Page 15

Everly

I tried to sit still. I really did.

But the chair was too stiff, the collar of my gown itched, and I was fairly certain the wolf watching me from the corner was judging me harder than the portraitist.

“Please,” the artist snapped, nose twitching the way Batty’s did sometimes. “If you could hold your expression still for one blessed moment, Your Majesty.”

Blessed. Right. I was feeling particularly serene today, what with said bat hiding in my sleeve and the looming threat of monsters and the fact that I was no closer at all to getting the hells out of this palace before someone discovered what I was.

Not to mention the luminous predatory eyes staring straight into my soul.

The king had been telling the truth about Lumen being able to lead me around the palace, though I had half expected that he was just trying to make me feel stupid when I tried to talk to a wolf.

With a simple request to visit the portraitist, Lumen had led me to the Solarium where Master Barton was waiting. It was unnerving walking behind the wolf when I was alone, to be that close to something that powerful, that silent.

And yet... strangely familiar.

There was something in the way Lumen moved—regal, watchful, as if the palace itself bowed to him. That same cold stillness. That same quiet threat that clung to the king like a second skin.

I shifted, and the chair gave a soft creak of protest. Master Barton sighed as though I’d single-handedly ruined his life’s work, and it took effort not to roll my eyes.

My ring flashed with cold, and I dropped my gaze to examine it, wondering why I cared what it was trying to say. It wasn’t a symbol of love. It was a leash, studded with diamonds and forged with blood. A reminder of the vow I’d been forced to make and the power he still held over me.

I had been so distracted with keeping my secret and staying safe in the moment that I had let myself lose sight of the way that time was running out. I couldn’t hide forever. I needed to get out of this palace.

And maybe, just maybe, with his attention focused on the Tharnoks, I would have a chance to escape. Not that I had anywhere to go. I wouldn’t let Wynnie risk her life hiding me.

Which left only the option of finding a way to convince Draven to let me go.

You belong to me, whether either of us likes it or not.

Those didn’t sound like the words of someone willing to let me go, but perhaps it was a matter of figuring out what he needed from me, if not an heir. Unless I was wrong and he was following the whims of Fate for the hells of it. But that didn’t ring true with anything I knew of him.

There had to be a way to convince him to break the bond without talking him right into killing me to be rid of me. Nevara hadn’t said that he couldn’t kill me, only that a replacement wouldn’t pop up in my place.

I swallowed a nervous laugh before Master Barton felt the need to chastise me again.

There had to be a solution. A bond-breaking crystal I could…throw at him? Poison? If not for him, then myself. Maybe if I died for a few minutes, that would nullify the bond.

That would be a last resort, obviously, since the goal was to keep myself alive.

My attention returned to Lumen, now sprawled in a patch of sunlight, his massive head resting between his paws, eyes still, of course, on me. Like he could sense the direction of my thoughts.

If escape was my only option, I would need to find a way past him first. Then just…find somewhere to go.

“Your Majest—” Master Barton began, but a sharp tapping interrupted him.

“It’s time for Her Majesty’s lunch,” Nevara said smoothly, stepping into the room, lips curved with faint amusement.

She turned to me and inclined her head. “Come, My Queen. Soufflé awaits.”

My stomach growled, and my shoulders sagged in relief. The latter wasn’t a feeling that the portraitist shared. After dipping into a stiff bow, he turned back to his work, dabbing his paintbrush furiously against the canvas.

I all but sprinted from the room, Nevara at my side and Lumen at my heels. Once we were out of earshot, the Visionary let out a small sound that might’ve been a laugh.

“As you might have already guessed, Master Barton has always been a bit… particular,” she said, her tone as delicate as spun glass.

“Yes, I gathered as much yesterday, when he accused me of ‘blinking with intention,’” I let out a small chuckle. “Is that why you didn’t come with me this morning? Had enough of his eccentricities for a while?”

Nevara’s step faltered—just briefly. The soft tap of her staff against the floor missed a beat.

“I was needed elsewhere,” she said smoothly.

I was by no means entitled to her secrets, but still, her evasion put me on edge. I nodded like I understood, and we walked the rest of the way in silence until we arrived at a room I had never seen before.

“This is the Winterlight Room,” Nevara announced casually. “It is where the court often takes their lunch.”

