t cared enough to mention it.
He takes the evening reports with a distracted nod, as if they are incidental, just ink on a page rather than lives hanging in the balance.
It makes me wonder if he has truly abandoned his people, just as Atilia said.
Or if he is simply no longer capable of seeing anything beyond the cold that owns him.
I’ve only been to the mines once since that horrible day, and the moment I arrived the first thing I asked was whether Rollin survived the night.
Pax shook his head.
Luceran sent me alone that day, except for the sprites, who argued the entire carriage ride. I handled my duties quickly and thoroughly. Weights. Shipments. Ledgers. The never-ending tide of paperwork that ensures the Aurevault is the most efficient and profitable Elarium mine in Thyros.
Pax tried to distract me more than once with that infuriating smile of his.
I will not deny that it was a challenge to ignore him.
On the farm, apart from my father, the only men I ever spoke to were the farmhands or merchants passing through.
Not one of them had ever caught my eye in the slightest.
Pax, on the other hand.
Handsome in a rugged, effortless way, warm in a world that offers so little of it. His teasing carries an edge of excitement, a fondness he seems determined to keep hidden.
But no matter how charming he is, no matter how blush-worthy some of his glances become, I cannot let myself fall into whatever game he’s playing, however hopeful his intentions might be.
My father weighs on my mind every waking hour. My duties follow close behind, endless and exhausting, threaded with the quiet fear that one misstep will make me another casualty of Frostwyn’s curse.
I don’t have the luxury of knowing Pax as anything more than the foreman he is.
Besides, secretly, quietly, shamefully, when I close my eyes at night, it is not Pax I see.
It is someone else entirely.
Someone I should fear. Someone I should despise. Someone whose power presses against my skin even in memory.
And even in my imagination, that vision pools low and warm in my stomach as I lie in bed, breath catching, heart thudding, heat flushing through me.
Luceran Frostwyn.
The Winter Lord.
The last man in all the realms I should ever think about and the one I can’t seem to stop imagining.
When the day ends, I bid Pax farewell and return to the carriage. I can feel his eyes on me all the way.
The sprites lower the steps, but this time they don’t screech at me in their sharp, unintelligible tongue or yank at my braid. They simply wait… patiently, and when I settle onto the velvet seat, they close the door… gently.
I’m almost certain one of them even bows before fluttering into the driver’s seat and snapping the reins.
How odd.
This time I don’t fall asleep on the ride back to Castle Frostwyn.
Instead, I watch the snow as it drifts from the iron-gray sky, delicate, endless, mesmerizing.
Even knowing the suffering it causes, knowing what it has taken from my home, my people, I can’t deny its beauty anymore as it blankets Brunemar in shimmering silence.
When the carriage rolls to a stop, I straighten myself before stepping out. I don’t know why I do it. Fix my hair, flatten my coat, adjust the fur collar, but I do. As if preparing to be seen.
As if preparing for him.
But when I step inside the castle, darkness greets me. Deeper than usual. The halls are silent, the air still. No soft rumble of Luceran pacing somewhere. No clink of silverware. No whirling frost.
Has he retired for the night?
A small, traitorous ache pulses in my chest. Disappointment.
I didn’t even realize I had been… looking forward to seeing him.
I clear my throat sharply, annoyed with myself, and draw a steadying breath. I need to stop whatever foolish thoughts are creeping into my head. He has treated me with nothing but contempt. I must be some kind of masochistic fool to find anything about that compelling.
I shrug off any lingering, ridiculous fondness for my captor and climb the stairs to my room.
I hang my coat, dress, and scarves, then slip into the nightgown that almost feels like wearing nothing at all.
The room is already comfortably warm. A fire always burns in the hearth, though I have never lit it myself, and when I slide beneath the blankets, they welcome me, soft and cozy, as though they’ve been waiting just for me.
I’m too tired to question the strangeness of it.
I close my eyes and sleep takes me quickly.
I wake to the sound of my name.
Soft. Far away. A breath carried on the wind.
My eyes flutter open, lids heavy with sleep, and for a long, hazy moment I cannot tell if I am still dreaming.
My head tips to the side on the pillow, staring blankly into the dark.
Pale moonlight spills across the marble floor in broken shards, flickering with the slow dance of drifting snow beyond the open balcony doors.
The fire in the hearth has burned low, embers glowing faintly beneath brittle, ashen wood. They crackle softly, a dying heartbeat of warmth in a room that feels suddenly colder.
Neve…
My heart stutters.
I sit upright, every muscle taut, listening.
Neve… Come to me. Neve…
My chest tightens, my breath stumbling out in sharp, shaking bursts. That voice, soft, familiar, impossibly gentle.
Father…?
I tear the blankets away and stumble out of bed, my feet hitting the floor before I even realize I’m moving. I rush to the balcony, throw the curtains aside, and press forward until the cold air stings my cheeks.
Neve… Neve…
“Father?” The word leaves me in a trembling whisper. “Is that you?”
A shadow shifts in the rose garden, slipping along the edges of the moonlight like it belongs to every dark corner it finds. Too small to be Luceran.
Hope blooms so fiercely it hurts.
Just the right size to be my father.
Before reason can catch me, I’m darting across the room.
I shove open the door so hard it bangs against the wall, half-running, half-sliding along the marble as I race through the corridor.
I knot the hem of my nightgown in my fists to keep from tripping, my hair streaming behind me, the castle echoing with nothing but the frantic slap of my feet and the wailing wind pouring through its endless open windows.
The rose garden doors groan as I throw them open.
Cold engulfs me instantly, swallowing my breath, sinking its teeth into my bare skin, but I barely feel it. Snowflakes cling to my hair, my lashes, melting along the thin fabric of my nightgown until it molds to me like a second, freezing skin.
All I hear is his voice. All I see is the silhouette waiting on the far side of the garden.
“Father!” Hope floods my chest so fast it steals my breath. “What are you doing here?”
I run faster than I ever have, my smile breaking wide and bright across my face. But each time I draw closer, the figure shifts. Retreats. Slips just out of reach.
My smile falters.
“Father?” My steps slow. “Where are you going?”
Neve… Come to me, Neve…
“I am,” I whisper, my throat thickening. “I am coming. I’ve missed you so much.”
I burst past the roses, the frozen petals scraping at my legs, but I don’t stop. The figure keeps moving, always a few steps beyond my reach.
Until finally I reach the frozen edge of the lake.
I skid to a halt.
He stands farther out now, walking across the ice as though weightless.
“Father!” My voice cracks. “Where are you going? Come back. Please! It’s not safe!”
I stare down at the ice before me, dusted with snow, bright blue veins spidering through its surface. But beneath those pale layers… only blackness. A depth so dark it swallows the moonlight whole.
My stomach twists. Every instinct screams that the lake will not hold me, yet he walks across it as if the surface were solid stone.
As if the lake itself welcomes him.
Still… it’s dangerous. Terrifying. My father must be confused, his illness must be twisting his mind. I have to bring him back before the ice breaks and that dark water consumes him.