Chapter 16 #2
Kael’s grin lingered as he brushed snow from his gauntlet. “You should smile more, you know. The frostlight bends when you do.”
“That sounds like a line,” I said dryly.
“It’s an observation. Lines are for mortals who need help being charming.”
“Meaning you don’t?”
“Meaning I was born radiant,” he said solemnly, then ruined it with another grin.
I tried not to laugh. Failed. “Arrogance suits you less than you think.”
“And yet you’re still talking to me.”
“Because it’s either that or talk to the walls.”
“They’re good listeners,” he said, stepping closer. “But they don’t look nearly as lovely when they glare.”
“Lovely?” My voice almost caught on the word.
He tilted his head, considering me with that same effortless boldness. “Lovely, yes. Even when you’re trying to decide whether to run or scold me.”
“I wasn’t going to run.”
“I didn’t say you would. Only that you’re smart enough to know you should.”
“And yet here I am.”
He smiled, slower this time, softer at the edges. “Here you are.”
The quiet stretched between us. I should have stepped back. The castle’s hum deepened, almost expectant, like the air itself was listening. Kael’s eyes flicked briefly toward the frost, then back to me.
“Tell me something, little flame,” he said. The nickname landed differently now—teasing but almost reverent. “Do mortals ever regret being brave?”
“Constantly.”
He chuckled, low and warm. “Good. Then you might just survive.”
I folded my arms, mostly to hide the tremor in my fingers. “You fae have a strange idea of comfort.”
“We have a stranger idea of love,” he said quietly, and for a heartbeat the humor was gone. “But that’s a story for another day.”
He took a step back, his breath misting in the air. “Walk with me tomorrow,” he added, voice lighter again. “The gardens are almost pretty this time of year, in a bleak, icy, tragic sort of way.”
“That’s your sales pitch?”
“I’m better in person.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, though the warmth in my cheeks betrayed me.
“Good,” he said, turning toward the archway. “I like being thought about.”
He left before I could decide whether to be irritated or amused. Probably both.
The courtyard seemed emptier without him. The frost hummed faintly beneath my feet again, echoing his words in a way that made my pulse unsteady.
And for the first time since arriving in this place, I realized that Winter wasn’t the only thing dangerous here.
By the time I reached the corridor again, my breath had stopped misting in the air. Kael’s laughter still clung to the back of my mind like a lingering echo—warm, uninvited, impossible to shake.
I told myself I didn’t care. That it was only conversation. A distraction.But Winter didn’t forget warmth once it found it, and neither, it seemed, did I.
The castle had grown quieter in his absence. The hum beneath the floor returned, steady and low, like the sound of something thinking far beneath the surface. The frost along the walls was alive again, tracing faint, shifting lines that glittered faintly gold before turning silver once more.
I paused to watch it. The markings almost looked like writing, like someone had tried to carve meaning into the ice and failed.
That was when I felt it—pressure, not touch, but close enough.
I turned.
Kaelith stood at the far end of the hall.
The frostlight burned brighter around him, drawn to his presence as if in recognition. He wore no armor now—only a dark tunic trimmed in silver, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His gloves were still on, as though even here he feared what his hands might do.
We stared at each other across the distance. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. The quiet stretched until I felt it settle beneath my skin.
When he finally stepped forward, the frost beneath his boots didn’t crack. It bent.
“You’re far from your chambers,” he said, voice calm, almost indifferent.
“I was only walking,” I answered. “I needed air.”
His eyes flicked to the courtyard behind me, where faint traces of gold still shimmered on the frost. His jaw tightened. “And found something else instead.”
“I found your brother,” I said. “He was kind enough to speak with me.”
“That’s not always kindness,” he replied, tone flat but sharp enough to sting.
I crossed my arms, mirroring his stillness without meaning to. “You don’t approve?”
“I don’t interfere,” he said. “But Winter doesn’t take well to warmth. It spreads. Unpredictably.”
“Maybe that’s not always a bad thing.”
His gaze caught mine then, too direct, too steady. “It is when it burns what it touches.”
We stood there in silence again. The frostlight flickered between us, pale and restless. I wanted to look away, but he made it impossible. There was something different in him tonight—something wound too tight beneath the calm.
“Do you always patrol corridors for lost mortals?” I asked, trying to lighten the air that refused to move.
“I don’t patrol,” he said simply. “I notice.”
“Notice what?”
He hesitated. “Things that shouldn’t be.”
I almost laughed. “Then you’ll have your work cut out for you.”
The smallest flicker of something—amusement? frustration?—touched his eyes before it vanished. “You shouldn’t wander alone. Not here.”
“I thought I was safe in your Court.”
“No one is safe in my Court,” he said quietly.
I didn’t know whether that was a warning or an apology.
He stepped closer, the air cooling with him. “Next time you feel the walls watching,” he said, “don’t answer them.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he was gone—turning, the frost swallowing his footsteps like he’d never been there.
Only the faintest echo of warmth remained, fading fast.
By the time I reached my chambers again, the warmth Kael had left behind had gone, replaced by the familiar weight of cold that wasn’t just temperature—it was mood.
When the door opened softly behind me, I half expected to see Kaelith again. But it was Maeryn.
She carried a folded shawl of pale gray fur and a tray of tea that steamed faintly blue. Her eyes flicked from my face to the frost pulsating on the walls like veins, taking in everything without surprise.
“You’ve been out,” she said simply.
“I couldn’t stay still.”
“Or wouldn’t?”
“Does it matter?”
“Only to Winter,” she said, setting the tray down. “The Hold feels everything that moves within it.”
“I noticed.”
Maeryn glanced toward the frostlight patterns. “It’s listening.”
“To what?”
“To you.”
I tried to laugh, but it came out thin. “You make that sound normal.”
“Normal doesn’t mean safe.”
She poured the tea and handed me a cup. It smelled faintly of mint and something floral I couldn’t name. I took a careful sip; the taste was cold, even when steaming.
“You saw him,” she said at last.
“Kaelith.”
It wasn’t a question.
I nodded. “He doesn’t like me wandering.”
“He doesn’t like anything he can’t control.”
There was no malice in her tone, just quiet observation.
“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.
“Wrong?” She tilted her head, as though testing the word. “No. But right and wrong lose their shape here. Intention is what matters.”
I frowned. “You sound like you’re defending him.”
“I’m explaining him.” Her gaze softened. “The prince is … disciplined. He must be. Every heartbeat in him belongs to Winter before it belongs to himself. That kind of restraint leaves little room for warmth.”
“He doesn’t seem to want any.”
“Wanting and allowing are rarely the same thing.”
Her words sank like stones into the silence.
I looked down at the tea, at my reflection rippling faintly in the blue surface. “He warned me not to answer the walls.”
“Then don’t,” she said. “They remember voices. And sometimes they speak back.”
“That’s comforting.”
“You didn’t come here for comfort.”
“No,” I said softly. “I suppose not.”
Maeryn gave a small, knowing smile. “Then stop expecting it.”
Before she left, she hesitated by the door. “If the frost hums again, don’t hum with it. Promise me.”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure why the promise felt heavy.
After she’d gone, I sat by the window and stared out at the snow beyond the glass. The faintest shimmer of gold glowed beneath the frost in the courtyard below—small, defiant, almost hidden.
Kael had left warmth. Kaelith left cold.
And somewhere between them, Winter was starting to listen.