Chapter Three

My dad’s words send me buckling back a step like he hit me.

I’m stopped from moving at all by his hand, and I reel more, because he’s gripping down, hard enough his knuckles grind against my bones. Again, he knows how messed up this is, but he’s not doing a single thing to not do it, and so I stand there, stricken, as journalists call out questions and cameras flash and our court gasps and murmurs and then applauds, and I can feel every ounce of blood in my body drain away.

Iris is just as horrified, eyes wide and lips in a thin line, and her dad has a hand on her back, holding her up the same way.

“The union between Christmas and Easter will strengthen what has long been at the crux of both our enterprises: joy,” my father says to the reporters. “Christmas in particular will continue our goals of not only bringing toys to the world’s children”—he pauses with a glint of a smile as the crowd expectedly coos and awws—“but ensuring that the cheer we spread is capable of reaching every corner of the world. Our outreach will only grow, thanks to the magic and resources that Easter will now contribute. This union is a long time coming, and will be a boon to both our peoples, and to the world.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Iris start to shake. She clasps her arms around herself; her dad whispers to her, and she straightens, dragging on her perfect fa?ade, but it’s tissue thin.

I’ve known her all my life. But I didn’t really know her until her mom’s funeral when I was eleven and she was ten, when Kris, Dad, and I went to honor the passing of the Easter Queen. She hadn’t been the official queen, because Iris’s mom hadn’t been from any royal family, not a Holidayer at all—she’d been from France, and Iris’s dad had met her during his treks there during the Easter season. It’d been quite the scandal when they’d gotten together, enough that Dad had told us about it years after the fact, only to warn Kris and I off ever trying to bring a normal person home like that. I’d made a point to try to date as many normal people as possible afterwards. None stuck like Iris’s parents did, nothing like what made him, an Easter King, bring someone from the real world into our hidden universe.

Her funeral was horrific. Neo had sat next to her casket, stone-faced and bloodshot eyes and a slumped, grieving posture like he’d been crying but wasn’t done yet and was holding it all in because crowd and cameras and duty. I remembered thinking how it’d been three years since my own mom had left—not died, just left, willingly—and I knew what that restraint felt like, the not falling apart; but that was a lie, the falling apart happened internally, wreaking havoc on organs and muscles and sinew because it was more proper to choke down the nuke of grief than to hurt anyone else with your pain.

Then Iris had come up to her father. He’d taken her hand, taken Lily’s, and they’d walked to the casket.

Iris had peered in at her mom and screamed.

A member of their staff swooped in and ushered her away. Her dad didn’t stop it, just took Lily and sat down like he wasn’t aware Iris was gone or that she was feeling anything at all. The service continued, but I could hear Iris’s muffled sobbing from the hallway of the massive cathedral we were in, noise ricocheting off the soulless stone.

Then she went silent.

So I slipped out of the pew. Ducked down the hall. And saw her on a bench under a wide, bright window, sniffling quietly into her lap, that staff member on a phone a few paces away.

I’d held out my hand. “Come with me.”

Iris looked up at me.

“Come with me,” I’d whispered again.

She took my hand and I raced us out of the cathedral, to the graveyard out back. No one else was there yet except for the rounded stones of other people who’d been wept over, and there was the empty, waiting hole in the ground ready to consume Iris’s mother.

She fell to her knees next to it. But she didn’t cry.

So I did. I knelt next to her and dropped my head into my hands and let go of that tight decorum, because my mom had left me. She’d been gone for three years. We only heard from her a few weeks after she left, when she texted Dad to tell us we should come visit her on the beach, and I hadn’t cried and maybe if I did, it would stop hurting and I’d be able to, I don’t know, not move on, but stop thinking about it for one full hour.

I felt Iris watch me sob, and she told me later that she had no idea why I was so upset over the loss of her mother, but it was the permission she needed—she fell apart over the empty grave, and we sat there in the churned dirt, making noises we weren’t allowed to make in front of the cameras, feeling all the things that existed beyond the frames and the captions and the poses.

