Chapter 21
Iwake to muted sunlight spilling across my face and, for a long, disoriented moment, I do not understand why. Lately I have become so used to waking early, before the sky has a chance to shift from night to dawn. If the sun is up, that must mean I have slept in.
I push myself upright and the world slowly comes into focus.
I rub my left eye to clear the haze, then squint at the pale yellow light pouring through the narrow gap between the curtains.
Beyond the sleet, I can just make out the sun, already high in the sky.
I have not stolen a few extra minutes of sleep, but hours.
I cannot remember the last time I slept this late.
It is clearly what my body needed. The last few weeks have been relentless, exhausting, nothing like what I imagined the day I made a bargain with a Fae.
Then, unbidden, memory stirs.
Cold hands. A hard chest. A kiss that still feels like frost burn on my lips.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the image away. His mouth, open and intent, breathing mine in as our need blurred lines etched into ancient stone. I only have a short time with my father. I will not let him take that from me too.
My jaw tightens as I swing my legs from the bed, resolve settling where longing threatens to linger.
I wash briskly, scrubbing beneath my nails a little harder than necessary, as though I can scour the thoughts from my skin if I try hard enough.
I dress with the same care, fastening buttons, smoothing fabric, reassembling myself piece by piece until I resemble something sensible again.
Something untouched by the Fae in the most intimate way.
When I step into the living room, the house is quiet. A pot of tea sits warming on the stove, steam curling lazily from the spout. I pour myself a cup and carry it to the window, wrapping my hands around the warmth.
Father is already in the field, shovel in hand, digging fresh snow away from the stubborn rows of plantings. His movements are slower than I remember.
I sip my tea, my gaze sliding instinctively toward the barn over the rim of the cup.
There is no sign of Luceran.
No towering figure cutting a stark line through the white.
No unnatural frost curling through the air.
He is impossible to miss when he is near, so where is he?
Still in the barn at this late hour? Has he overslept too?
I am furious that I care, almost as furious as I am aware of the ghost of his touch, the way my skin still feels too sensitive, as though it remembers him even now.
I finish my tea and step outside, the cold biting at my cheeks as I cross the yard. I pass the barn without slowing and stop by the fence, resting one boot on the lower rail.
Father looks up when he notices me.
“Morning, love,” he calls. “You sleep well?”
“Well enough,” I reply. “You didn’t wake me.”
He snorts softly. “Didn’t have the heart. You were out cold. I even heard you snoring a little. Figured the journey must’ve worn you thin.”
I frown. “I don’t snore.”
Father chuckles. “Right. Must’ve been me then.”
A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth as he drives the shovel hard into the ground, striking the ice that hardened overnight, determined to break through it.
I hesitate, then ask as casually as I can manage, “Have you seen Lord Luceran this morning?”
Father barely glances up as he shovels. “Oh, aye. He left early.”
My head snaps toward him. “Left?”
“Yes. First thing, just after the light came up.” He nods toward the fence. “Didn’t take the carriage or those tiny critters. I watered the horses though, and put them in the barn once he was gone.”
My pulse stutters as I look to the empty road layered with fresh powder, the snow undisturbed.
“Then how did he leave?”
Father shrugs. “Just started walking. Straight into the snow.”
I stare at the white horizon, my thoughts spinning, my chest tightening.
Without a word. Without waking me. Without saying goodbye.
On foot, into the snow. That was how badly he needed distance from me.
I drop my foot from the fence and stand there, cold seeping through my boots, anger curling low in my belly.
Infuriating male.
But he will not consume my thoughts. Not today.
So I turn my back on the empty road, on the barn, on the unanswered questions that cling to me like frost, and I go to my father instead.
We spend the morning in the field together.
I take the shovel from his hands more often than he likes, and he complains loudly each time, though he never stops me.
I clear the snow from the plantings and show him what I learned in the agriculture section of the Frostwyn library, how to bank the earth so the roots will survive the worst of winter. He watches closely, nodding along.
Inside, I reorganize his pantry. I replace what’s gone stale, label jars, and tuck away the dried meats and bread I brought from Castle Frostwyn.
