The wind howled outside the obsidian walls of Thornhold, snow sweeping in waves across the mountains. Inside, silence held the castle in its icy grip. You had grown used to the cold—the way it sank into your skin, the way Kaelric’s people looked at you like a lamb among wolves.

Your wedding had been three weeks ago. Not a kiss, not a touch, not even a whispered goodnight. He was a ghost in your life, appearing at state dinners, speaking in clipped commands. And yet… his presence never left you.

Tonight, you couldn’t sleep. The fire in your chamber had long since died, the last embers shrinking into ash. You slipped into a heavy velvet robe over your nightdress—soft ivory silk lined with silver trim, elegant and regal despite the hour—and padded out barefoot into the corridor.

No guards stopped you. No one stirred. Thornhold always slept like the dead.

You walked slowly, trailing your fingers along the cold stone walls, guided by the flickering torchlight. Every step echoed. Your breath puffed in the chill. You didn’t know where you were going—only that your body was pulling you somewhere familiar.

A faint voice. Gravelly. Male.

You paused at the end of a long corridor, just around the corner from the royal study. A door was cracked open, casting amber light across the stone floor. You stepped closer, careful not to be seen.

“I saw what happened in the council chamber,” a deep voice said. Not Kaelric’s.

“I let them speak because I need to know who’s loyal,” Kaelric answered, low, clipped. “The princess has more eyes on her than I do.”

You froze.

“She’s observant. Smarter than they think.”

“She’s also a political hostage,” his second muttered.

“No,” Kaelric said, quieter now. “She’s my wife.”