Now, as we stand in front of my court and my father manipulates our lives, I do what I did back then. She may have told me she doesn’t need to be rescued, but I’m not going to let them treat my friend this way.

I take Iris’s arm and thread it in mine. “Come with me.”

We get two steps to the side.

Dad doesn’t let go of my shoulder. “Nicholas,” he says through his teeth.

I whip a glare to him, my back to the room. I could so easily mess this up for him.

The headline: Christmas conniption: Prince Nicholas throws a fit during tree trimming.

That would do nothing for me, nothing for this situation, and Iris is shaking against me.

But I grimace at him, and I let every bit of my anger show. “Let. Me. Go.”

Dad hesitates. Disappointment flashes in him, but he relents and faces the crowd with a smile. “King Neo and I will answer any questions you may have,” he says, and I waste no time ushering Iris the hell out of there.

We pass by Kris, who steps in with us, and I can’t look at him—get out of this room. That’s all I can do. Just get out of here.

Our court parts for us, and I wonder if I look panicked, I wonder if they can tell Iris is shaking, I wonder if Kris is fuming. The three of us bolt out, down the hallway, and I yank us into a sitting room, overstuffed armchairs bathed in soft orange light from a crackling fire.

I kick the door shut and twist to Iris. Who has gone gray. “Sit down. Here—sit.”

I guide her to one of the chairs and she sinks into it. I won’t make it to one myself—I drop to the floor, on my knees before her, propping my palms on my thighs and rocking in place.

Kris takes a step in front of us. Keeping distance. I can feel the wash of emotions palpitating off him—dread, shock—and god my heart aches more.

“Why would they do that?” Iris breathes, half a question, half a gust of air.

“So we couldn’t make a scene,” I say.

“I wouldn’t have—”

“So I couldn’t make a scene,” I amend.

Iris’s dark eyes brim with tears but she fights for a soft, forced smile. “Is it such a terrible fate to be engaged to me?”

I echo her grin. It hurts. “Do you want to be engaged to me ?”

Another thing that bonded us over the years: the absolute bi confusion induced by movies like Pirates of the Caribbean or The Mummy. Kris got in on that confusion too, but the only thing stopping me from calling us NSYNC (ya know, Bi Bi Bi) was him cringing at any kind of label, and when I told Iris, “ I guess that forces you and me to be Bi Bi Buddies, but the first Bi is for two, ” she’d smacked the back of my head. Which was just proof that I am way too much of a loud-mouthed asshole to be her type, and she has her shit together too much to be mine. What can I say, I get off on a mess. Like calls to like.

She falls back against the chair with an involuntary nose-curl.

“Then yeah,” I say to her silence. “It is terrible. Because this isn’t the goddamn Middle Ages.”

“But it’s still happening.”

“Like hell it will.”

She drops forward, head in her hands. “What do you propose we do?”

“Ugh, don’t use the word propose .”

“Stop it, Coal. What are our options, really? We fight this and refuse—and our fathers retract the joint announcement they’re making? You may be okay being labeled unreliable, but I work hard to be trustworthy.”

She throws that out so quickly, I have to stop myself from asking if she thinks I’m unreliable.

So it makes me feel abnormally sleazy when I offer, “I could lean into my reputation, then. Refuse this engagement scheme. That way you don’t get blamed at all.”

She pulls back to look at me. “But what would that do to whatever alliance exists between Christmas and Easter?”

“You think we’d stop being friends if we can’t get married?”

“I’m not talking about us. I think our Holidays would struggle.”

“Well, I’m talking about us. Because that’s what matters here. Us. Lily and I broke up, and it didn’t shatter any political alliances or whatever you’re worried about. So we’ll refuse this, and it’ll be fine too.”

Her face looks suddenly pitying. “You have no idea what your breakup with Lily did or didn’t shatter.”

My mind reels and I know it shows in the way I gape at her. I glance at Kris, but he shrugs.

