The gown was wrong.

Too much shoulder, not enough neckline. The blue didn’t catch the Veilglass sconces the way I needed it to. The lace looked romantic on the hanger and now just clung like desperation.

I changed again.

Dress number four. Maybe five. My closet looked like a romantic tragedy had exploded—satin casualties, sequin survivors. One poor velvet thing crumpled in the corner like it knew it had failed me.

I cursed under my breath and conjured a spark between my fingers. The flame leapt obediently to life, small but warm, curling around my knuckles.

Better.

I let it burn a moment, tracing the heat along my skin before snuffing it out. My fire had never abandoned me here—not in Summer lands, not in Emberhall.

The windows were iced over anyway, frost veining the glass. Even the enchanted braziers felt cold. Everything in this palace was meant to look warm during Eclipsend—burnished gold, illusion-lit ceilings, perfumed hearths. Painted fire. Hollow fire.

Not real heat. Not like what pulsed in me.

Every year was the same. The deeper Eclipsend went, the dimmer I felt outside these walls. But here, at least, my fire still trusted me.

And tonight—of all nights—I had to step into a world where it faltered. Pretend I wasn’t terrified. Pretend I wasn’t already unraveling.

Because Cassie Fairborn would be there.

At the Frostfire Revel.

In a dress. With her hair perfect, her eyes sharp, and her voice probably soaked in champagne sass that would make me forget how to walk.

And I had to look beautiful.

Not “trying” beautiful. Not “pitiable flame princess wilting in Winter Court cold” beautiful. Effortless. The kind of beautiful you didn’t hesitate to kiss under lanternlight.

Assuming she still wanted to.

Assuming I hadn’t ruined everything.

I sat in front of the mirror, breathing hard, fingers still warm from the spark as I smoothed glamor across my skin. Pale firelight shimmered faintly along my cheekbones. My lips threatened to turn blue without the enchantment gloss I layered on top. My starlit eyes looked… dull.

Maybe my Court could just announce me as Mira Firebrand, patron saint of wardrobe casualties.

I hated this season.

I hated the cold.

I hated how badly I wanted to see her tonight.

Behind me, a servant coughed gently to announce the Winter Court sleighs had arrived. I thought I heard them mutter, “She doesn’t look like herself,” as they left. The words dug sharper than they should have.

I didn’t move. Just watched myself in the mirror, like maybe the right version of me would finally appear if I stared long enough.

Instead, I whispered—quietly, angrily—to the girl staring back:

“You are not going to fuck this up.”

I stood. Straightened the fire-gold ribbon at my waist. Slipped on the cloak that wasn’t warm enough but looked like a dream.

And walked out like I wasn’t terrified she’d look at me tonight and still choose to walk away.

The air bit at my face the moment I stepped out of the sleigh.

It didn’t nibble, didn’t tease—bit. Sharp and deep, like a kiss that turned to punishment. I bit my tongue to keep from gasping, but the wind still knifed through my cloak, my fragile fire, and whatever pride I’d managed to summon in front of the mirror.

I called for flame again, a flicker in my palm. It sputtered—thin and weak, gone in a breath. Like trying to light a hearth with wet wood.

This is fine, I told myself.

I was Mira Firebrand. Potential—but unlikely—heir to the Unseelie Summer Court. Daughter of heat and riot and beauty that was supposed to blaze, not shiver. The cold would not take that from me.

Even if my knees were already trembling.

Even if what little magic I had left was wasted on trying to keep myself warm—and still failing.

The Frostfire Revel glimmered like something out of an ancient dream. The Winter Court had transformed their frozen lake district into a fairy tale of glass and starlight. Suspended lanterns floated above the ice like constellations loosed from the sky, Veilfire flickering in their bellies, casting gold and violet and pale green light over everything.

Enchanted snow fell in perfect spirals. Not flakes—ribbons. Threads of snow that curled and shimmered as they drifted, disappearing just before they touched the ground.

Pathways of silver-etched frost led into the heart of the revel. Frosted trees arched overhead, hung with delicate icicle chimes that sang when the wind passed through them. Far ahead, the lake gleamed like polished obsidian, rimmed with skaters and soft music and the hush of something ancient watching.

It was beautiful.

I hated how beautiful it was.

I hated how cold it was.

And I hated that I was here, trembling, lips starting to numb, breath misting in the air like I wasn’t made of fire at all.

The Frostfire Revel hit me like walking into a dream carved out of starlight. Lanterns bobbed high above the lake, their bellies full of violet and gold flame, painting the world in fractured constellations. The air smelled of mulled wine, roasted chestnuts, sugar spun into ribbons, and the sharp metallic tang of ice magic. Laughter rang out in bursts, underscored by the haunting chime-song of icicles strung through the frost-bent trees.

Snow fell in spirals instead of flakes—enchanted threads that curled around arms and cloaks, vanishing on contact with skin. My lips were already numb, each breath clouding into mist, my fire stuttering low in my chest as though even it knew whose territory I had stepped into.

And people were watching.

Eyes slid toward me as I passed—Winter courtiers in silver and sapphire masks, Autumn lords bundled in burnished leaves, Dawn emissaries shimmering faintly like sunrise caught in glass. Some whispered—too low to hear words, but not tone. Weakness. Out of place. Summer princess in Winter’s heart.

I caught sight of Naomi first—she always stood like a soldier, even when she was pretending not to. Her cropped white hair was dusted with real snow, and her outfit looked like someone had skinned a frost spirit and dared her to make it fashion. Cargo-style leggings with iridescent seams, a winter jacket cinched to the waist, and boots that could probably kick a grown man into the next century. She spotted me instantly and grinned.

Kess was beside her, wearing a deep violet cloak that left very little to the imagination. Her eyes caught the lamplight with feline amusement, lips already curled in that smug little I know everything smile she wore like jewelry.

“Oh good,” Kess said as I approached. “She didn’t freeze to death on the way here. We were taking bets.”

