The Frost Prince
SERAPHAE
The Kingdom of Winter was cold.
Which was something that should have been obvious. And I had prepared for that. I brought cloaks and wore a woolen skirt. But this wasn’t just cold. This was bone-chilling. The kind that chilled you through and through.
Caelan turned and helped me out of the carriage.
My heels hit the frosted marble with a crunch.
Without a word, his hand came up to adjust my cloak. His breath came out in a small cloud in the cold air.
I watched him and didn’t bother stopping the smile.
He mirrored it and lifted his hand to brush flakes of snow off my hair. After that, he moved to tuck a strand of loose wave behind my ear.
“I like it when you leave your hair down,” he said to the hair.
“I noticed.”
His eyes found mine and held. We were having a moment. One of many since the night we kissed in the garden.
Maelor had to ruin it by coughing loudly.
Caelan offered me his arm, and I took it. We entered Winter as the prince and his human guest. Although half of Primoria had already drawn their own conclusions.
His posture was relaxed, a fur-collared cloak on his shoulders. I walked with the same stiff posture and grace as a wooden figurine.
Caelan had accepted Mallas’s invitation to Winter and had gleefully informed him that I had wanted to see the famous Mirror Lake. Just a prince trying to impress his human lover, which sounded like something that inspired novels women back in Thalvarn wasted their time on. Fantasy was all it was.
The Captain of the Winter Guard led us into the Winter Palace.
Riven flanked Caelan on the other side. He threw a glance at me, saw how I was suppressing a shiver, and smiled. The first smile he had ever offered me, and it was for my suffering.
The palace was made up of more glass than was structurally sound.
Making privacy a thing that was evidently left at the borders between Twilight and Winter.
It had everything that a palace should have.
Tall towers, courtyards, balustrades, walls that were probably decorative, and stairs that made you regret heels.
Blue and white banners hung overhead with the Winter sigil of mountains and a crescent moon.
I turned to Caelan. “Why didn’t you build a palace for Twilight?”
He looked at me as if the answer should’ve been obvious.
“Because that would imply a bigger space, and that would require more walking.”
I stared at him.
“You fought in a war,” I said. “I’d assume that involved miles of walking.”
“Yes,” he replied. “And I learned from the experience.”
We were received by Prince Mallas at the double doors of the palace. His robes were impeccable, the white of his hair brilliant. He smiled widely when we reached the top of the stairs.
“Brother,” he said warmly. Then he waved at me. “Hello again, Sera.”
I inclined my head. “Your Highness.”
“Mallas.” Caelan clapped his shoulder. “Thank you for having us.”
Mallas smiled shyly and gestured us inside. “Mirror Lake is beautiful,” he said, considering me. “I understand why you’d want to see it.”
The interior was exactly like the exterior. Cool blue glass, but it looked like ice. I suspected that was the whole idea.
“Your rooms are ready. If you need anything, please ask the servants,” Mallas said, voice echoing through the corridor. “I’d love to invite you two for dinner tonight if that’s alright.”
Caelan laughed as if Mallas had asked something ridiculous. “Of course.”
Mallas continued walking, and Caelan suddenly slowed his steps.
I slowed down with him, and Mallas turned the corner. Before I could ask why we were slowing, his fingers wrapped around my wrist and he pulled me sideways. Then my back was suddenly against the wall and his lips were crushed against mine.
He kissed me as if he hadn’t just spent half the ride to Winter kissing me inside the carriage.
My hands had just started to rise so I could touch him when he pulled away just as abruptly as he had kissed me. Every part of him and the warmth were gone.
I stared at him, a little breathless, my composure somewhere on the floor, and before I could pick it up, he yanked me back into the hallway.
Mallas turned around as we stumbled into the corridor and caught up to him. He looked at Caelan and me, who had more than reasonably fallen behind.
Maelor and Riven, also turned and stared at us.
I kept my chin up, maintaining the expression of someone who had not just been kissed stupid in the middle of a palace corridor. Caelan turned his head toward the window to hide a smirk and failed spectacularly.
“I’m sorry.” Mallas frowned. “I must’ve walked too fast.”
“Proceed,” Caelan said, lip still curved.
Maelor narrowed his eyes at us.