“What are you—”

Iris cuts me off with a flick of her wrist and sinks into the chair, her head lolling on the back so she stares up at the ceiling. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just—” She sighs, muscles going slack. “Nothing happened. Not really. It made some people in our court start up that conversation again about my family’s ability to lead Easter forward, that’s all.”

Her mom’s been dead for more than ten years, and there are still people in Easter who like to poke at the fact that Neo destabilized our whole Holiday world by marrying a normal person. Which is bullshit and just an excuse for assholes to wrestle power away from Iris’s dad. I know other factions within Easter have been circling her family her whole life, but I had no idea they’d used my rather short relationship with Lily to feed into that.

Violation churns in my stomach. “You never told me that. Iris—”

She shrugs. “Nothing actually happened, like I said. It started a few arguments in some meetings. I would’ve told you if it caused any real problems.”

Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate to believe her. But I frown.

What else is she not telling me?

She’s still looking up at the ceiling, and the emotions I catch flashing over her face are all so saturated in exhaustion that my heart breaks even more. “Your relationship with Lily was never announced like this. It was never presented as a clear sign of merging our two Holidays, but it was still interpreted that way. This is different. Our fathers put bigger things into play with this announcement, and if we walk back on it…”

Her voice fades and she shrugs again, a few tears gathering in little pools at the edges of her eyes.

First, my relationship with Lily fell apart. Now, Iris and I immediately split up before we’ve even really been in a relationship.

The people within Easter set against Iris’s family would have a field day.

“Would they force your dad to abdicate?” I manage.

Iris finally looks at me, her brows popping in surprise. “No. Not over this. But they’d get responsibilities reassigned to other houses under the guise of him being clearly overworked. They’ve done shit like that before.”

I shove to my feet and drag my hand across my jaw. My eyes flash to Kris, silent and severe, backlit by the fire.

Why couldn’t it have been Kris with Iris? It would’ve been some romantic fairy tale if it’d been those two in an arranged marriage. Not that I want my brother being used as a pawn any more than I want Iris or me wrapped up in this.

But honestly, it isn’t hard to guess why Dad used me. Kris isn’t the one who needs to be tied down out of fear of public embarrass ment; he’s always been the mellow one. I’m still the risk, even after years of my best attempts at fixing my behavior. And half the time, I think Dad forgets Kris is an option. I’m pretty sure that’s part of why Kris is the way he is, steady and straitlaced and well-behaved—that’s his way of trying to get Dad’s attention. I’ve got manic acts of negligence covered.

And look how that’s turned out.

“So you’re okay with this?” My voice catches. I hate it.

Iris nods. Shrugs. “It could be worse.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Coal—”

“Fine.”

The skin between her eyebrows bends in a question.

“Fine,” I say again. “We’ll do it. But I don’t love you.”

Iris flinches. “I don’t love you either, asshole.”

“No. Not like that. I mean I’m not in love with—”

But she stands, smiling that small, brittle smile again. “I’m messing with you.”

“It’s hard to tell right now.”

“I know.”

“None of this is funny.”

“You must be in hell.”

God, she knows me.

She’s right—this could be worse. But it could be better. A lot better.

Kris turns away, hand on the back of his neck, but I have no idea what to say to him.

The door opens.

Dad walks in, trailed by Neo, and we all stand there for a second, making passive-aggressive eye contact.

I can’t handle talking to my dad yet, so I whirl on Neo. “You’re allowing your daughter to be sold off like some—some—goddamn it, I’m so worked up I can’t even think of something people sell. But how are you allowing this to happen?”

Neo doesn’t look at me as he scratches a hand through his short blond hair. “My feelings regarding you are of no consequence to this transaction,” he says like some goddamn automaton.

“That isn’t what I meant. I meant you’re okay with forcing your daughter into an arranged marriage—yeah, to a guy you hate—when your own marriage was for love? What hypocritical bull—”

Iris takes my hand. “Coal. Stop.”