Naomi raised a brow. “You look like you’ve already lost sensation in your upper spine.”

“Thanks,” I said flatly, clenching my jaw to keep it from chattering. “You two are a ray of sunshine.”

Kess gave me a once-over, taking in the shimmering cloak, the ribbon, the bare skin at my collarbone. “Bold choice of neckline. Hoping to bait someone into warming you up?”

I elbowed her hard enough to make her grunt.

But I didn’t answer.

Something small darted past my boot. Too fast for anyone else to notice—but I did. A flicker of green, like moss lit from within, and the faintest trail of wildflower perfume. By the time I glanced down, only a perfect white petal remained at my feet, weightless in the frost.

The Small Folk. Watching. Following. Comforting.

Always there, even when I pretended not to see.

Naomi’s voice broke through my spiraling.

“Quit gawking at the stalls, Quinveil. You’ll have time to moon over candied almonds later.”

Because just over Naomi’s shoulder—like a blade sliding between ribs—I saw her.

Cassie.

Standing beneath a canopy of hanging lanterns, her breath catching the light like spun silver. She wore a black coat lined with crimson satin, the collar turned up like she was daring the wind to touch her. The obsidian velvet of her dress shimmered through with blood-red undertones, slit high enough to show the kind of confidence that burned hotter than fire. Her hair was braided back in a long rope down her spine, each twist catching frostlight. Dark lips parted on a laugh I couldn’t hear, and the soundless curve of it still sliced through me.

She looked like winter had made a truce with fire just to create her.

And I—

I couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t stop the static hammering in my chest, louder than the music, louder than Naomi clearing her throat pointedly beside me.

Naomi’s voice cut through the rush of blood in my ears. “Don’t just stand there like your brain short-circuited. Let’s go.”

Kess grabbed my arm, nails sharp even through my sleeve, and steered me toward the entry arch.

“She’s already seen you,” she whispered in my ear, smug and merciless. “You might as well survive this in style.”

I couldn’t tell if it was comfort or cruelty.

The music swelled as we stepped under the frost-etched archway. The air grew colder—but brighter, somehow. Like stepping through a ripple in the Veil.

Cassie turned.

Her gaze found mine across the revel grounds.

And she smiled.

Just a flicker. Just for a heartbeat.

But it was enough to melt every inch of fear I’d layered over myself.

I was here. I was frozen. I was on fire.

And I was not going to fuck this up.

The scents of roasted sugar and spiced chocolate curled around me the moment we crossed into the heart of the revel. Lanterns burned above like fractured constellations, frost-chimes sang in the trees, and Veilfire rippled over the ice in dreamy blues and golds. A cluster of children shrieked with delight as animated snow sprites tumbled through their legs, scattering flurries.

I should’ve been enchanted by all of it.

Instead, my bones ached with cold, each shiver rattling deeper than the last. The charm woven into my coat wasn’t enough. Not here. Not now. Not when my magic had thinned to little more than a damp spark, guttering like tinder that refused to catch.

Winter bled me dry. Always had. And I could feel the fraying edges of myself in my fingertips, my joints, the hollow ache behind my sternum where fire should have thrummed.

Something shifted in the corner of my vision.

On the railing of the arch, a cluster of Small Folk had appeared—six, maybe seven, their jewel-toned eyes gleaming in the lamplight. They sat perfectly still, waiting, watching Cassie with the reverence of an audience at a coronation. One tiny figure plucked a frost petal from the air and let it drift down between us, as though marking the moment.

They knew.

They were waiting.

So was I.

“Hot cocoa!” Kess crowed, already darting ahead.

Naomi followed with that calm, brutal efficiency she carried everywhere. The wind tousled her white pixie cut as she murmured something too low to catch—probably some judgment about sugar intake, though with Naomi it could just as easily have been a tactical observation about escape routes.

I didn’t move.

Because Cassie was still next to me.

She hadn’t said much since we’d arrived—just a soft “hi” under the gate arch, her eyes flicking down and away like looking too long might burn us both.

Now, under the glow of floating snowglobes and silver flame, she turned to me.

“I’ll get yours,” she said, like it was nothing.

And maybe it was. Maybe it was just cocoa.

But the silence between us roared. The cold pressed into my bones, and panic began its crawl up my throat. My fingers twitched, reaching for the one thing that always steadied me. A spark. A flame. Just enough fire to remind myself I was still me.

I snapped my fingers—nothing.

Again—nothing.

Just cold air and the humiliating sting of absence.

My chest squeezed tight. My vision narrowed. The revel sounds—the bells, the chatter, the laughter—collapsed into a single deafening blur. My throat burned, my hands shook, the air felt wrong, I felt wrong.

Not now. Not here. Not in front of her.

A soft brush at my wrist startled me. Cassie had moved closer, winding her scarf around my bare fingers without asking, the wool scratchy, grounding.

“Breathe,” she murmured. Quiet. Certain.

Not a question. Not a performance. Just… an anchor.

And then she slipped away into the line, coat flaring behind her like a dare.

I stood there, scarf biting gently into my palms, fighting to steady my breath. The fray of panic dulled, replaced with the faintest thread of warmth that wasn’t mine. Hers.

The cocoa stand was trimmed in red velvet and enchanted garlands that chimed with every order. A polar bear shifter in mirrored sunglasses ran it like a battlefield—five cups at a time, no spills, no nonsense. Kess was already bouncing on her heels, Naomi narrowing her eyes at the options like cocoa was a diplomatic ploy.

Cassie moved between them effortlessly, said something that made the vendor laugh. Naomi rolled her eyes. Kess winked.

Then Cassie turned back, two cups balanced in her hands. She wove through the crowd and stopped in front of me, handing me one without a word. Our fingers brushed.

I didn’t breathe.

“Fireflies,” I whispered. Tiny golden threads swirled in the steam, drifting like starlight.

Her lips curved in a ghost of a smile. “Thought you could use a little light.”

The word caught too deep in my chest—fireflies. A word that felt like it wanted to stay, cling, become something more than just the shimmer in a cocoa cup.

