The Winter Court had always been a place of ice and beauty. And yet, that day, you stood before the altar, feeling none of it. The ancient marble of the Winter temple sparkled around you, cold winds whispering through the open arches. Snowflakes danced through the air like blessings, but to you, they felt like daggers. Because today… you were to marry someone who wasn’t your mate.

You were Kallias’ daughter—Winter’s jewel, its quiet storm. And for the sake of the Court’s fragile alliance with Autumn, your father had arranged your hand to Eris Vanserra’s eldest son, Vaelen Vanserra.

You had agreed. Not out of love. Not out of duty. But out of fear.

Fear that if anyone knew the truth—that Nyx, the son of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, was your mate—everything would crumble. Your court couldn’t afford a war, and neither could the bond between the Night and Winter.

So you and Nyx had hidden it. Stolen moments in Velaris. Secret glances across court meetings. Whispers of “soon,” and “just a little longer.”

But now… it was too late.

You stood in front of your almost-husband, a male who barely looked at you, already eyeing the power your title would bring him. You didn’t flinch when Vaelen took your hand. You didn’t smile. You didn’t speak.

You just searched the crowd. And you found him.

Nyx. Standing with his mother and father. Wings tucked behind his back, jaw tight, violet eyes burning into your soul. He wore Illyrian leathers under a formal coat of starlight silver, but his shadows writhed in anguish around him, betraying the calm mask he tried to hold.

Your heart screamed.

The High Priestess began the rites, her voice echoing across the temple.

You felt your magic stirring, cracking beneath your skin like thin ice under weight. The cold bled into your bones, into your chest.

The moment came. “Does any being object to this union?”

Silence. Seconds dragged. No one moved.

Until— “I object.”

The voice cut through the stillness like a blade.

Gasps echoed.

You turned your head slowly. And there he was.

Nyx had stepped forward, shadows unfurling from his back like wings made of night. Power surged around him in pulsing waves, ancient and unrelenting, making the other High Lords still. Even Rhysand narrowed his eyes.

“Nyx,” Feyre murmured beside him in disbelief.

Your heart raced as he walked down the aisle, eyes locked on yours. “She is mine,” he said, voice low but echoing, like thunder on the horizon. “She has always been mine.”

Chaos erupted.

Your father stood from his place in fury, ice crackling around him. “Explain yourself.”

But Nyx didn’t look away from you. He reached out his hand. “Tell them. Please.”

Tears blurred your vision as your soul strained toward his.