Then I lay out the herbs and vials from my satchel and teach him how to brew the tonic if he ever runs low.
How long to steep it, how much to take, what not to mix.
“This one,” I tell him, pressing a small bottle into his hand, “for when your chest tightens. Don’t wait until it’s unbearable.”
He grumbles, of course, insists he has managed just fine without Fae remedies or fancy bottles. But when I level him with a stern look, he closes his fingers around the bottle, leans in to kiss my cheek, and murmurs his thanks.
We make lunch together and eat it on the porch, sharing a blanket pulled tight around our shoulders as snow drifts lazily through the air. Later, we play cards at the table with the same battered deck we have owned since I was a girl. He cheats. Badly. I let him win anyway.
When the light begins to fade, I find myself at the window once more, watching the moon rise over the fields.
“Don’t go,” my father says behind me.
I turn, surprised by the weight in his voice.
“Don’t go back,” he continues, his hand gripping my shoulder. “We can run.”
I frown. “Run? I doubt I could even get a jog out of you.”
He huffs, offended, and I wrap my arms around him, pressing my cheek to his shoulder.
“I can’t run from this,” I say softly. “I have to finish it. Then we can truly be free.”
He nods, but I see it in his eyes. He knows the truth as well as I do.
I don’t just have to return.
I want to.
And that is the part that frightens me most.
When I am ready, I step onto the porch. I hold Father far longer than I should as the snowfall thickens, flakes clinging to our coats, the cold biting deeper with every passing minute. When I finally pull away, my chest aches.
The sprites lower the step to the carriage, shivering as they do, their wings dulled by the sharp cold. Even they feel it tonight.
I climb inside and turn back to the window, lifting a hand as the carriage pulls away. Father stands in the doorway, his figure growing smaller until the farm itself fades into the white.
I press my hand to the glass, breath fogging it, heart heavier than when I arrived.
The hours pass, the carriage rolling on as the night closes in.
It is so dark.
So cold.
So unbearably quiet.
The road stretches on beneath us, swallowed by drifting snow, the only sound the steady crunch of hooves and the faint creak of the carriage as it sways. I wrap my coat tighter around myself, but it does little to ease the hollow settling in my chest.
Even though Luceran rarely spoke, his presence had been a comfort, something solid.
I find myself missing the way his knees knocked irritably against mine with every jolt of the road, the way he took up too much space without apology.
I miss the way he watched me read, as though it soothed something restless in him, as if my quiet joy offered him a kind of peace.
How can I ache for closeness from a male who has always kept me at arm’s length, even when our bodies were pressed together with no space left to breathe?
I stare out into the white blur beyond the window, lost in that thought, when a glow of amber breaks through the snow ahead. Gradually, the shape sharpens, and I recognize it at once.
The Wayside.
As we draw closer, the familiar sound reaches me. Laughter and music, the rise and fall of voices, carried on the warm air.
One of the sprites leans over the edge of the driver’s bench, tapping insistently at the window to get my attention. It chatters rapidly, a tumble of strange syllables that make my brow furrow.
Oddly, I understand.
Not the words exactly, but the meaning beneath them.
It wants to know if I wish to stop.
The inviting warmth and noise of the inn tug at me, but a stop would be a delay.
And I want to get home… I mean… get to Castle Frostwyn.
I hesitate only a moment before shaking my head.
The sprite nods in understanding. The horses press on, and the carriage rolls past The Wayside without slowing, the glow and music fading behind us until only the dark remains.
I lean back against the seat, exhaling slowly.
The steady turn of the wheels and the soft creak of wood begin to lull me. The cold seeps deeper, my breath misting in the air, and I curl into the corner of the seat, pulling my coat tight around me, arms tucked beneath my ribs, knees drawn up against my chest.
I do not mean to fall asleep.
But my eyes grow heavy all the same, fluttering shut just as the carriage slips from open snow into the darker hush of the forest.
The stillness does not last.
The carriage jolts hard, flinging me hard against the wall. The horses rear outside, whinnying sharply, the sound cutting through the night as my breath comes in a ragged gasp.