I stiffened. There was no part of me that wanted a repeat of last night, or to face down the obnoxious courtiers again. Something I had a feeling that the Visionary knew, given the purposeful way she strode into the room and announced a little too loudly that the queen was ready for her table.

Pinpricks raced over my skin as several sets of eyes landed on me.

Even better, Batty had chosen this exact moment to wake up and attempt to climb out from under my sleeve.

Shards damn everything.

After the king’s reaction, I didn’t particularly feel like dealing with the court. I subtly shoved her back up my sleeve, following Nevara through the room.

Like the Solarium, its walls and arched ceiling were made entirely of glass, offering a sweeping view of the snow-capped peaks beyond. Frost patterns bloomed across the panes like delicate etchings, catching the pale light of midday.

Small tables dotted the space, each set with silver teapots, fine china, and stacked trays of delicate finger foods. Courtiers lounged in elegant chairs, sipping from porcelain cups and murmuring behind napkins while they cast subtle probing glances my way.

A servant rushed over. After greeting me with a bow—something I wasn’t sure I would ever get used to—he led us to a table near the back of the room.

Which offered even more time for the courtiers to stare while I waged my own war with a pocket-sized skathryn, probably looking like I was performing some ritualistic dance.

Finally, I sat stiffly, trying to adjust the drape of my gown, unsure of where to place my hands, my attention, my unease. I hated how awkward I felt. How out of place.

And then?—

“Ladies,” a warm, familiar voice sounded. “How fortunate for me to stumble across such resplendence at lunchtime.”

Soren Redthorne appeared beside the table with that ever-casual grace, his amber eyes gleaming with amusement as he pulled out a chair for himself.

“Stumble implies you weren’t hunting us down,” Nevara replied, one iridescent brow arched like a drawn bow.

Soren’s grin widened. “Ah, but I prefer to think of it as fate,” he said smoothly, lowering himself into the seat between us with practiced ease.

I hadn’t missed the king’s warning, nor the jealousy with which he delivered it.

Of course Autumn Court were schemers. If Winter was all icy smiles and cold brutality, then Autumn was daggers in the dark. Daggers of flame, of course, since the ones forged from steel were forbidden in every Seelie court.

But hailing from Autumn didn’t mean that Soren was a terrible person, and even if he had been, my husband would have been the last person who could judge. Besides, I was at least mostly sure that Nevara would have warned me.

So I nodded a greeting instead of telling him to leave, happy for one more ally, even if he did have his reasons.

He set a large amber bottle on the table, unlabeled and stoppered with a dark-grained wood. When he uncorked it, smoke coiled from the neck, scented thickly with cinnamon and something darker beneath it.

“Of course, I would never presume to speak with more authority on Fate than one of her chosen vessels,” he added, gaze slipping to Nevara. “The Shard Mother’s voice, herself.”

Nevara gave him an irritable blink. Still, she inhaled, slow and deliberate, before releasing an appreciative sigh.

“Well, the Shard Mother is partial to aged Emberkiss whiskey,” she allowed.

Soren chuckled and poured out three glasses with a ceremonial flourish. He pressed the first one into Nevara’s waiting hand and handed another to me with an exaggerated wink.

I was beginning to see that everything he did bordered on dramatic, but he had a self-deprecating air that made it less grating than it would have been. More like he was gently poking fun at himself along with the rest of the world, and he was letting you in on the joke.

I accepted the drink cautiously, more aware than ever of how closely everyone seemed to watch. Courtiers passed and paused, pretending not to stare. My wolf-escort still sat silent near the wall, his glowing eyes tracking every movement.

I held the glass in both hands, letting the warmth seep into my fingers as I brought it up to my lips.

Naturally, that was the exact moment a small, silvery head popped out of my sleeve, nearly making me spill the contents all over my gown.

Batty blinked up at me with a display of innocence I didn’t quite buy, then promptly sneezed. An indignant puff of snowflakes wafted over the rim of my glass as heat bloomed up my neck.

Shards.

But Soren didn’t even blink. “I see we have a critic.”

“She’s not usually so opinionated,” I lied, brushing an ice-flurry off my wrist.

“Strange, I could have sworn I’d Seen otherwise,” Nevara countered evenly, taking another sip of her beverage.

Shards . It was a sobering reminder of all the secrets she held. I didn’t know how she decided what to tell the king, nor what all she had glimpsed, but I suddenly realized how foolish it was to think I could plan an escape.

