Chrystalyn stared at her wedding gown clad figure in the ornate mirror, choking back a sob. Crying had never helped before. It wasn’t the splendid white ball gown of her imaginings—but a hastily remade navy dress with a silver overlay adorned with seed-pearls and lace instead of the intricate embroidery of the fae’s normal bridal attire. It was beautiful, stunning even; but it wasn’t what she wanted. None of this was what she wanted. Not the dress or the flowers. And certainly not the groom.

A knock came, and she turned, the door opening before she responded. Her father entered, his snow-colored hair tied back in a severe tail and his fine clothing immaculate as always. He was out of place in the lovely sitting room, a raven in a dollhouse. The frills and silver filigree decorating every surface at odds with his coal-black coat and breeches. She schooled her features into a bland mask as she curtseyed, her posture just off enough to be mocking.

“Hello, father.”

Morson Olofiel looked her over, the same scrutinizing, gray-eyed gaze that had colored her childhood. She had to be the perfect winter fae; hiding her chaotic magic, skipping meals to keep her limbs long and lithe, her silver hair brushed until it shone like frozen dew, her pale skin shielded from the snow’s glare lest she tan and reveal their secret. She’d done as he wished, even once she realized his reasoning was more to protect his aspirations than her safety, not only because some small part of her still desired his approval, but because she saw the wisdom in it. Blending in with the other fae protected her. And when she did as her father bade, whether it be spying on his political enemy’s children or eavesdropping on her aunt’s conversations, it served two purposes. She proved her supposed loyalty, so he’d trust her enough to give her the information she wanted since she’d realized she differed from her fellow fae, and it gave her ammunition to use against him one day. 

But this… 

What he asked of her this time went too far.

He nodded, a curt jerk of his chin that was effusive praise coming from him. “Excellent. The dressmaker did well.”

Of course, it was the dress he approved of, not his daughter.

Anger at the injustice of it all seethed within her, burning like a star in her breast. How long had she’d chased after his approval, putting aside her own wants for just the chance of learning more about her mother? Carrying out his schemes while making plans of her own, hoping for him to slip up so she’d finally be free? And what had that gotten her? Now he wanted her to marry a beast. One of the hulking, fearsome wolf shifters that the ice fae had battled for centuries. That had murdered the previous queen and so many fae sons. The crown prince, Roric Olwyn, had killed the last Wolf King in battle, and now a new one ruled. Her soon-to-be-husband.

“I can’t do this.” The words slipped out before she could call them back, and everything else tumbled out of her mouth, her plans forgotten in her anger. “Father, he’s a wolf. Everyone knows how dangerous they are. What if he attacks me on the first full moon? He’ll kill me. There has to be a better way to secure the alliance.”

Morson’s lip curled, the only sign of his displeasure and disgust, but it was enough to make her step back. “You don’t have a choice. This was my idea, and I had to spend political capital to ensure support. The king only went along with it because I convinced the rest of the council it was necessary.” His ice-pale eyes, so similar to her own, hardened. “This is the culmination of my plans, everything I’ve worked for. You will not ruin it.”

She raised a brow, hoping he couldn’t sense her false bravado. “I won’t do it. I’ll tell Aunt Naida everything and she’ll stop it.”

“Oh, what will you say to her? Will you tell her about all the times you betrayed her confidence? Or about your mother? Your wicked heritage? Don’t think that because the wolf prince has brought home that disgusting swamp witch you’ll be accepted here. Remember what happened the last time the royal line married outside of our kind?”

She glared at him, willing her lips not to tremble. The Inkwater Witch was in the castle at this very moment. Some fae skittered out of her path when she approached, too fearful to be in the presence of a woman capable of remaking an entire valley. Twice. Chrystalyn had glimpsed her from afar, seeing her dark hair and bronzed skin only for a moment, before her father called her away.

“I don’t care. I’ll leave. Go to Adria and find answers.” That was what she’d always wanted. To go to her mother’s country and learn more about her heritage. And when she was alone in the dark in the moments before she fell asleep, she dreamt of finding her mother and asking why she’d abandoned her. Why she’d left her as a baby to her father’s icy embrace.

“And how will you do that? You have no money. I’ve already passed your dowry over to the wolves. You don’t even know her name.”

She clenched her fists, the futility of her dream hitting her. “It’s still better than marrying a beast.” She’d rather flee the comfortable life she had and work in Garnet Bay as a fishmonger than marry a wolf or live under her father’s thumb any longer. Not that she’d ever fished before. Or worked. Or learned anything else other than the fawning and flattering that he trained her in as a child.

Her father must have sensed her determination because he relented, turning to the smooth cajoling that he used to maneuver himself through the court. “It isn’t all what it seems, Chrystalyn.” He lowered his voice. “Your marriage will not be long. I only suggested it so you’d be in place in the wolf’s den. It’s just a piece in the larger plan.”

Her lips flattened as she stared at him, her gaze as frigid as his. “Explain it then. And no half-truths father, I’ve seen all your tricks and they won’t work on me.”