Riven said nothing. Didn’t even blink. He had reached the end of his tolerance during the carriage ride and decided we were not worth the effort.
We continued the rest of the way without incident and were shown to our respective rooms. Mine had a view of the snowy mountain peaks that I had grown fond of watching from a distance back in Twilight. I wondered if Caelan was also looking at the same mountains from his room.
Tomorrow, we were going to Mirror Lake for the last piece needed to break the bond. There was an ache that settled somewhere between my ribs when I thought about it. That what we had might have an end date.
Dinner had been pleasant.
The dining hall was three times the size of the one in Caelan’s estate.
The ceilings soared high enough to swallow voices and send them back down softer.
One wall was entirely covered with floor-to-ceiling windows featuring the snowy mountains again.
Paintings and blue tapestries hung along the rest of the walls.
A massive chandelier hung overhead, cut with layered crystals that looked like icicles. A long table of dark wood dominated the center of the room. Lines of candelabra sat in the middle of it. The air was filled with the aromas of savory dishes and candle wax.
We were seated, and the servants brought out simple dishes of roasted meat and vegetables. Nothing too extravagant. Mallas had sheepishly apologized and explained that Winter Court needed to preserve food early this season to prepare for a predictably harsh winter this year.
I briefly thought of Caelan’s mention of an assassination attempt that involved a chandelier and did not stop looking up at it for the first half of the meal.
When I finally looked back down, Mallas was watching me curiously.
I smiled at him and watched as his gaze flickered to the ink on my forearm.
Caelan thankfully had his sleeves down. Explaining to your brother why you and your lover had matching tattoos might give Caelan a chance to be overly creative.
“I have to repay you for your continued assistance to my kingdom,” Mallas said, raising his glass to Caelan. “Winter flora, freshly harvested. Once they are processed, I will send them over to you.”
“You don’t—”
Mallas lifted a hand. “Stop.”
Caelan grinned into his plate, and I smiled at both of them.
“So, how did you two meet?” Mallas asked, looking between the two of us.
I looked at Caelan over the rim of my glass but kept silent, waiting for him to spin up a convincing story.
“Sera,” he said with great fondness, then turned to Mallas, “belongs to a noble house that farmed chickens in Thalvarn.”
I choked on my wine.
Mallas leaned in and rested his chin on his hand. “Chickens.”
Caelan nodded and sighed as if revisiting a fond memory he hadn’t just fabricated ten seconds ago.
“I was on a diplomatic visit then. To discuss the agricultural trade between our kingdoms when I laid eyes on her.”
He took my free hand and brushed his thumb across the skin.
“She was a killer.”
I stiffened.
“At negotiations,” he finished.
Mallas beamed, completely believing it all. “That’s something. Chickens.” He gave me a once-over. “I would never have guessed.”
“Yes. They lay eggs.” I finished my glass of wine.
“Did Caelan tell you he was chased by a chicken once?” Mallas refilled my glass of wine for me.
“No.” I leaned on my elbows. “Tell me more.”
A laugh escaped Caelan. “In my defense, it was a rooster. They have spurs and the spurs were—“
“It was a cockerel, barely mature,” Mallas deadpanned. “But Caelan ran across the courtyard and climbed up the wall.”
“Really?” I glanced at Caelan.
He smiled into his plate.
“But look at him now.” Mallas pointed with a fork. “Fearless. The great Caelan Vaelor. The prince who turned a borderland into a kingdom.”
There was something in his tone that didn’t match the smile on his face.
Caelan glanced up at him. “You overestimate me.”
“But it’s true. You’re not afraid of anything,” Mallas continued. “That’s what I always admired about you.”
Caelan tapped a finger on the table once and said nothing. A smile still on his face, though it didn’t reach anywhere else.
“I remember the day Father sent you to the borders,” Mallas recalled. “You looked him straight in the eyes and you said—“
“I will make you proud,” Caelan finished without looking up.
Mallas held his gaze, his mouth curved into an amused grin . “It was brave.”
“It was na?ve,” Caelan corrected.
I watched him as he pretended it did not affect him, and he was good at it. The small smile on his face, the way he continued the conversation with Mallas on other things such as tariffs and starwardens who monitored atmospheric disturbances. He did so with perfect composure.
