Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Katria
They said the Winter Gardens were where the frost bloomed even when the world slept.
It was true, in a way. The air inside glittered with colorless light, reflections fractured through hundreds of crystal petals. Each bloom looked carved from ice and dream—delicate, precise, impossible. I stepped carefully, half afraid the ground itself might shatter.
The guards followed close, their footsteps dull against the frozen path. Maeryn lingered near the entrance, clutching her shawl tighter. “You may walk the east wing,” she said softly. “Nowhere else. They said it’s for your safety.”
“Is it?”
She didn’t answer. Her gaze darted toward the frost walls, as though expecting them to listen.
I left her by the fountain—a sculpture of a fae woman bent over still water—and moved toward the nearest archway. Frostlight filtered through the glass ceiling, turning the air pale blue. For the first time since arriving here, the cold didn’t bite. It just… lingered, waiting.
When I reached to touch one of the blossoms, frost melted beneath my fingers. The nearest guard inhaled sharply. I withdrew my hand. “Relax,” I said. “It’s a flower, not a blade.”
He didn’t respond. None of them did. I’d grown used to that kind of silence—the kind that made you feel like an echo.
“They’ll never tell you this,” a warm voice said behind me, “but they’re afraid you’ll melt the whole place by accident.”
I turned.
A man leaned casually against a pillar of clear ice, light breaking across the golden threads of his armor. His smile was easy, bright enough to belong to a world that hadn’t forgotten the sun. Even the air around him felt warmer, softening the frost nearby.
“Don’t look so startled,” he said, pushing away from the pillar. “I don’t bite. Well—not without invitation.”
I blinked. “You’re … not Winter.”
He grinned. “And you’re observant. I’m Kael of the Summer Court. And you’re the mortal who managed to make my brother’s frost catch fire.”
Brother. I understood then who he meant. The realization sank cold and fast.
“I didn’t mean to,” I said.
“Most fascinating things are accidents,” he replied. “If it helps, I find the story delightful. Half the Court thinks you’re a curse. The other half thinks you’re a miracle. I’m hoping for something in between—curses tend to be more interesting company.”
He offered a small bow that somehow managed to look sincere. “May I?”
“May you what?”
“Walk with you. Interrogate you. Flatter you. Whichever comes first.”
I hesitated. “Does your brother know you’re here?”
He smiled wider. “If he did, I imagine I’d already be bleeding.”
That almost made me laugh—almost. “You’re not afraid of him?”
“Should I be?”
I studied him, the way the light curved around his shoulders, the faint steam where his breath met the air. “Everyone else is.”
He tilted his head. “Including you?”
“I don’t owe you an answer.”
He laughed softly, his dark-brown hair falling into his eyes. I noticed it had a copper hue that glinted in the light. “You don’t. But you gave me one anyway.”
We walked in silence for a while, the sound of melting water dripping between us. He didn’t seem in any hurry, letting his hand skim the frost-covered railing as though tracing an old memory. The ice didn’t melt under his touch—it shimmered instead, faintly gold.
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“Long enough to be bored. Short enough to still think you’re worth the walk.”
I frowned. “Is that how you talk to everyone?”
“Only the ones who look like they might actually listen.”
His tone was playful but not mocking. There was something sincere in the warmth he carried—and that unsettled me more than any of his teasing.
Kaelith’s cold had been easy to understand.
It was a wall, meant to freeze others out.
But Kael’s warmth felt like sunlight, the kind that burned before you realized you’d stepped too close.
“You’re very sure of yourself,” I said.
“I have to be,” he said with a shrug. “Someone has to balance my brother’s tragic lack of charm.”
“Tragic,” I echoed. “That’s one word for it.”
Kael laughed again, the sound rich enough to chase the cold from the air for a heartbeat.
He glanced at me then, not the way the courtiers had—not like I was a curiosity—but like I was something alive. It made me nervous.
“I don’t know what you think I’ve done,” I said quietly. “But I’m not what your Court believes.”
“Then prove it,” he said, still smiling but softer now. “Talk to me. Let me see for myself.”
I didn’t answer. Words felt dangerous here, even friendly ones. Still, when he offered his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world, I hesitated only a moment before shaking my head.
“I’ll walk alone.”
He lowered his arm, unoffended. “Then I’ll walk behind you. Pretend I’m your shadow.”
The corner of my mouth almost twitched. “Summer doesn’t cast shadows.”
Kael grinned. “Not until Winter stands in its way.”
The words lingered as we moved beneath the frost arches. Snow began to fall through the cracks above us, pale and silent, but when the first flake landed on my sleeve, it wasn’t white. It was gray, faintly warm at its core.
Kael caught one in his palm, watching it fade to water. His smile turned curious. “Well,” he murmured, “that’s new.”
And the next flake that fell didn’t melt at all. It burned faint gold where it touched the ground.
Kael flicked the melting snowflake from his glove, his smile returning, softer now but no less confident.
“You know,” he said, “most mortals tremble when they stand before a fae court. You … don’t seem the trembling type.”
I looked away. “You don’t know me.”
“Not yet,” he agreed easily. “But I’d like to.”
The way he said it made something in my stomach twist. He wasn’t leering—he didn’t have to. His confidence was the kind that drew you closer without asking permission.
“I’m not a story for you to collect,” I said.
He laughed under his breath. “I have enough stories. I’m looking for the ones that still surprise me.”