And just like that, the hollow where my fire should have been didn’t ache quite as badly.

I stared at the cup, then at her. My hands weren’t shaking because of the cold anymore.

All I managed was, “Thanks.”

She didn’t press. Just sipped her own cocoa, eyes scanning the revel like she wasn’t waiting. But she was.

She stood beside me, close enough that her warmth bled through the cold, not close enough to mean anything.

Which, of course, meant everything.

The four of us moved through the revel like a poorly disguised double date.

Kess led the charge, spinning toward every stall with manic delight, dragging Naomi along by the hand. Enchanted ribbons from a prize booth snagged her sleeve and streamed behind her like fireflies in a gale. Naomi tried for neutral, but every time Kess laughed too loud, her lips twitched at the corner.

I hated how much I loved watching them.

Because it looked so easy.

Like something that wasn’t built to shatter.

The path opened into a market square flooded with Veilfire lanterns and street performers. Fire dancers spun arcs of flame through the frozen air, weaving dragons and roses that burned out into sparks. A poet chanted incantations, each word crystallizing into a snowflake before melting away. Charm bowls lined the stalls—snow blossoms glowing faintly when you whispered a wish into their petals.

It was beautiful.

And I felt like an intruder in my own skin.

Too cold. Too aware. Too me.

Cassie drifted beside me, sleeve brushing mine whenever the crowd pressed too close. Probably not intentional. But every brush unraveled me anyway. Naomi noticed, of course. She always noticed. Her shoulder nudged mine, steadying—silent reminder: you’re not invisible, you’re not alone.

“They’re hopeless,” Kess muttered, not nearly quiet enough. Naomi’s elbow found her ribs before I could combust.

I latched onto the first distraction I could: a ring toss with frost-slicked bottles that gleamed in the lanternlight. Easy. Normal. Something I could do.

The vendor handed me three rings. I inhaled, squared my shoulders, tried to remember how to live in this body that felt half-frozen, half-hollow.

The first ring slipped too soon, clattering against the stall’s edge.

The second sailed too far.

The third barely cleared the lip before falling short in a pathetic clink.

Not comedy. Not cute. Just clumsy. Like moving inside armor that didn’t fit, joints working against me instead of with me.

Behind me, voices rose—

“Summer’s spark looks dim this year.”

“Firebrand blood doesn’t run so hot after all.”

“Maybe the cold’s finally put her out.”

I went still. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t turn.

A tug at my cloak broke the spiral. I glanced down.

A Small Folk child—six inches tall, hair like frosted ivy—slipped from the booth’s baseboard and tucked a perfect snowflake into my hem. Not ice. Not real snow. Veil-snow. It pulsed once, shimmered, then vanished.

I blinked hard. By the time I looked again, they were gone.

Cassie was watching me. Not pitying. Not smug. Just… watching. Like she’d seen all of it and filed it away somewhere secret.

And I—

I forced a laugh, the kind that sounded almost real.

“Guess I’m not cut out for carnival games.”

But my hands were still shaking.

Cassie paused at a prize stall up ahead. Her gaze snagged on something behind the glass.

A plush river otter.

Ridiculous—round, fluffy, enchanted with a faintly glowing ribbon at its neck. Its stitched paws curled like it wanted to be held. I hadn’t cared about plush toys in years. Not since childhood.

And yet.

“That one’s cute,” Cassie said, almost absently.

My brain: Okay. I would die for it now.

Heat sparked behind my ribs, wild and insistent. I tried to shove it down with logic, with pride, with the lie that it didn’t matter. It didn’t work.

I stepped closer before I could think twice, pretending to study the booth. But really, I was staring at the otter like it had declared war. The little thing glowed faintly, ribbon pulsing like a heartbeat. Innocent. Mocking.

Kess slid up beside me. “You good?”

“No,” I muttered. “Absolutely not.”

Cassie had already drifted to another stall, humming at a bouquet of frost-roses. She didn’t even notice me about to sell my soul for a stuffed animal.

Naomi leaned over my shoulder, voice dry as frost. “Tell me you’re not about to bankrupt yourself over that thing.”

“Shut up.”

“Should I alert your financial advisor?”

“Kess is my financial advisor.”

Kess grinned, all teeth. “And I advise you to win her that otter.”

Cassie hadn’t looked back. She didn’t need to. She’d said it was cute, then walked away like it was nothing.

It wasn’t nothing.

I was going to win her that stupid, glowing, perfect otter if it killed me.

The booth shimmered with Veil-gilded snowflakes, banners in unnecessarily aggressive calligraphy: ONE PRIZE TO RULE THEM ALL. The vendor—a broad-shouldered elf in a fur-lined coat and far too much eyeliner—grinned like he already smelled my desperation.

“Veilball rules,” he said, gesturing to a glowing line in the snow. “Three enchanted snow orbs. Hit all three moving targets, you win.”

“And the targets dodge,” Naomi added.

Kess slapped down a glittering token. “First round’s on me.”

Cassie lingered just behind me, cocoa in hand. Watching. Not interfering. Just… there.

The first orb materialized cold in my palm, skin prickling. The targets—three crystalline birds—swooped lazily above the booth, wings refracting light like knives.

I threw.

I missed.

Twice.

The first orb veered wide. The second detonated midair, showering frost across my face.

“Careful,” Kess choked. “You almost killed that kid’s cotton candy.”

Naomi, bone-dry: “Do you want pointers or pride?”

My face burned, sweat prickling beneath my collar despite the cold gnawing at my fingers. My magic flickered low in my veins—damp tinder refusing to catch. My grip shook, hands numb. My fire was gone here, smothered by Winter’s weight.

“Again,” I snapped.

Another token. Another miss.

The vendor smirked. Stalls nearby started watching. A couple laughed when one orb curved so wide it dented the booth’s sign. My throat tightened, humiliation rising sharp as bile.

Didn’t matter.

Couldn’t matter.