Neo turns away, pale skin reddening, looking so eerily similar to the capped grief he’d held at his wife’s funeral that I draw back.

“This decision is for the betterment of Easter,” he says to the floor. “My wife would understand. Iris, too, understands. Don’t you?”

He looks at her, and he’s so damn… delicate.

And it’s worse because Iris does understand. She immediately understood the gravity of what they did, and even now, she’s standing here wilted under duty instead of being livid like I am.

“You know what you did was wrong,” I say to Neo when Iris is quiet. “We’re not pawns.”

“No, you aren’t,” Dad speaks up.

I finally look at him. I know him, I know what he prioritizes and how he operates now, but there’s still a small part of me that pulses with hope that maybe this time, he’ll go back to the guy I remember as a child. The one who showed me around the different departments himself rather than shunting off the task on others while journalists recorded it. Who stood in front of that globe with me and made me believe that bringing happiness to the world was our purpose.

I don’t know what it’ll take for this spark of hope to extinguish.

Sometimes I wonder if my mom realizes how extensively she fucked things up when she left. Because the Christmas King Dad is now? Not even recognizable as the same man.

“You are duty-bound servants of Easter and Christmas,” Dad continues, “and this is the way you can fulfill that. It is a business transaction. Nothing more. I did allow you space in the hope that your relationship with Lily would rekindle, but enough time has passed. We are moving forward through other means.”

I laugh so hard it’s a gag. “My relationship with Lily was a disas ter, and it wasn’t even staged like this—how on earth do you expect this to turn out better?”

“Hm. That is a fair point.” Dad looks at Neo, and I’m dumbstruck, thinking he might have heard me, when he goes, “We should consider the benefits against the ramifications of Lily’s presence at the wedding. She may stir up too many prior negative associations.”

I flinch. “The wedding?” I pause, gut seizing. “You already started planning it?”

Dad eyes me like I asked why doors have knobs. “Of course. You will court Iris throughout our Christmas activities these next weeks, then propose before the end of the month. You will be married at the Christmas Eve Ball.”

Holy fucking shit.

Married at the Christmas Eve Ball? Not just engaged by then, but fully married—

“You—” I can’t get a full sentence to settle. “I—”

Neo scratches his chin and continues, like I didn’t speak at all, “Lily is busy planning her own wedding. I am sure she would accept whatever we decide.”

“How about we ask Iris if she wants her sister at her wedding?” I cut in, then groan at myself. “Except there shouldn’t even be a wedding—in less than a month ? This is—”

“You do not understand the scope of what it means to bring a Holiday to an area where it was not previously”—Dad turns on me—“or to restrengthen places where it waned. There is a finite amount of joy in this world. Easter will be contributing a portion of their joy to Christmas’s efforts at extending our reach across the world—and, through that, Easter’s reach as well. It takes magic to deliver toys to children, and there are, as you well know, many, many children in need across the world.”

I wince. Dad lingers on that for a beat, and I half expect him to pull out a receipt of all the magic I wasted in New Koah, and all the magic it took to fix what I wasted.

“Do they get what they need, though?” I ask. “All this magic use—is it doing anything? Is it really helping anyone?”

“It is one of our greatest hopes that every child receives a piece of Christmas magic,” Dad continues.

“Cheap plastic trinkets, you mean.” My neck is hot. “Gotta make sure the world has full access to stuff, both for Christmas and Easter.” I look at Neo, Iris. “That’s what selling off your daughter has bought. That’s all we’re capable of putting into the world. Cheap plastic shit—”

Iris’s grip on my hand is viselike. “Please,” she whispers, and I hear the pinch in her throat, the way she’s barely holding herself together.

My mouth snaps shut. I’m making this worse.

I slide my arm around her waist and we start to leave again.

“Iris,” her father calls.

She stops. I stop with her.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

A beat. Then she nods. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

I land a kiss on her head. “You know where to find me.”