So we were back to bond-breaking crystals then. Or the even less likely route of convincing my husband.

Soren’s low laugh pulled me from my thoughts.

“Well, at least she fits in with the rest of the court.” He raised his glass in mock salute to the skathryn, who promptly retreated back into the warmth of my sleeve like she’d made her point.

Neither of my companions asked why I had decided to walk around with a venomous bat tucked into my gown like a fashion statement, for which I was grateful since I wasn’t always sure myself.

Then again, Nevara probably had already Seen that, too.

When Soren lifted his glass in a lazy toast, I didn’t hesitate. If I was going to spiral, I might as well do it with a glass of Emberkiss.

The first sip hit like a flame, burning all the way down my throat. It was sweet for half a second, then sharp enough to make my eyes water, the cinnamon and clove combining with the spirits in a potent combination.

I coughed once, eyes watering. “That’s… bold.”

Soren, of course, looked far too pleased with himself. “The best things usually are.”

“You would say that,” Nevara said, sighing over the rim of her glass.

“I do say that,” he agreed, entirely unrepentant before turning his attention back to me. “I was worried that the king might have locked you away while he went out to hunt . I’m glad to see I was wrong.”

The whiskey burned my throat as I suppressed another cough.

“Are you always this forward?”

He nodded as Nevara said ‘yes’.

The Autumn emissary studied me as I debated how to answer, and once again my skin crawled from the attention. I had the sneaking suspicion that he saw far more than he should, and understood even more than that.

“Oh? I wasn’t aware that Draven,” I nearly stumbled over my casual use of his name, something I didn’t even do in my head, “had told everyone about the hunt.”

Soren grinned and sipped his whiskey. Tendrils of smoke poured from his nose as he breathed out deeply.

“He didn’t,” Nevara interjected. “Like a fox, Lord Redthorne thinks he is sly. He collects information through the process of assumption.”

The emissary arched an eyebrow, not bothering to dispute the comment.

No wonder my husband wasn’t a fan, the way he hoarded his secrets. I considered that for a moment, wondering if perhaps Lord Redthorn was my key to unlocking so many unanswered questions.

“So why did the king go?” I asked, aiming for casual and landing somewhere closer to obvious.

Nevara went very still beside me. Her glass hovered near her lips, unreadable. But Soren only smiled.

“A kingdom doesn’t cast their crown into the fire unless it’s the only thing left that might survive the flames.”

Ice seeped into my bones, though I had already suspected the same.

“But Winter soldiers have been fighting Tharnoks for centuries. Long before Draven became king.” The words didn’t sound convincing, even to my ears, not when I kept hearing the word pack .

Soren didn’t deny it. Just leaned back in his chair and studied me over the rim of his glass, all relaxed elegance and unveiled interest.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “But back then, they weren’t hunting in packs.”

It was like he had plucked the word from my head. Nevara’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around the stem of her glass.

“And now they are,” I murmured. It hadn’t just been a one-time attack.

“Is it happening in Autumn, too?” I questioned.

He shook his head, expression turning more solemn. “No, or at least, not yet. Without knowing what caused the shift, it’s impossible to say where it will spread. Or when.”

A silence unfurled between us like a snowfall, soft, but smothering.

The whiskey sat heavy in my throat. I hated the way my stomach turned, not just at the mention of the monsters, but also the way the bond rebelled at the idea of my cruel, ice-blooded husband being the last line of defense.

Nevara broke the quiet first. “He’ll hold the line. He always does.”

Always?

How many times had this court come close to the edge of ruin, only to be dragged back by their Frostgrave King?

She chose her words carefully, every time, which meant she was letting me know on purpose that this issue wasn’t new. To comfort me that he had it under control? Or so that I understood the gravity of the situation?

Lunch was served before anyone could respond to her. Not that I knew what to say, or even what to think about what this meant for all of us.

Conversation eventually resumed around the table, but it all passed in a low, muffled hum I barely heard. I nodded when expected, said the occasional word, even laughed once or twice when Soren aimed a particularly sharp barb at the Summer Court’s taste in art. But I was just barely here.

Even the promised soufflè turned to ash in my mouth. My mind was too full, of Tharnoks, of villages razed to the ground.

And of the bitter realization that the same power that had killed my family was the only thing keeping my sister safe.