I dug into my coat pocket, pulled Seara’s black card, and swiped it across the charm-sigil. The rune pulsed crimson. The vendor’s brows shot up.

“Princess-level spending,” he muttered.

Seara was going to lose her mind.

Good. Let her.

Another set of orbs. Another failure.

My arms ached, joints stiff with cold. Each throw worse than the last—snowballs exploding early, skimming wide, sometimes not even leaving my hand cleanly because my numb fingers spasmed. My lungs burned, dragging in air that smelled of roasted sugar and pine smoke and frost. Scents tangled until I felt dizzy, too full, like even my senses were fighting me.

Still—I kept swiping. Another charge. Another crimson pulse.

The crowd was whispering now. I could feel it prickling against my skin.

“The Summer Princess can’t even hit a target.”

“Look how much gold she’s bleeding.”

I wanted to scream. To burn the booth down. But I couldn’t even make a spark.

Cassie didn’t say a word. She just shifted half a step closer, the faint citrus-snap of her perfume grounding me. A silent tether. Not mocking. Not pitying. Just… steady.

I threw again. Missed. Again. Again.

Each orb heavier than the last, my body trembling so hard it felt like static. My throat burned like I might cry. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper.

Finally—my last orb. My last chance.

I narrowed my stance, forced my breath steady. Cassie shifted imperceptibly closer—her warmth brushing mine. Enough.

I threw.

A flare of gold sparked behind the orb mid-flight—fragile, but mine. It struck. The last crystalline bird shattered into shards of light.

The booth erupted in bells and fanfare. The vendor swore softly, then reached for the top shelf. With almost reverence, he handed me the otter.

It was softer than I’d imagined. Warm. Alive.

I turned, clutching it like a lifeline. Cassie’s eyes were already on me.

“You didn’t have to,” she said softly.

“I know,” I whispered. My voice shook. “I wanted to.”

She took it gently, like it might melt in her hands. Pressed it to her chest. The ribbon flared brighter—

and the otter purred.

Of course it did. Soul-reactive thread. Light-binding charm.

Cassie didn’t care about the craft. She just smiled—then tipped her head, voice low enough to wreck me.

“You fight harder for me than you do for yourself.”

The words cut sharper than any Winter wind.

And for a second, the fire inside me flickered brighter. Weak. Trembling. But real.

And hers.

The lake stretched before us, a mirror of starlight and frost, framed by crystalline trees glittering like chandeliers. Illusion-glass arches rimmed the edges, sculpted to look like frozen waves mid-crash, each one refracting lanternlight in fractured hues. Veilfire orbs drifted lazily above the surface in constellations, their ribbons of light pulsing in time with the revel’s music.

It was beautiful. Enchanting. Perfect.

And all I could think was: I’m going to die out there.

Not metaphorically. Literally. Crumpled on the ice, humiliated in front of half the Unseelie Court—and worse, in front of her.

“Just step onto the edge and glide,” Naomi said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Of course she said that. Frostclaw freak of nature. She probably skated before she walked.

I stared down at the enchanted blades strapped to my boots, then at the merciless expanse ahead. My magic was a candle sputtering in the wind—flickering weak, stunted. The cold gnawed through my coat charm until I swore it scraped my bones. My fingers ached with pins of frost, stiff and clumsy.

Whispers cut close as revelers brushed past:

“—burned through twenty tokens already—”

“—ransom herself for trinkets, is what I heard—”

“—weak as frostglass, maybe she’s Cinderborn after all—”

The words clung, barbs under my skin.

Then—quieter, lower, almost swallowed by the music:

“The Shroud watches her.”

I whipped around. Only strangers moving away, their laughter scattering like shards of ice. My throat closed.

And then Cassie stepped lightly onto the lake as if gravity itself deferred to her. Smooth, elegant, effortless—her coat flaring, curls catching frostlight. She slid forward without the slightest wobble.

I hated her for it.

I loved her more for it.

Kess launched onto the ice with a whoop, spinning backward before dragging Naomi into a spiral. Naomi rolled her eyes, lips twitching despite herself.

Movement flickered near the arches. Small Folk—pale, glimmering—half-hidden in the crystal. Watching. Hands pressed to the ice, eyes following me like they always did. A comfort I didn’t deserve.

Then Cassie looked back over her shoulder.

“Coming, Firebrand?” Her breath curled like smoke in the frostlit air.

I inhaled sharply, spine stiffening. The whispers, the cold, the ache—they didn’t matter.

I forced my foot forward, steel biting ice.

And immediately, my body betrayed me.

My left foot veered right, my right slid the opposite way, and my knees locked like I’d borrowed them from a corpse. My arms flailed uselessly, every nerve screaming wrong, not mine—like I’d woken up in someone else’s skin.

The ice hummed cold through my boots, slicing into bone. My magic sparked faintly, then guttered out, leaving me raw, shivering, foreign in my own body.

Cassie glided over without effort. She caught my elbow a heartbeat before I pitched sideways. Her hand was steady warmth through her glove, anchoring me. Her voice—low, private—brushed my ear:

“Careful. Wouldn’t want you falling for me too hard.”

I froze. She didn’t. She kept her hand steady until my balance returned, then eased me upright.

She circled me once, curls catching snowflakes like they belonged to her. Her smile was criminal.

“You’re terrible at this,” she said cheerfully.

“No shit,” I muttered, cheeks burning. My hands prickled with pins and needles, my legs ached like I’d been sprinting uphill—and I’d barely survived a minute.

“You could’ve told me,” she teased.

“I was going to figure it out.”

Cassie stopped in front of me. Snow dusted her lashes, her collar framed her jaw, and her eyes glittered with heat I had no shield against.

Then—without a word—she unwound the scarf from her neck.

I went utterly still as she leaned close and draped it around mine, tugging the wool snug against my throat. The fabric was soft, warmer than my own skin, carrying her scent—cool citrus over sharp frost, threaded through with something clean, purely her.

My lungs unclenched so fast it hurt.