A flicker of surprise and pride passed through his eyes and her heart leapt before she forced the emotion away. She shouldn’t care what he thought anymore. He’d sold her out for his own gain.

“I see I taught you too well.” His lips curled in cruel glee as he continued. “The kingdom is unstable. Now that the war is over, the returning soldiers are having difficulty rejoining society and it’s causing friction. The king is vulnerable. Weak. The son of his most powerful ally died in a sortie with the princes and isn’t there to support him. He put us through the war for centuries, and for what? It’s time for me to move forward with my plan. And for that, I need you.”

She raised a pale brow, unmoved. “How?”

His eyes glowed with the fever of his ambition as he outlined his plan. She swallowed, shocked that he told her. His schemes were always shadowy things, only hinted at as she reported back to him or acknowledged with a sly smile when they came to fruition. She’d learned from him how to be secretive, telling no one her true feelings and hiding behind bland masks. He must be close to succeeding to share this with her. Or desperate.

“What about Aunt Naida and Ithric?” Her cousin was gentle, almost as sweet as her aunt. She wouldn’t be party to anything that harmed them.

“My sister and Ithric will be fine. She can remarry and he’ll stay a prince, first in the line of succession. You’ll be a princess. Then all of our plans will be worth it.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to be a princess. Or a queen of the wolves. I need information. Everything you know about my mother and the funds to go to Adria.” Chrystalyn had a moment of unease even as hope swelled in her breast. Agreeing to this was treason. Even though she didn’t have any love for their king, she didn’t wish him dead. Or to lose her head herself. King Aleric had no mercy and did little to inspire devotion; attending nothing at court, instead locking himself in the war room to study maps and supply lines with his firstborn son, the crown prince. The one the nobles called the ‘wolf prince’ in whispers. She remembered her cousin’s face as the king and Roric swept past him in the halls on their way to the council rooms. How Ithric worshiped his older brother, who barely glanced at him and chased after Aleric, as desperate for the king’s smiles as she’d been for her father’s. How Aunt Naida loved him so much while he pined for the wife he’d lost, killing so many fae in his quest for revenge. All the nights she heard her father trying to convince his sister to leave the cold king.

Sometimes Chrystalyn believed Aunt Naida was the only person Morson truly cared about. She’d raised him after their parents died at sea and he looked up to her as not only a sister, but a cherished mother. One too kind to speak up for herself. Her resolve hardened as she thought through it. Ithric would still be the heir, unless her father married and had more children. Aunt Naida would find someone who valued her. And she—she would make her dreams come true.

“Done.” Her father agreed with a sly grin that made her stomach drop. “And as a show of good faith, I will tell you that your mother’s name is Omylia.”

Omylia. She repeated, her heart thrumming as she made him spell it and tasted the truth of his words.

“What’s her surname?”

He shook his head. “No. You’ll learn everything once you complete your half of the deal.”

Of course, he wouldn’t tell her. But her first name… it was something to work with and more than she’d ever had.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Good. Once you’re there, I’ll—“ He stopped speaking as the door opened. The queen swept inside, dressed in a gorgeous plum gown that set off her pale coloring exquisitely. She halted with a cry, bringing both her hands to her mouth.

“Chrys. Sweetheart, you look stunning.”

Chrystalyn smiled, her first genuine one of the day. “Thank you, Aunt Naida.”

“Isn’t she beautiful, Morson? She looks just like mom in her wedding portrait.”

Her father agreed, his smile for his sister affectionate in a way that had never been directed at her. Chrystalyn often wondered how the siblings were so different. And how Naida never saw Morson for who he truly was. Maybe it was because she only looked for the best in people. It was the reason she didn’t ask her aunt and uncle for help. She wasn’t sure they’d believe her and her father would make her life exponentially worse.

Naida chatted with her father before shooing him out the exit, declaring she needed to speak to Chrystalyn in private. Morson gave her a significant glance, announcing he’d be back in an hour to walk her down the aisle before pulling the door closed behind him.

“There. Now that we’re alone, we can talk.”

Naida sank onto the velvet-covered chair, arranging her skirts just so, and Chrystalyn mimicked her movements, her training perfect.

“About what?”

Naida searched her face. “How about why you’re doing this?”

Had Aunt Naida overheard their conversation? Chrystalyn’s heart thundered, but she kept her polite mask in place and her expression serene. “What do you mean?”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to marry if you don’t want to. I know you think no one will court you since you have little magic, and that there aren’t any other options. But that’s not true.”

Is that what she thought? Chrystalyn almost laughed as the queen continued. “I’ll put out invitations for a ball—“ She interrupted her well-meaning aunt.

“Aunt Naida, it’s fine. Really. This is my choice.” And it was… now. Ten minutes ago her aunt would’ve tasted a lie, but after that conversation Chrystalyn was invested.

Naida stopped, her mouth pursing, before she continued. “But why?”

She shrugged her slim shoulders, searching for a reason that would ring true. “I want to learn more about myself. I can’t do that here.”

