Chapter Six

THADRON

“ T here you go, Enrinu. A well-deserved tub of food.”

I watched my favorite frostgrazer eat his dinner in the stable. My hand skimmed over its freshly-brushed fur, enjoying the simplicity of caring for these animals. Usually, it was enough to ground me. But after seeing Isa tonight in her dress my attention went beyond the stable.

I closed the stable door behind me and leaned against the frame. My thermasense nodes registered the subzero temperature this evening. It was good that Isa’s dress was crafted with a heat regulating layer to keep her warm.

The memory of her face lingered, her eyes lit with gratitude, her smile soft and genuine. And that dress. When Isa thanked me for it, my eyes caught on the way the fabric hugged her curves. The deep red flowed over her like molten warmth, the color rich against her brown skin. For a moment, I forgot myself. All I saw was how she stood on the walkway like a flame refusing to be extinguished.

Strange heat curled in my chest. She was different — a diplomat from another world. I could now see why Rone and Camille selected her to represent them here. She thrived around conversation and connection. My life was meant for solitude.

She belonged to laughter, to hope. I belonged to the past, to shadows too deep and memories too sharp.

So this reaction had to be nothing more than me being curious. After all, I had seen beauty from other worlds before.

But when Isa smiled, thoughts of other world vanished.

I let out a breath, watching it curl away My role at these holiday functions ended the winter I lost my soldiers on the ice fields. Their names etched into my mind. Celebrating anything felt like a betrayal to their memory.

But Isa would be in these festivities.

I rubbed my hand over my face, the leather of my glove creaking. I shouldn’t want to go. I shouldn’t be tempted by her bright smile or her cheery voice as she marveled at my world.

Her world now, if only for a little while. And yet, the thought of her standing among the festivities, her eyes searching the crowd and not finding me, gnawed at something deep inside me.

I clenched my jaw. My duty was to be a diplomat, a prince. To uphold appearances, no matter how hollow they felt. But was that all it was? The way my chest tightened when I remembered the way she looked at me—that wasn’t just obligation.

I thought of the song she’d caught me singing. Had she sensed the memories I tried to keep buried?

I pushed away from the stable door. I could retreat to an isolated part of the keep. It was easier that way.

I exhaled sharply. Maybe just for tonight, I could step out of my own shadows and be drawn into her light.

The stable area felt too cramped for the weight of my thoughts. I turned toward the keep, the distant sounds of the festival already ringing through the night air.

Just for tonight, I told myself.

ISA

THE BALLROOM SHIMMERED like a prism dream. I stood at the entrance and took in the breathtaking blend of futuristic engineering and Glaciarian tradition. Holographic snowflakes drifted from the vaulted ceiling. Luminescent garlands were woven with threads of silver and gold. The air buzzed with lively conversation, laughter mingling with the delicate trill of a flute-like instrument and winter chimes.

I looked to the center of the ballroom. Prince Lucian stood at ease, holding court among a group of elegant Glaciarian women. His face was filled with mischief as he whispered something to make them giggle. I smiled at the scene. Typical prince.

I moved toward Queen Akora, who greeted me with a warm smile and a light embrace.

“You look radiant, my dear,” she said, her eyes crinkling softly at the edges. “The dress suits you perfectly.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. And thank you for helping Thadron with the fit.” I smiled, though a twinge of disappointment curled beneath it.

Queen Akora’s gaze drifted around the room, and her lips tightened with a faint trace of frustration. “I hoped Thadron would join us by now,” she murmured.

I swallowed the pang of my own disappointment. “I’m sure he has more important things to attend to.”

A soft bell chimed, delicate yet commanding, drawing the attention of the room. All around me, couples and families began to pair off for the Aurora Walk, their faces alight with excitement.

I turned to the queen. “Your Majesty, I know this is a special tradition for loved ones. I can wait here.”

“Nonsense.” Her eyes sparkled with resolve. “We would be delighted if you took part. I’m sure someone will be honored to accompany you.”

Before I could respond, the room hushed, a ripple of surprise sweeping through the crowd. Heads turned, eyes widened, and I heard the collective intake of breath as a lone figure strode through the doorway.

Thadron’s long frame was clad in deep green attire that accented his strong shoulders and proud stance, the rich fabric laced with intricate embroidery. His usual stoic expression softened just enough to seem approachable, but his glacial blue eyes still held their intensity.

He stopped in front of me, his gaze locking onto mine. “I’ll escort the ambassador on her first walk to see the lights.”

My heart thudded in my chest. His voice was steady, yet there was something deeper in his tone. Without hesitation, he extended his hand toward me.