“Why?” My voice cracked smaller than I meant.

Cassie tucked the ends into my coat, her fingers brushing my collarbone. “Because I’m not letting you freeze to death trying to impress me.”

Heat rushed to my face—and not from the scarf.

She tilted her head, curls brushing her coat collar. “Besides—red looks better on you anyway.”

My pulse skipped. I stared at her. She stared back. The scarf pressed close beneath my chin, trapping her scent, tricking me into thinking I could breathe again.

Then her smile flickered sharper. “And admit it—you wanted something of mine wrapped around you.”

The words detonated in my chest.

And gods, she was right.

Then she held out her hands. “Come on. I’ll teach you.”

I hesitated. Then reached for them.

Her grip closed warm and sure around mine.

Not careful—confident.

Like it wasn’t everything.

Like it wasn’t nothing, either.

“Bend your knees a little,” she said softly, skating backward as she drew me forward. “You’re too stiff.”

“I’m not stiff,” I lied, immediately stiffening worse.

Her laugh puffed white in the air. “You’re practically a frostbitten plank.”

“You’re loving this.”

“Immensely.”

I tried not to smile. Failed. Obviously.

We shuffled across the lake, my steps clumsy, dragging, uncooperative. Every motion felt alien, like I was commanding a body that no longer answered to me. The cold gnawed deeper with every slip, reminding me how far I was from the cheerleader who could flip through the air with flames in her palms. That Mira didn’t exist here. This one did—weak, unsteady, shaking in someone else’s skin.

Cassie never mocked. She adjusted her pace, steady, patient, letting me cling to her hands as though I wasn’t humiliating myself in front of half the Court.

“You’re usually not this clumsy,” she said gently. “I’ve seen you move. You can do backflips in glitter heels, for gods’ sake.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, wincing as my ankle wobbled. “That Mira doesn’t show up much during Eclipsend.”

Her brows knit slightly, but she didn’t press. Just skated backward, eyes locked on mine—curious, steady, soft in a way that made my chest ache.

“It’s the cold,” I whispered finally. “Being Summer Court means my magic… it runs hot. Fire, light, motion. But out here, in Winter’s shadow, all of that goes quiet. Like someone turned me down and forgot how to turn me back up. My body doesn’t… work right.”

Cassie’s expression flickered—not pity. Never pity. Something protective. Fierce.

“So you’re weaker right now.”

I nodded, ashamed. “Almost human.”

She leaned closer, her scarf still snug around my throat, her scent filling every breath. “Then let me be the strong one tonight.”

The words hit deeper than she could have known. A promise. A dare. Maybe even a prophecy.

And I let her.

By the time my legs stopped trembling enough to trust them, Cassie was still there—steadying me with one hand at my elbow, letting me lean as I half-shuffled toward the edge of the rink.

We sat side by side on the low stone ledge, the music of the revel muffled beneath the crackle of Veilfire lanterns. My breath came harsh in the cold, my cheeks burning. Cassie leaned forward, unfastening the latch on her skates with casual ease. I fumbled with mine until her gloved fingers nudged mine away and finished the buckles for me.

“Hopeless,” she teased softly. But she stayed crouched in front of me longer than she needed to, eyes flicking up once before she straightened.

“Bossy,” I muttered.

“Efficient,” she corrected, smug.

Boots back on, I tried to ignore the way my knees still felt watery, like I’d borrowed someone else’s body and it wasn’t returning in working order. Cassie didn’t laugh. She just fell into step beside me as we left the ice, her shoulder brushing mine whenever I stumbled on the snow-packed path.

The others were already ahead, Kess and Naomi orbiting each other in their usual chaos. Their laughter carried back to us like bells on frost.

It made the air between Cassie and me feel quieter. Closer.

From the way Cassie kept sneaking glances at me like I was both a puzzle and the punchline.

We passed beneath a frost-woven arch strung with Veilfire lanterns. The transition was subtle—one heartbeat, the roar of the Frostfire crowd behind us, the next, silence. Just snow, air, and the crunch of boots along a tree-lined path.

Kess and Naomi took the lead. Naomi pointed out something glittering in the branches, Kess laughing like she might tackle her into a snowbank. Their joy shimmered bright and unshaken, a thing that belonged wholly to them.

They glanced back once—Kess with a grin sharp as mischief, Naomi with a steady look that wasn’t teasing but solid. A silent promise: we’ve got you.

And then they peeled away, no fanfare—just hand-in-hand vanishing into the revel’s golden dark.

Which left me here.

With her.

Cassie exhaled a quiet laugh beside me. “You know they ditched us on purpose.”

“Obviously,” I muttered, trying not to sound wrecked by it.

The trees grew taller, their branches bending under snow and Veil-crystals, catching faint light like chandeliers in a frozen cathedral. Lanterns drifted above us, dimmed to gold and blue, close enough that they felt like conspirators.

Her sleeve brushed mine. Her hand swung too close.

I didn’t step away.

We found the bench half-buried in snow, tucked beneath a willow where the lanterns hung lower—low enough to eavesdrop. Cassie brushed the snow away with a neat sweep of her glove and sat. I hesitated. Then sat too. Close. Closer than I meant.

Her coat radiated warmth. Mine was useless. My fingers ached down to the joints. She noticed.

Without a word, she pulled my hands into her lap. My gloves were damp, stiff. She peeled one off, pressing her bare palm against mine. Warmth spilled into me like water into cracked stone.

“You’re freezing,” she murmured. Her brows furrowed. “I forget you’re not built for this.”

I gave a weak laugh. “That obvious?”

“You’re usually… radiant.” Her voice dipped, hesitant, as though she didn’t want to ruin something by naming it. “Now you look—dimmed. Not dull. Just… less fire.”

The words cut deeper than she knew.

“That’s because I am,” I whispered.

Her eyes lifted to mine. She didn’t speak, just waited—like she knew there was more, like she wasn’t going to let me dodge.