But each time our eyes met, I saw through the mask he thought was perfect.
He had given my hand a squeeze under the table. Even now, he was trying to assure me when he was the one who needed assurance.
When he released my hand, I reached out instead. A flicker of surprise crossed his face as my fingers wove into his. Then I rested our hands on my thigh.
I did not let go until the dinner was over.
After dinner, Mallas steered Caelan away from me and declared he was borrowing his brother for whiskey and a long complaint about politics.
That left me returning to the guest wing by myself.
The peace did not last long.
I found Maelor in the courtyard giving a dramatic reenactment of… something. One boot planted on a chair, chest puffed out, one hand slicing through the air as if narrating a heroic last stand.
Riven sat across from him with his arms crossed and legs sprawled, looking like he had been done with Maelor about three gestures ago. His eyes found me instantly, as if he had been aware of me long before I stepped into the courtyard.
Maelor followed Riven’s line of sight.
“Sera,” he said, taking his foot off the chair. “Join us.”
I sat in the chair Maelor had not previously had his boot on and reached for the bottle at the center of the table. Whiskey. It was that kind of night.
“What were you demonstrating?” I asked as I poured myself a glass.
“Luceris.” Maelor sipped. “And that was the generous interpretation.”
I snorted.
Maelor kept going. “He’s been a prick for two centuries.”
Riven gave him a look.
“Relax.” Maelor leaned back into his chair, completely at ease as if he hadn’t just committed treason by insulting a prince of Verdant.
I waited for an explanation.
“He used to follow Caelan around the palace,” Riven said.
Maelor nodded. “Only to remind everyone that the real crown prince was the one born to the king’s new queen. He took Caelan’s title and never stopped rubbing it in.”
I thought of how the king had sent Caelan to the border.
“Was the king always cold to Caelan?” I asked.
Riven lowered his glass, then looked down at the table.
“No,” Maelor said, voice lower than I had ever heard it.
“The king used to be…different.” He turned the glass in his hand.
“Warm. Present. The kind of father who picked him up and ran about the courtyard. After the queen died, he was broken, but he still tried. Maybe another two years.” He shrugged.
“Then something in him just closed. He stopped speaking to Caelan, stopped being present, and sent him to the borders shortly after.”
I wondered if Caelan thought he’d deserved it after what happened to the queen.
“At least Mallas and Caelan are close,” I said, warmed by the thought of them.
Maelor nodded. “Mallas was second oldest but bastard-born. His mother was a witch from Thalvarn.”
I blinked. “Mallas is half fae?”
“Yup,” Maelor said before making a face. “Luceris made it his mission to make Mallas suffer for that also. Reminded Mallas over and over that his mother was left outside Primoria to die of old age.”
I frowned. “Why wasn’t she brought in?”
Maelor shrugged. “Who knows. But can’t imagine it being appropriate with there being a queen and all.”
I looked at Riven. “Did you grow up with Caelan also?”
He was silent for a moment, just looking into his glass.
For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer.
“No,” he finally said. “I was a prisoner of war in Thalvarn.” His gaze met mine. “Caelan was the one who pulled me out.”
Maelor looked up at Riven with the particular look of someone who wasn’t sure he believed what he was seeing or hearing.
“I had never heard you admit that to anyone,” Maelor said.
I stared at Riven.
His dark eyes held mine, the dimples that were always present on his face deepened just slightly. “That’s where I learned to fear the dark.”
He looked away and took a drink.
Silence stretched, but it wasn’t the uncomfortable kind.
Then Maelor offered his usual commentary that simultaneously made people laugh as much as it made people want to punch him.
“It explains his whole personality, doesn’t it?” he said.
“What personality?” Riven asked flatly.
He gestured vaguely to Riven’s entire body. “The brooding one.”
“I don’t brood.”
“You teleport through shadows and stand in corners like judgmental decoration.”
Riven looked at me.
I looked away, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
We all took a long drink.
And then took another.
In the span of a single night and bottle of whiskey that burned pleasantly, I had learned three things.
Maelor talked too much.
Riven talked too little.
And Caelan Vaelor might not have the love of a father, but he had two people who would follow him anywhere.