She walks away, arms going to her sides, shoulders leveling in that perfect posture, that learned bearing. It stokes my rage again, that she has to cap herself with him.

Dad shakes his head. “I must return to the tree trimming. I suggest you do as well—the evening is far from over.”

Before I can refuse, he leaves in a huff like he has any reason to be upset.

I stomp towards Kris. “My suite. Now.”

His jaw sets. But he nods and follows me out of the room.

Staff are rattling around the halls as I lead us up through the palace. Everywhere are people dedicated to making sure Christmas goes off without a hitch—toys being made, routes being organized, treats being prepped, lists being checked, decorations being hung. Meanwhile, Dad, Kris, and I lead the upper crust in events meant to celebrate our season, display its best qualities, put on the pageantry. And fake an engagement and wedding to my best friend, apparently.

It seemed so magical when I was younger. Before my grandfather died and Dad became Santa; before Mom decided she couldn’t handle being Mrs. Claus and bolted; before I woke up to the reality that this isn’t about making the world happy, it’s a job, a business. Joy is revenue, and revenue doesn’t do a damn thing to actually help anyone.

Toys left under trees or cocoa steaming in mugs or snowball fights or—or— any of it, it doesn’t matter how much joy is brought in the moment, every single thing that comes out of our Holiday is only important as long as it brings more joy back into our Holiday. It isn’t meant to last; it’s meant to turn a profit.

I shove into my room and Kris shuts the door behind him with a quiet click.

“Yell at me,” I tell him as I rip off my suit coat.

“What?”

“Yell at me.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“But you’re pissed at me.”

He considers. He looks exhausted. And he’s still got that candy cane in his hair.

“Why would I be pissed at you?” he asks.

“Because I’m now courting—fuck, I sound like I tumbled out of Bridgerton. I’m now forced to pretend to date the girl you’ve been in love with for more than half your life.”

He buckles against the door. “Honestly, I thought she was in love with you until about ten minutes ago.”

“I’m glad that at least got cleared up for you. Yell at me .”

“I’m not helping your weird flagellation tendencies. Yell at yourself.”

I drop to sit on my bed. “God, you and Iris know me too well. I need new friends.”

Kris laughs, but it’s empty. We go silent.

“I hate that he did this,” I whisper. “To Iris. To you.”

“Not to you ?”

“I expect him to manipulate my life. He doesn’t have any idea he hurt you.” And I can’t do a damn thing to help you.

With Dad. With Mom.

Kris straightens, a resolve similar to Iris’s settling over him. “Well, he did. And we have to live with it like everything else they fucking do.”

I stand. “Kris—”

“I’m going to bed.”

He leaves before I can find anything to say. There is nothing to say. As always. Just me and him and the broken pieces of this messed-up family-slash-duty we share.

I stay up for a while, door cracked, hoping Iris will come and talk. About what, I don’t know.

My phone’s white screen is the only source of light in my room as I pull up her text thread.

IRIS

you okay?

of course you’re not okay.

iris.

iris come talk to me.

IRIS

just got done talking with my dad.

i’m exhausted.

don’t want to talk more. get some sleep.

yeah sleep isn’t gonna happen tonight.

what’d your dad say? anything that even remotely made you feel better?

An ellipsis pops up in her text box, then vanishes. She doesn’t respond.

Fuck.

i’m sorry. sweet dreams peep

I haven’t called her that in years. Since she made the brilliant or maybe terrible decision to wear a flower crown set with faux Peeps and it was one of the best gifts my sense of humor has ever been given. I only bring it up now as a Hail Mary.

I watch the ellipsis pop up again. This time:

IRIS

go to bed, grinch.

and i’m sorry too.

The room goes dark when I click off my phone. It’s a small consolation that she at least responded with the stupid nickname she came up with for me. So there’s levity there.

It doesn’t feel like it’ll do anything to help. It never does.

I toss my phone onto the table and stare up at my ceiling in the dark and eventually I fall asleep in my dress shirt and pants, sinking into a dreamless void that doesn’t give me any answers or even restfulness.