I exhaled. “Summer Court Fae don’t do winter. It’s our opposite. Inside Summer lands, I’m fine. Strong. My fire answers when I call. But out here, in Winter’s grip? It’s like someone pulled the cord on me. Everything wanes. I can’t regulate my heat, can’t keep up. My magic barely listens. I feel awkward, weak. Almost mortal.”

Cassie’s hand tightened around mine. Not pity. Never pity. Something warmer. Fiercer.

“You only feel it a few months a year?” she asked quietly.

I nodded. “And I hate it. Because I don’t know how to live like this. Like I’m in a body that isn’t mine.” My throat caught. “I don’t know who I am without the fire.”

Her thumb brushed over my knuckles. Steady. Sure. “You’re still you,” she said. “Even without it. And if Winter makes you stumble—” her voice softened, low and sure— “then let me hold you steady.”

My chest twisted. It was too much—too tender.

So I snapped, softer than I meant: “Gods, you’re insufferable when you’re right.”

Her grin was devastating. “Good thing I usually am.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to kiss her. Instead, I whispered, raw, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Cassie leaned closer, eyes never leaving mine. “I think I do.”

Her breath touched my lips. Snow fell between us, melting before it landed.

And just at the edges of the willow’s shadow, I saw them—Small Folk, slipping out from the drifts like sparks shaken from a flame. Their jewel-bright eyes watched with unblinking reverence, circling the bench in hushed orbit. One trailed its hand along the frost, leaving a pattern like a crown’s silhouette before darting away.

I swallowed hard, pulse skittering.

We didn’t kiss.

Not yet.

But the silence after was heavier than any kiss could’ve been.

But our noses brushed. Her lips parted like she was waiting.

My heart stuttered in my chest, and just as the heat flared behind my sternum, just as the fire coiled tight in my core—

I pulled back.

Like a coward.

The cold rushed in instantly, biting at every inch of skin she’d just warmed.

Cassie didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t chase.

She just waited.

No anger. No scowl, no sharp remark. Just her breath curling between us, her bare hand still tangled with mine. Waiting—like she already knew I’d come back to her.

My pulse thundered in my ears, shame and longing tangling tight. I couldn’t look at her—not yet—but I didn’t pull away either.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

She shook her head, gentle. “Don’t be.”

More silence.

And then, soft—so soft I almost missed it—

“Too late. We’re already something.”

The words hit like a blade sliding home.

I turned toward her, toward the truth I hadn’t dared name. Her eyes didn’t shy away. They saw me. Not Mira Firebrand the heir. Not Mira Quinveil the girl playing human. Just… me.

And gods help me, I wanted her to keep seeing me.

She leaned in—slow, deliberate, devastating. Giving me every chance to stop her.

I didn’t.

This time, I met her halfway.

Our lips brushed—featherlight, then firmer. And suddenly every sense in me sharpened to the point of pain.

Her lips were softer than I’d ever imagined, tasting of cocoa, citrus, frost, and the unmistakable thrum of want. Her breath hitched against my mouth, caught, then stuttered shallow. Her heart hammered a wild rhythm I could hear in my bones.

Her other hand—gods, I hadn’t noticed until now—was curled around something small at her side. Silver chain. Crystal pendant. It pulsed faintly in the lanternlight, trapped between her fingers as if she clutched it for strength.

And then—

Fire.

It flickered first in my chest, then spilled out—heat racing down my arms, pooling in my palms, coiling in my core like it remembered what it was for. The lanterns above us flared in sync, burning gold and silver and emberlight. The stars themselves seemed to lean in and answer.

The necklace caught the glow. A spark leapt from me through her mouth, through the kiss, sliding into the crystal. It flared—just once, an ember pulse—then sank deep, as though the fire had taken root.

Cassie’s breath faltered. Mine shattered.

And that’s when I noticed them—Small Folk, edging out from the willow’s roots and snowdrifts, circling with their jewel-bright eyes wide as dawn. Silent. Watching. Reverent.

Cassie saw them too. She broke the kiss just long enough to let out a quiet, incredulous giggle. “Gods, Firebrand… we’ve got an audience.” Her thumb brushed my cheek, mischief sparking in her eyes even as her breath still came fast. “Didn’t think your fan club was quite this literal.”

I wanted the ice to swallow me whole. Or set the whole grove ablaze. Or both.

But then she kissed me again, like none of it mattered.

I could smell her arousal now, sharp and sweet beneath her perfume, threaded with frost and citrus. I could feel the flush of my own, fire beating just under my skin, begging to burn.

Her hand slid up to my jaw, thumb grazing my cheek. My own traitorous hands moved without thought, one clutching her coat, the other drawing slow, desperate circles against her back like I needed the excuse to touch her, to ground myself in the reality of her body pressed close.

Cassie tasted like heat and hunger and something that should have been forbidden.

When we parted, it wasn’t because we had to.

We just… did.

Her forehead rested against mine, both of us panting, our breaths mingling in clouds of steam.

My fire was back.

Not because I’d willed it.

Because she had sparked it.

And this time, I didn’t snuff it out.

My lips still tingled, marked. My chest ached with the weight of what she’d left behind. A brand. A promise. A truth too big to carry.

The Small Folk still lingered at the edges, glowing faintly, their tiny eyes fixed on me like they knew what was coming next.

Cassie hadn’t pulled away. Her hand stayed warm against my cheek, her heartbeat still pounding like a drum I couldn’t unhear. My eyes fluttered open. Hers were already there, burning into mine.

Looking at me like I wasn’t broken.

Like I was wanted.

Like she wanted me.

And fuck, I didn’t know what to do with that.

The fire under my skin pulsed again—stronger, hotter, aching for more. For her.

She pulled back just enough to see me clearly. Her breath ghosted over my lips, trembling now, sweet and sharp with want. I could taste it. I could feel it.

And it mirrored mine so perfectly, I almost leaned in without thought.

But she beat me to it.

Another kiss—slower, deeper, no hesitation. Just… yes.

