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“Any idea what they spoke about?” I asked, unable to help myself.

“No, and the High Lord left before any of us woke. His sons do not know either.”

Luccan hadn’t even mentioned it. But why would he share that information with me? Technically, I was still Vale’s wife, but we were separated in every way that mattered.

“I see.” I rubbed my hands together to ward off the cold. “Thank you for telling me. I’m worried about him.”

Sir Caelo’s full lips spread into a smile. “It relieves me to hear that, Princess Neve.”

“Relieved? Shouldn’t I be the one worried an Aaberg will come for me?”

The knight scoffed. “Perhaps, but I doubt it will be Vale.”

He was the second person to say such a thing. Though I wasn’t sure if either was right, my heart leapt at his words.

Chapter 46

VALE

From my tower window, I watched Caelo trudge toward the castle as Neve resumed practicing magic.

My stomach twisted as, for a second time, she raised a funnel of swirling snow, this time to double her height before losing control. The funnel exploded over her and Clemencia, prompting laughter.

My wife was a Falk, working winter magic. Not with much luck, but it was obvious that despite her lack of refined motion, the magic flowed from her. For a beginner, that meant quite a lot. Particularly after how much of her power poured from her last night. And as she laughed, she seemed in good spirits. Learning was always easier with that sort of attitude.

I could help her, though.

The thought came unbidden and unwanted, and I shoved it into the recesses of my mind.

Technically, yes. I possessed the skills and knowledge tohelp. But after how I’d acted, would she even want my help?

Would she wish to speak with me ever again?

I turned away from the window, intent on downing a glass of ale. A servant had made sure to supply me with drink through the night and into the morning. That had never been more apparent than when I took one step and stumbled over my own feet.

Bleeding skies, I hated this world.

Hated how things were turning out.

Why didn’t Lord Riis keep his secret? I could have lived my whole life not knowing the truth, even if knowing it made so many things click into place.

Like how my twin and I never wielded winter magic as well as Saga. Certainly not like Father either. How we alone of the Aabergs had dark eyes—a feature everyone attributed to House Vagle, though the hue was uncommon there too. No, those eyes came from Lord Riis.

Most of all, it explained why Lord Riis, out of every noble in the kingdom, made it a point to come to Frostveil often. How he’d sought me and Rhistel out as younglings, given us toys, and played with us. How when he’d had Luccan, and then his other children, he’d brought them to the palace too.

He’d always been there in our lives, a quiet spectator. As involved as it was safe to be. His dark brown eyes always followed us, had always crinkled at the corners when either Rhistel or I made mischief.

It wasn’t that he was dear friends with our mother, but that he still loved her—that he always had.

He’d said as much to me last night. Said that he’d often joined his mother, an ambitious faerie born of the merchant class, when she attended my grandmother, Lady Eliana Vagle in Staghorn Castle. In those visits as a young male, Lord Riis fell in love with my mother. They were each other’s firsts for everything, and said that, while he’d had many other lovers, none stole his heart.

He claimed to love Rhistel and me too, so much so that it hurt him to have to stay away. He’d managed only because it was what was safest for our mother and for us.

As much as I hated him for shattering my life, erasing every sense of self I’d cultivated over the turns, I understood a female stealing one’s heart and claiming it for her own. A male would do many things for that one special female—even have a long-lasting affair under the king’s nose.

I poured another glass of ale, downed it, and groaned. The stars knew I’d regret every drink I’d had thus far, but I couldn’t stop myself. Drink was the only thing that numbed the pain and the reality of my life, or what I’d thought had been my life.

A knock came at the door.