“Coal! Coal ! Wake the hell up!”

I bolt upright and narrowly avoid smashing my forehead into my brother’s nose.

A tension headache careens over me and I double forward, fingers digging into my temples. “What time is it?”

“Nearly eight. Get up. Now.”

Kris is halfway to the door. He’s still in his clothes from last night too, and good lord, the sight the two of us make, like we crashed a wedding and passed out in our groomsmen outfits.

Wedding.

Marriage.

Oh, god.

“ What ?” I groan, head thundering.

Kris doubles back and grabs my arm and rips me out of bed. He throws my shoes at me. “Get. Up.”

I finally catch the severity in his voice.

“What’s wrong?” I tug into my shoes. “What happened?”

“Halloween is here.”

I go rigid, one leg up, one shoe on.

“Say that again?”

“An envoy from Halloween is here. They heard about you and Iris. And they’re furious .”

We stumble out of my room, me leaning on Kris, or him leaning on me; together, we make about one functional person, what with how much sleep I think the two of us got.

“How— what ? They sent someone here? Holy shit.”

“Exactly.”

“Holy shit. When was the last time Halloween was in the North Pole?”

Kris’s look says, Never, duh.

There are certain Holidays that Christmas is known for interacting with. The cheerier, brighter Holidays. Everything for reputation.

Halloween is, shockingly, neither cheery nor bright.

They’re a major player in our world in their own right, but they keep to themselves, we stick with Easter and Valentine’s Day and a few others, and everything’s good, and no one encroaches on each other’s seasons or shit. Everyone wins.

As far as I know, Halloween is based out of—New England, I think? Hell, that might be wrong. I know next to nothing about them. Never particularly had to.

Kris and I come to the landing at the top of the foyer, and there, down in the middle of a room flooded with Christmas decorations, stand two people who clearly do not belong here.

They’re dressed all in black, sleek suits with a pop of orange in their pocket squares. In spite of the reason for their presence, they’re oddly calm, expressions cool as they face off with Wren.

“Where’s Dad?” I whisper to Kris.

He shrugs.

We stay at the top of the staircase. No one’s noticed us yet.

“—alliance goes through,” one of the Halloween delegates is saying. “The reigning Santa must understand how this comes across.”

“We assure you,” Wren says, “this is not meant to be perceived as a threat. We hardly see how this matter involves you at all.”

“We disagree,” the man says. All this royal we speak and forced civility tinges the air with electric strain. “The unionization of two of the most powerful Holidays very much involves us. Christmas has toyed with such unions for far too long—to act on what has previously only been threats has taken your ploy for control too far.”

“There is no ploy at work.”

The voice booms through the foyer. The candles surge brighter, the scent on the air deepens in sugary richness, and snowflakes fall, indoors, drifting down from unseen clouds in a gentle peppering of white.

Below us, Dad saunters into the foyer.

He, at least, has changed from last night, wearing a bright red sweater, a reminiscent nod to his famous uniform. It gives him an immediate presence and I can’t help but wonder if he took the time to change into that once he heard Halloween had sent people. He’s certainly using enough magic to give himself clout.

The Halloween delegate bats a snowflake from the air. “Ah, King Claus. A pleasure for you to join us.”

“A pity Halloween could not coordinate a more official meeting,” my dad cuts back. “But since you are here, I would like to personally assure you that the arrangement between my son and Princess Iris is not as severe as you claim. Nothing has been finalized.”

Oh, that’s a bold-faced lie. They’re planning our wedding already, for fuck’s sake.

The delegate huffs. “Is that so? We interpreted your announcement to be quite resolute.”

“If anything, I am glad it brought you to my doorstep.”

Dad pauses, and I note the reporters clustering at the edges of the foyer. Not just our Christmas ones; some of the broader Holiday publications too, and I’m shocked Dad let them follow him in here—

Disquiet eats at me.

He wants them in here.