My heart was feral in my chest, clawing for escape. I gripped her coat like a lifeline, like I’d fall through the ice if I let go. Her hands slid from my jaw to my waist, tentative for a heartbeat before tightening, claiming.

I’d never let anyone touch me like that before. Not knowing me. Not seeing me.

But I let her.

Because it was Cassie.

And somehow, impossibly… that meant everything.

When we parted again, we didn’t move far. Noses brushing. Cheeks flushed. Her breath still caught, mine still broken.

I was dizzy. Floating. Consumed.

Everything was too much and not nearly enough all at once.

I was ready to dive back in.

To kiss Cassie again until the world broke apart around us.

Every sense in me was feral, stretched raw. I could taste her still on my lips, sweet and sharp, feel the tremor of her heartbeat reverberating through my chest. My whole body screamed for more—for her—heat coiling low and hungry.

“Cassie…” I managed, about to tell her I wanted her—wanted this—when something shifted at the edge of the lanternlight.

Tiny shadows moved.

I blinked and pulled back just enough to see them: Small Folk, emerging from the drifts and brambles, dozens of them. Their glow was soft, their footsteps lighter than snowflakes, their eyes wide as dawn.

Cassie saw them too. Her breath caught, the same way mine had.

They’d come to me before, always in moments of despair—when I was breaking, lonely, unseen. They never spoke, never explained. Just comforted. Touched my hand. Left wildflowers on my pillow. The world called them “lesser Fae,” but gods, I’d never believed that. Without them, Dominveil itself would unravel.

And now—

They had chosen to interrupt the most intimate moment of my life.

My arousal burned hotter in my cheeks. I swallowed it back with human modesty and forced a smile.

They approached in silence, their movements reverent. One lifted a circlet wrought of platinum, its metal gleaming like starlight. Woven through it were wildflowers and tiny gemstones that caught the lantern-glow, scattering it in glimmers of green, gold, and rose. They set it gently atop my head, and a shiver ran down my spine as the magic settled.

Another Small Folk darted to Cassie. In their little hands was a bracelet woven from winter-bloom wildflowers, pale blues and silvers threaded together. They slid it onto her wrist. It was fragile, delicate—yet when she lifted her hand, it shimmered faintly, as though it would never wilt.

Cassie gasped softly.

And then—together—they bowed.

All of them. Bowing to me.

I froze, crown heavy on my head, Cassie’s bracelet glowing faintly between us.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Beside me, Cassie’s lips curled into a giggle. Her eyes caught mine, sparkling brighter than the lanterns. “Mira, you can deny it all you want, but you’d be a fool not to see it. You really are their queen.”

I tried to summon some snark, but the words tangled on my tongue. “Maybe,” I said at last, voice small. “But if I am… they deserve better than me.”

Seventeen years of Seara Firebrand had trained me to believe that.

Cassie’s smile softened, her hand finding mine again. Her voice was quiet, fierce. “Mira, stop. We don’t talk about ourselves like that. You are worthy.”

My throat closed.

And then—her smirk flickered back, sly and devastating. She lifted her wrist, the bracelet glimmering faintly in the lanternlight. “Besides… every queen needs her consort. And I’m already wearing the bracelet.”

I let out a helpless giggle, half-laugh, half-sob.

Around us, the Small Folk had already drifted back to their endless tending of the Winter Court, their tiny lights vanishing into snow and shadow like they’d never been there at all.

But the crown remained.

And Cassie’s hand in mine remained.

I rose, crown settling heavier as I did, and Cassie followed—close enough our coats brushed. For a long moment we just stood there, watching each other breathe in the snow-dim light.

Then I leaned in, tentative, and she met me halfway.

A kiss, soft and sweet. Not wild, not consuming. Just… steady. A seal. An acceptance.

Her arms slipped around my waist. Mine curled against her shoulders, fingers drawing little circles at her back as if I couldn’t help it.

It wasn’t heat this time. It was warmth.

A quiet yes.

And I knew—we weren’t just friends anymore.

“I…” I started, then stopped. Tried again. “I don’t know what this is.”

Cassie smiled. Not smug. Not cruel. Just real.

“Me neither,” she said. “But I know I don’t want to stop.”

I blinked hard.

Because I was Mira fucking Firebrand.

And she was Cassie Fairborn.

And we were something.

I let the truth settle, slow and heavy in my chest. Let the fire curl there and make a home of it. Let myself hold her hand and not pull away this time.

I didn’t know how to say all the things boiling in me.

But I knew one thing, with terrifying clarity:

I’d fight the cold for her.

Every godsdamned winter.

“Gods above and below, finally.”

Cassie jolted back. I nearly combusted on the spot.

Naomi’s voice cut through the stillness like an icicle to the spine—flat, unimpressed, loud enough to definitely be on purpose. She stood ten paces away, arms crossed over her Frostclaw jacket like she’d caught us sneaking sweets before dinner.

Kess stood beside her, one hand over her heart, fanning herself dramatically with a snow blossom charm. “We were going to give you another two minutes before we set off fireworks,” she announced, eyes glittering. “But wow, turns out true love really can melt a Summer Court bitch-sicle.”

“I am not a bitch-sicle,” I snapped, cheeks molten. “And that was not—We weren’t—”

“You were,” Naomi deadpanned.

Cassie laughed—soft, musical. “They’re not wrong,” she murmured, lips still pink.

“Traitor,” I hissed.

Cassie nudged me with her shoulder. “You like me better when I’m mean.”

The heat in my cheeks flared hotter. I tried for a scowl, but it came out crooked. “Maybe I do,” I muttered, voice low. “At least when you’re mean, I know where I stand.”

Her grin went sharper. “And where’s that?”

“Flat on my ass,” I shot back, blushing harder. “Every damn time.”

The cheers for Naomi and Kess hit like a blizzard. Veilribbons burst overhead, silver and icy blue unraveling across the sky as if the Court itself had ordained them. The lake shook with stomping boots, the clap of enchanted mittens, the roar of laughter spilling like frostwine.