The queen stared at her for a long moment. “What do you know of the wolves’ culture?”

“Not much. I know they’re fearsome warriors that turn into massive beasts with huge teeth that can tear a fae apart.”

Her aunt winced. “That’s true. But they aren’t just the boogeymen from the war. They’re people like us, though they have a few key differences.”

“Like what?” Any information would help her in her endeavor.

“For starters, it’s unusual for shifters to get married. They have ‘mating ceremonies’ instead.”

Chrystalyn’s jaw dropped. “They have sex in public?” She was far from a virgin, but that would push it, even for her.

Naida laughed. “Sweet Cascades, no. At least I don’t think so.” Chrystalyn’s brows winged up as the queen continued. “They’re able to sense their soul mate. I’m not sure how, but they call them ‘true mates.’ Not all of them find their ‘true mate,’ and some shifters take ‘pleasure mates,’ so your relationship with the Wolf King won’t be abnormal. It’s just…”

“He might meet his ‘true mate’ and cast me aside?” Chrystalyn asked, her voice soft. Of course, her sweet aunt would worry about this. King Aleric had been the previous Queen’s mate, and he’d never gotten over her. Her aunt wanted to spare her the life she led.

“Oh, Auntie,” Chrystalyn leaned forward and held both of her hands. Naida was short for a fae, her hands delicate as a doll in Chrystalyn’s long-fingered embrace. “I’ll be alright, I promise.” She wouldn’t be staying long. “I’ll protect my heart. I always have.”

Her aunt frowned. “You’re so self-contained, even as a little girl. It would do you good to find someone to let go with. To free fall into love and let it twist you up and crack that frozen exterior.” She chuckled at Chrystalyn’s sour expression. “Yes. Ithric told me about your nickname and also told me not to address it. That you can handle yourself. I just don’t want your heart to freeze in truth if this doesn’t work out.”

Her voice was so earnest that Chrystalyn wanted to confess everything and lay out the entire plan right there. But she couldn’t. For all of her aunt’s kindness, they’d never been close. When she was young, she used to pretend Naida was her mother and would follow her throughout the castle on the long days her father was in council meetings. But Naida only had eyes for King Aleric, all her attention and tenderness devoted to the man she’d loved for centuries, with only scraps left over for the little girl who’d worshiped her. Loneliness and fear of discovery had been Chrystalyn’s only companions as a child. Nevertheless, she couldn’t hold it against her aunt. Naida was as much of a prisoner of disinterested loved ones as she was.

Her secret made it difficult for her to be friendly with anyone. Not only that, but the queen needed protecting, as did her cousin, from King Aleric’s indifference. Chrystalyn knew what it was like to chase after affection that would never come. She could handle this. She could handle anything.

“Doing this will give me everything I ever wanted,” she said. Only a few short weeks until she got the answers she’d searched for since she was a child.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am.”

“Alright. Then I’ll talk to Aleric. He plans on speaking to Lowan before the ceremony, too.”

“Lowan?”

“Your fiance?” Naida let out an exasperated sigh, muttering about headstrong children under her breath as she stood and walked to the exit. “One more thing, Chrys.”

“Yes?”

“Wolves can’t detect the truth like we can, but they can scent emotions, amongst other things. Like familial connections. Pack plenty of perfume if you plan on protecting your heart. And your secrets.” She left, closing the door behind her.

Chrystalyn’s eyes widened. Did her aunt know?

She’d never thought so before and her mention of lacking power made her doubt it, but it played on her already fraught nerves. What if the wolf could scent the magic on her? What if he said something in front of everyone? She’d kept it secret for so long, the idea of the court knowing the truth scraped her insides raw. Her power swirled within her, floating crystalline structures surrounding her head like a crown as she realized just how monumental her task would be. Clever wordplay wouldn’t save her when he could smell her deception. She practiced her breathing, inhaling through her nose and exhaling for twice as long, but it wasn’t working. Thoughts and worries continued racing, all the ways everything could go wrong parading through her mind. Her power gathered, frost coating her hands as she threw open the set of doors leading into the outdoor garden. She had to get rid of her magic, and freezing the keep’s guest rooms was out of the question.

She rushed into the snowy garden, unable to hold her dress out of the snow for fear of ruining the fabric. For the first time, she ignored the beauty of the gardens; the intricate ice sculptures and the frost dusted winter roses lining clever walkways filled with winterberries and hedges adorned with icicles. Hurrying behind a large bush, she dropped to the ground, burying her hands in the snowbank, and released her power. She groaned as ice flooded from her, bright blue light spilling from her palms as blue fire and ice spread under the crunching snow into the hedges. Letting go helped lessen her anxiety until she could think once more. Her power ebbed, the crystal structures fading away into nothing as she pushed the last bit out of her before locking up that secret place in her heart once more. She stood, shaking the snowflakes from her gown, turning to return inside when voices caught her attention.

Their tones were rougher than most fae, their accents off. Creeping to the hedge, she parted it, swallowing her gasp of shock.

The wolves were in the garden.