I placed my hand in his, warmth spreading from his touch, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just us.

As I slipped my hand into his, the warmth of his palm surprised me, even through his gloves. We turned together, stepping away from the glowing ballroom. Lucian and the queen led the way. Lucian's attention was firmly fixed on the tall Glaciarian woman by his side, her silvery hair sculpted into a sleek pixie cut. Their laughter floated back to us, carefree and bright.

But the eyes of the crowd were glued to me and Thadron. Their curiosity and whispers trailed behind like an invisible thread.

I felt the heat of Thadron’s breath as he leaned in, his voice a low murmur. “I haven’t done this in a while.” A hint of amusement threaded through his tone. “Everyone’s just impressed I can still put one foot in front of the other.”

A chuckle escaped me, and I shook my head. “They’re happy to see you on the walk.”

His lips quirked into a smile, slow and genuine. “You really do look lovely tonight, Isa.”

Butterflies fluttered wildly in my stomach. For a moment, it felt like we were the only two people here, despite the eyes following our every step.

Ahead, Lucian glanced over his shoulder, his gaze flicking between us. A knowing smile tugged at his lips before he turned back to his partner, whispering something that made her laugh.

The cold air embraced us as we stepped outside. The night was a canvas of deep blues and blacks, lit by the ethereal dance of the northern lights. Ribbons of green, violet, and silver unfurled across the sky, like delicate silks shifting in a breeze. The colors reflected off the frost-covered sculptures in the keep’s garden, each piece glistening as though dusted with crushed diamonds.

I exhaled slowly. The sheer beauty of it all made my chest ache. Being here, being included in something so meaningful, filled me with a quiet joy I hadn’t expected.

Thadron's grip on my hand remained steady. I was hyper-aware of the way his fingers fit around mine, protective yet gentle, like a tether keeping me from drifting away in the wonder of it all. We moved in unison, our steps echoing softly along the stone walkway.

“This is beautiful,” I whispered, my voice barely rising above the hushed murmurs of the other walkers.

He glanced down at me, his expression softer than I’d ever seen. “Some traditions have a way of reminding us of what matters.”

“This is beautiful,” I whispered, my voice barely rising above the hushed murmurs of the other walkers.

Thadron glanced down at me, his expression softer than I’d ever seen. “Some traditions have a way of reminding us of what matters.”

My curiosity sparked, and a topic I’d been wanting to bring up presented itself. “You keep mentioning traditions, but it feels like there’s more to it than that.” I gathered my thoughts, hesitating briefly. “And earlier tonight, when you were singing under the walkway, I felt like I was taken somewhere else.”

He looked at me, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

I swallowed, unsure how to explain it without sounding silly. “I heard your voice at the ambassador dinner in Kajal too. I thought it was just my imagination, but tonight when you were singing, I saw visions. Flashes of a different place. It was like I was living the memory with you.” I bit my lip. “I didn’t want you to think I was eavesdropping.”

Thadron’s eyes narrowed as if weighing my words. He exhaled. “It’s not eavesdropping. It’s my ability. Some Glaciarians are born with a gift. We call it songweaving . Our voices can carry memories and emotions to others. It seems you’re more attuned to it than most.”

I blinked, his explanation settling over me. “So when you sing, you’re sharing your memories?”

“Not always, or intentionally, but many of the songs I sing are woven from my past experiences. The stronger the memory, the more vivid the vision.”

I took it all in, seeking to understand. “Tonight, when you were singing, I saw a muddy field. There was fire and smoke on the horizon. It felt heavy like...loss.”

His jaw tightened, the softness in his eyes giving way to shadows. He turned his gaze to the shimmering lights above us, the colors reflected in his irises. “It was a battle. We were fighting against Quareks trying to breach Glaciara’s defenses.”

I listened quietly, the weight of his words pressing against my chest.

“As master-at-arms, I supplied the troops, trained them, and led them into that chaos.” His voice was low, tight with control. “We won, but too many lives were lost. Good soldiers trusted me.” He took a slow breath. “It happened several winters ago during this season, right when the celebrations were supposed to begin. I returned to people celebrating while I carried the burden of what we’d sacrificed.”

I looked up at him, seeing beyond his stoic demeanor to the person beneath — a person wrapped in guilt, regret, and duty. The festivities and traditions weren’t just reminders of joy. They were reminders of what he’d lost.

My heart ached for him. I reached out, my fingers brushing against the fabric of his sleeve. “I didn’t know,” I murmured. “I understand now why you keep your distance from all this.”