I wanted to tell him I wasn’t interesting, that he was wasting his time, but the words caught in my throat. Kael moved like warmth personified—a golden pulse of life in this frozen world. Every time he smiled, the air seemed to bend around him, softer, less hostile.
“Why are you really here?” I asked finally.
“To keep my brother honest,” he said. Then, more lightly, “And to see if the rumors about the mortal are true.”
I frowned. “What rumors?”
“That you burned the frost itself. That you made Winter bleed.” He tilted his head, sunlight glinting from the strand of metal threaded through his braid. “If that’s true, you might be the most dangerous thing in this palace.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I said.
Kael stepped closer, until the faint warmth of him brushed my skin. “Then you’re the only thing that doesn’t need to.”
My breath caught before I could stop it. The guards shifted uneasily behind us, but Kael didn’t seem to care. He leaned closer, voice dropping to something low and conspiratorial.
“You should know,” he murmured, “the Winter Court has a way of turning fear into faith. The more they whisper against you, the more you’ll be noticed. Keep them guessing—it’s safer that way.”
I forced a shaky laugh. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”
“Surviving in someone else’s kingdom?” He smiled, sharp but kind. “Constantly.”
I wanted to step back, but curiosity anchored me. “You shouldn’t be seen with me. You’ll only make it worse.”
“I’m not afraid of their whispers.” His gaze traced my face, lingering not like a man appraising beauty but like one committing a mystery to memory. “Besides, if I didn’t speak to you, who would?”
“Your brother might have something to say about that.”
“Ah.” His grin curved wider. “You’ve noticed him, then.”
“Everyone notices him.”
“Not the way you do, I think.”
The remark caught me off guard. “And what way is that?”
“Like you’re trying to figure out whether he’s real or just the idea of someone you should hate.”
I didn’t have an answer for that—maybe because it was too close to the truth. Kael only smiled, as if my silence pleased him.
He turned, brushing frost from the nearest column and tracing a lazy circle into the ice. “You should see Summer sometime. There’s a garden like this, but the flowers don’t need magic to bloom.”
“I doubt your brother would approve of me traveling,” I said.
“Then don’t ask him.”
I laughed quietly despite myself. “You really are reckless.”
“Not reckless,” he corrected. “Optimistic. There’s a difference.”
He faced me again, sunlight woven into every line of him. “Tell me, Katria Vale—if Winter let you go tomorrow, would you run?”
“Yes,” I said, without thinking.
Kael’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable—interest, maybe, or respect. “Good,” he said softly.
And before I could reply, he bowed again with that effortless grace and stepped back toward the archway.
“I should go before someone decides I’ve melted the wrong heart,” he said, winking. “Enjoy the garden, little flame.”
Then he was gone, leaving warmth and unease behind, both impossible to tell apart.
Almost as soon as he was gone, Maeryn stepped out from behind one of the pillars, eyes darting after him. “You shouldn’t speak with him,” she whispered.
“I didn’t invite him,” I replied.
“I know. But the Summer Prince never does anything without reason.” She hesitated, as though she might say more, then only added, “The Court watches everything he touches.”
I turned toward the frozen fountain again. The fae woman’s face was cracked now, her expression softer, almost sorrowful. Or maybe I imagined that.
“Do they watch his brother the same way?” I asked.
Maeryn’s lips thinned. “The Frostbound Heir is not a man one watches. He’s one you survive.”
That should have frightened me. Instead, I felt the old ache of confusion. Kaelith’s distance hurt worse than any cruelty could have. He’d saved me from the frost’s judgment only to vanish behind its walls again. Even now, I couldn’t tell whether he regretted sparing me—or himself.
“Do you think,” I asked quietly, “he regrets saving me?”
“I think regret and mercy are the same in Winter. Both make you weak.” Maeryn lowered her gaze. “You should return to your rooms, Lady Katria.”
Her answer lingered long after she left me alone in the garden.
The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful.
It pressed closer, listening. I walked the length of the glass walls until my breath fogged the panes, tracing pale clouds over their perfect surfaces.
Beyond the glass, snow fell in soft ribbons of white, but every so often a flake glowed faintly gold before fading to gray.
I reached out, touching the glass. A thin film of warmth bloomed beneath my fingers.
The frost melted there, too, just like before.
A ripple ran through the pane. Not enough to break it—just enough to remind me that even ice could move.
When I drew my hand back, the mark it left behind didn’t fade; it pulsed once, a faint golden shimmer that refused to die. For a heartbeat, it looked alive.
I turned, half expecting Kael’s laughter again or Kaelith’s scorn, but the garden was empty. Only Fenrir stood at the archway, silently watching me. His silver fur glimmered faintly with frostlight, his breath misting in slow, steady clouds.
“Did he send you?” I asked.
The snowhound didn’t move. His unreadable eyes were mirror-bright.
Outside the glass, the snow changed again. It darkened—white to gray, gray to something heavier. A few flakes hit the glass and clung there, smoldering faintly before they cooled. The first ash-fall.
I lifted my hand toward it then stopped when Fenrir gave a low, warning growl.
“All right,” I whispered. “I won’t touch.”
But my heart was already racing. Because for one moment, just before the ash dimmed, I could’ve sworn I saw something reflected inside it—light, soft and human-shaped, standing between the snow and the sky.
And then it was gone.