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“Not at all. They’re cozy. Gunnar made me an ice palace… normally your fiancé makes the shelter for you, but in this case, an igloo has been constructed already. Gunnar oversaw it himself. Doesn’t want his royal guests freezing to death on his watch.”

“You sure you want to escort me? You get cold like me. There’s plenty in this hall who would be happy to bring me to it.”

“Us Virelians have to stick together,” she smiles, her cheeks tinged delightfully pink with drink. I’ve had only a glass, and I can feel the rosy warmth on my own skin. “Could you please get our coats?” she asks, ever graceful, to the servant boy attendingto us. He darts off, weaving his way through a crowd of drunken men who have started singing a low, rumbling song between sips of beer. He returns with our coats, which nearly match, except hers has a bear’s head for a hood.

We stand and start walking to the door, when Gallien is on us in an instant, the crowds parting for the huge Aurelian. “Where are you going?” His eyes are sharp as he glances over the mass of people, judging each in turn.

“The bride-to-be awaits the triumphant return of her man… her men in an ice shelter,” says Liora, her voice soothing.

Gallien nods curtly and speaks into his smart-watch. A hard Aurelian voice comes from the other end, and Gunnar’s on his way, cheeks flush with mead. “What’s the problem here?” Gunnar barks out.

“I’m going to need Reavers in low airspace, to watch over her,” answers Gallien.

Gunnar licks his lips, then nods. “Not a problem.”

Gallien speaks in a low, urgent voice into his smart-watch, his face stony. When he gets like this, every word has a purpose. When he gets assent, he turns to Gunnar, relaxing. “Now then. You promised to show us the best fishing hole…”

“Fished by my daddy and his daddy before him, and any man who tries to poach it gets a fist. But I’ll let you three be the first not of my line to hunt those waters.”

“A great honor,” smiles Gallien, without an ounce of condescension. He’s a diplomat in his own right. He leans in and kisses me softly. “I’ll see you soon. Keep the fire warm.”

“On it,” I reply, and leave the hall with Liora, both of us bundling up our thick white coats tightly.

As we step out into the bleak frozen landscapes of Frosthold, the winds have quieted, the heavy gray clouds blown aside to reveal the first stars of twilight blinking above. They glow even more brightly than on Virelia.

“This is just the beginning. Wait until night,” says Liora. “I never stop being amazed.” She leads the way on a rock path. It is carved through the heavy permafrost, snowbanks raised on each side, so that it feels like we are walking in a tunnel, the frosty ground crunching beneath our feet.

There is a deep, luxurious silence, the snow blanketing the music and laughter of the great hall that fades as we walk. We turn a corner, and ahead, the vast frozen lake stretches out endlessly before us. A tiny igloo, like an upturned bowl, is a hundred paces out in the snow-covered lake, smoke trailing up from it to the night air.

“See? I told you that you wouldn’t freeze. It’s cozy in there. Want me to show you in?”

“I think I should walk alone,” I say, feeling like I’m in a trance as I step out onto the vast silence of the ice. Above, Reavers flit in silence, only the barest hum of the Orbs that power their engines audible, circling like guardian angels as I walk out into the frozen lake.

I don’t look back. The stars seem to multiply, a trillion silent watchers above. A hundred paces, through the thick snow, my thighs burning, and I get to the igloo. The ice blocks are fitted together seamlessly, and a thick brown fur covers the entrance. I move it aside and duck into my home for the night.

The warmth embraces me. In the center, there is a stone bowl, filled with embers and pine that lets off the aroma of my forest home, smoke trailing up through the hole in the ceiling. The ice glistens, dripping from the heat, and there are two rough-hewn wooden benches and thick, waterproof sleeping bags. Underneath us, under over ten feet of ice, are the icy depths of the lake.

The heat washes over me, and I shrug off my coat, folding it and placing it on top of one of the sleeping bags. My uniform feels strange here.

I never in a million years imagined I would be on Frosthold, awaiting the royal triad for the final ritual. I thought I’d stop them on Magnar, that I would shrug them off, but even if they had given up there, they would be a constant presence on my mind.

When an Aurelian gets the scent of his mate, he will never stop. No matter how I tried to deny it, no matter how I tried to push them from my mind, from the moment I had the vision of them, I knew that I would one day face them, that I would one day have to come face to face with their essence.

Sweat drips down my brow, but I add more pine to the fire, the crackle filling the hidden sanctuary, a tiny speck of warmth in the expanse of darkness on all sides.

The furs are brushed aside as Doman ducks his soaking wet head in, his thick blond curls dripping. Titus follows, the igloo feeling tiny as the triad returns. His black hair is matted, and his cheeks are flushed as he lugs in a five-foot-long pike. It’s been gutted and cleaned, and Gallien completes the triad, his platinum shock the only dry hair of the lot.

“You’re soaking!”

“It broke free of the fishing lure. We dove in to catch it,” says Doman, sitting across from me on the wooden bench, which creaks under his bulk.

I look down at the ice floor of the lake, imagining the dark undercurrents. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Ten feet of ice, black as death. Gods, but it’s good to be alive,” says Titus, and he motions to Gallien, who helps him take off the top of his Orb-Armor, setting the heavy plates of it onto the ground.

“Idiots. You risked your life for a fish?”

Doman grins. “You told us to get the most dangerous, bloodthirsty fish in the pond. I only did what you asked. Help me get this off,” he says to Titus, who pulls the top half of hisarmor off him. As he places it on the ground, it seems so inert, for when the aliens don their armor, it molds and contorts to their physiques, just like the pleasure dress that wrapped itself around my body.