He didn’t pull away, but his eyes remained fixed on the lights above. “It’s easier to let people believe I’m cold or disinterested than to explain the truth.”

“You’re not cold, Thadron. You carry more warmth than you let yourself believe. More than you let others see.”

His gaze finally met mine, the lights reflected in his eyes. Something shifted in his expression, a crack in the armor he’d built around himself. I no longer saw a distant prince or a hardened warrior. I saw Thadron weighed down by memories, struggling to let go of a past that still haunted him.

“Your song has power. It’s a gift.”

“You flatter me.”

“I’m not playing diplomat. It’s the truth. Your song is a gift. Not just for you, but for anyone who hears it.” I felt a pull toward him, a desire to share that burden, even if only a little. To thaw the frozen corners of his heart with understanding. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

His eyes softened, and for a brief moment, the storm within them quieted. “Let’s keep walking.”

We continued through the sculpture garden, past figures carved from ice. The lights from the sky wove through the art, bringing the frozen forms to life. Although Thadron’s words were still in my mind, my heart swelled with a mix of awe and gratitude.

We came to a stop near a tall, slender tree decorated with crystal ornaments. People passed by until we stood alone. I got a closer look at the ornaments. Each one shimmered as though capturing the glow of the auroras themselves. My gaze lingered on a sprig of greenery hanging from one of the lower branches. I thought I recognized a cluster of small, pale berries tucked within frosted leaves.

I tilted my head. “Is that... mistletoe?”

“I don’t know what mistletoe is.” Thadron's eyes twinkled with a rare light, the corners of his mouth curling up ever so slightly. “It’s called skyberry vine here.”

I reached up, brushing my fingers lightly against the sprig, feeling a mischievous thrill tickle at the edges of my thoughts. “Seems familiar enough.”

Our eyes met. The cold air seemed warmer. The lights above blurred softly. Thadron's fingers grazed my wrist as his hand lifted, hesitant, almost reverent.

I let my fingers linger on the delicate leaves of the skyberry vine , the pale berries nestled within the frost-kissed greenery. “On Earth,” I began, “we have a tradition with mistletoe. If two people find themselves standing under it, they’re supposed to kiss.”

Thadron’s eyes met mine, that cool, glacial blue thawing just a fraction. The air between us felt fragile, as if any sudden movement might shatter it. We were alone in our own pocket of quiet, the rest of the world blurred by the shifting light.

His gaze flickered to the skyberry vine , then back to me. “A curious custom.” His voice was low, a thread of hesitation woven through it. But he didn’t move away.

I swallowed, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. “It’s just a tradition,” I whispered. My words hung there, an invitation I hadn’t intended, or maybe one I had.

His gloved hand traced a line from the vine back to me, his fingers barely brushing the curve of my cheek. The touch sent a jolt through me, unexpected and electric. His eyes searched mine, as if weighing a choice he couldn’t quite rationalize.

Then, slowly, he leaned in.

When his lips met mine, the world tilted.

The kiss was surprisingly soft, a gentle press that grew bolder by the second. A heat bloomed within me, spreading through my veins, tingling at the tips of my fingers. His scent—crisp like fresh snow and mint with a hint of something dark and smoky—wrapped around me, drawing me deeper into the moment.

I closed my eyes, letting the sensation of him overwhelm me. The chill of the night faded away, replaced by the warmth of his mouth, the steady strength of his hand still resting at my jaw. The fabric of my dress rustled softly, the only sound between the beating of my heart and the whisper of the wind.

I tasted his lips. A wave of emotion surged through me. I had a hunger for more, a longing for the walls between us to fall away completely.

But just as quickly as the kiss deepened, it ended.

Thadron pulled back, his breath a soft inhale. His gloved thumb brushed my cheek once more as if to erase the moment. His eyes were stormy and conflicted now.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice rough. The words were an apology, but they felt like a punishment. “It won’t happen again.”

I blinked, feeling the cold even though I was protected by my dress. My lips still tingled, the ghost of his kiss lingering.

He stepped away, the space between us suddenly large and looming.

I nodded, though a tight ache formed in my chest. “Right. Just a mistake.”

Thadron’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed somewhere past me, where the lights shimmered in the sky. “I have duties to uphold. Boundaries.”

His words were clipped, but his eyes betrayed him—holding onto something just as tightly as I was.

He escorted me back to the ballroom. Once there, he turned abruptly and walked out, leaving me standing alone among the guests, my heart bruised with a longing I hadn’t seen coming.

I cast a glance outside, where the northern lights continued their silent dance, indifferent to the storm I felt within Gelverin Keep.