Naomi stood there like a soldier caught in the wrong play, frost circlet gleaming crooked on her cropped hair, jaw locked in grim acceptance. She might as well have been preparing for an execution.

Kess, of course, reveled in it. She bowed with all the mock grace of a pirate queen, winked at the crowd like she’d choreographed the entire spectacle, then reached over and shoved the circlet more firmly onto Naomi’s head. The gesture was outrageous, brazen — and the crowd adored it. Cheers doubled. Icicle-chimes in the trees shivered in harmony.

Naomi muttered something sharp under her breath, but her lips betrayed her — twitching upward, betraying the faintest hint of a smile.

“Look at them,” Cassie murmured beside me. Her voice was half amusement, half… wistfulness.

I couldn’t stop watching. Naomi stiff as steel, Kess practically dancing on the ice, their hands linked despite the mismatch. And the Court applauded. Approved. Celebrated.

A strange ache knotted in my chest. I hated how much I loved it for them. How easy they made it look — chaos and discipline, fire and frost, fitting together like it had always been inevitable.

And the thought gutted me: if that was how the Court adored a Frostpair, what would they do when they realized what Cassie and I had just become?

The applause thundered again, veilribbons spiraling down in celebratory showers. For one heartbeat, I let myself imagine it was for us. That impossible. Dangerous. Stupid. Us.

Then the herald’s voice rang out again, sharper, carrying over the frozen lake…

“An unexpected guest graces the Revel tonight… Princess Mira Firebrand, of the Land of Eternal Summer.”

The clearing hushed. Heads turned. Whispers rippled like cracks through ice.

And then someone gasped.

Loud enough to draw every eye to me.

“The diadem—”

“Gods above, look at her head—”

“That’s no court bauble. That’s the Crown of the Small Folk.”

The words spread like fire catching dry brush. I froze, every nerve alight. My hands twitched against my skirts, nails scraping the embroidered hem, the itch to stim sharp and useless. The diadem’s weight pressed cool against my scalp, the faint thrum of its gems pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

The diadem—the wildflower-woven silver circlet the Small Folk had placed on me only minutes before, glittering with dew-like gems that shimmered faintly in the lanternlight. I’d thought it just a gift, their usual quiet comfort. But the Winter Fae recognized it for what it was.

A coronation.

“Then she isn’t only princess,” another voice hissed from the crowd. “She’s their sovereign. Queen of the Small Folk.”

My breath caught. Queen.

I hadn’t asked for it. I hadn’t even realized. But the word hung in the air now, undeniable, echoed in awe, envy, disbelief. Frost-scent and iron magic carried on the wind, blending with the faint warmth of my own summer-sweet smoke.

And that was the moment I saw them.

Backstage, cloaked in shadow but unmistakable:

Seara—still, regal, waiting.

Selene beside her, lips parted, a sharp breath slipping through before she mastered it.

Zyrella, mask still pristine for now, but eyes too sharp, watching.

And Daevan fucking Nightvine, staring at me like I was already his to claim.

Oh. This was a setup. Their grand reveal.

Announce me. Bind me to Autumn in front of Winter witnesses. Parade me like a prize.

But with the diadem crowning me, their neat little plan had just burned to ash.

Cassie’s fingers slid into mine, her thumb brushing steady over my knuckles. Her citrus-and-frost scent cut through the icy air, grounding me. “Breathe,” she whispered, so soft only I could hear.

My fire answered faintly, curling under my ribs, a stubborn ember refusing to be smothered.

And I smiled. A sly, reckless, court-trained smile.

If they wanted a stage, I’d take it from them.

The herald cleared his throat, voice faltering for the first time.

“And… who stands with you, Your Majesty?”

The word cracked like a whip across the clearing. Majesty. Not Highness. They knew. They had to.

I tilted my head, let the silence stretch just long enough, then spoke sweetly enough to cut.

“My consort,” I said, voice carrying like a blade across ice. “Miss Cassandra Fairborn of House Fairborn. Heiress of Fairborn Enterprises, mortal realm.”

The clearing erupted.

“She said consort—”

“With a mortal? Impossible—”

“But with that crown—”

“Then it’s binding—she’s Majesty now—”

Every whisper built the fire higher. The air smelled of ozone and panic, veilribbons shivering overhead. They couldn’t unsee it now: me, crowned by the Small Folk, hand in hand with a mortal consort. A sovereign in my own right, whether I wanted it or not.

And that was the moment their masks cracked.

Seara—serene as ever to everyone else, but I caught it. The faint tightening around her mouth, the flicker of fury in her eyes. To anyone else she looked untouchable. But I’d been her daughter too long not to see the tells.

Selene—her control faltered a breath. Eyes widened, a sharp inhale. And—gods—was that the barest twitch of a smile? Pride, disbelief, something else entirely? I couldn’t tell. But she hadn’t expected this.

Zyrella—her disdain was instant, venomous. Lips curling like she’d bitten into rot, gaze narrowing with pure loathing. She hated nothing more than being outshone, and I’d just stolen her stage.

Daevan fucking Nightvine—bafflement shattered into cold fury. His jaw tightened, shoulders rigid, the mask of the charming Autumn heir slipping enough to show the threat beneath. That was the look of someone who thought he owned my future—and had just realized he didn’t.

I catalogued every expression, tucked each one away like trophies. And gods, I savored it. The power. The victory. The reminder that sometimes even seventeen years under Seara Firebrand’s thumb meant I knew how to strike first.

The herald bowed, forced to follow. “Then let it be known… Princess Mira Firebrand of Eternal Summer, Queen and Sovereign of the Small Folk—accompanied by her consort, Cassandra Fairborn.”

The diadem pressed cool and heavy against my brow, its gems pulsing brighter, as if agreeing.

Cassie squeezed my hand, radiant, defiant. The scent of citrus and frost curled against my smoke and spice.

And for the first time in my life, I didn’t look to my mother for approval.

I raised our hands higher.

----------------------------------------