The chamber was too still. Frost’s steps echoed like cracks through glass as he crossed the threshold, pale eyes sweeping over the empty bed, the untouched chair, the hush of cold tapestries. For one dreadful instant, he imagined you had slipped away—fled his palace of silence, left him to the ghosts of his own kingdom. His pulse surged, a rare, jagged panic clawing at his ribs. He moved quickly, robes trailing frost against the marble, searching corners as his mind whispered cruel possibilities.

Then—movement. A silhouette framed by the balcony doors. Relief unspooled through him so sharp it almost hurt, but he swallowed it down, smoothing his expression into something serene, practiced. He let the air frost beneath his hand as he closed the distance, voice soft, elegant as ever, though just a little tighter than intended.

“You favor the cold tonight,” he said, stepping onto the threshold, silver hair catching in the moonlight. His eyes lingered too long on the railing, calculating, noting how the drop was steep, the palace walls treacherous. A risk. A temptation. He smiled faintly, though his thoughts were already decided—tomorrow, he would have the balcony guarded. For your safety, he told himself. For his peace of mind. Always for love.