The delegate clocks the reporters too, or maybe he did already; now, he openly looks at them, and eyes my father. “Are you?”

“Yes.” Dad steps forward. “I am the first to admit that Christmas has for too long been a source of contention for Halloween.”

We have? When have we ever interacted with Halloween? But the envoys share a look that confirms whatever Dad implied, and my confusion manifests in a scowl.

“We have more in common than we have differences that divide us,” Dad continues. “But I know well how distrusting Halloween is of us, and I do not expect such distrust to be easily bridged. We all have the same goal: to be the mightiest sources of joy possible. I am not wrong in assuming that both Easter and Halloween, two equally substantial Holidays, would benefit from a union.”

Both of the delegates seem at a loss. “What are you suggesting?” one asks.

“Return to Halloween with this message from Christmas: that we are apologetic for the perceived threats and do not wish to incite further discord among autumn Holidays.” He pauses to smile. “My offer is that I would serve as an intermediary, if your superiors agree, to oversee a union—between Easter and Halloween.”

“ What is he doing ?” I hiss at Kris, but my brother is stuck in shocked silence.

The delegate’s eyes widen, the first sign of true surprise, and he cocks his head. “You are honestly proposing a marriage between the Easter Princess, your son’s betrothed, and—”

“The betrothal is not finalized, I told you. My announcement was that Easter had begun searching for a partner for Princess Iris, and Prince Nicholas has long been one of her close friends. But I have spoken with King Neo at length, and his goal for Easter is whatever will be best all around, which could, if you choose, be Halloween. Your objection to the arrangement between Christmas and Easter is being taken quite seriously.” Another pause. There’s something he’s communicating in those pauses, because the envoys share another look.

I also note that Dad still isn’t putting Kris up for sale in this fucked-up arrangement rather than dissolving the Easter engagement—why isn’t he? He’d get everything then, tie everyone up together. Why is he sacrificing Iris?

“If Halloween is so concerned about the power Christmas would amass in joining with Easter,” Dad says, “then you are welcome to come and vie for Princess Iris’s hand. My palace is open to Halloween.”

One delegate twists to whisper to his companion. With a tight smile, he faces my Dad again. “We will take this offer to our monarchs.” He bows, but it feels like a mockery. “Santa.”

My dad doesn’t react. Not as the delegates turn, facing the door they came through—still open, rimmed in palpitating shadows, a dark-cloaked hall beyond.

One of the Halloween delegate’s eyes snaps to the top of the staircase. “Princes,” he calls with a smaller bow.

They leave, the door shuts, and I bolt down the stairs.

“Nicholas—” My dad tries to intercept my outburst, but I’m done.

“Now you’re giving Iris to Halloween?” I demand. “She isn’t even yours —”

He clamps his hand on my arm bruisingly tight. “Contain yourself. Come.”

The reporters are still there. Watching. Recording devices at the ready.

Dad drags me out of the foyer, ducking into a side sitting room. The curtains are pulled wide, showing the front of the palace, snow-coated landscape stretching out in rippling hills that settle around the bulk of North Pole City in the distance.

As he turns to shut the door, Kris slips in. Usually, my brother concedes to me as the one who yells at our father—but his whole face is red, his fists clenched.

“You can’t do this,” Kris says. “You can’t treat her like this!”

Dad seems momentarily stunned that Kris is the one talking back to him. His eyes dart between the two of us, noting our rumpled outfits from last night, and he sighs heavily.

“It’s business, boys,” he tells us. “It’s a ploy to appease them until we can finalize the marriage between Nicholas and Iris.”

I jerk back. “Wait—what?”

“Why do you think we are pressing so quickly for your marriage and kept our plans silent until last night? Because we suspected it would be met with this reaction. Halloween was merely the first to come forward with objections. This is to mollify them until we can proceed. Nothing they do would actually stop us, but the hassle of being delayed by any acts of drama from them is easily sidestepped by a few weeks of half-truths. We allow them to feel as though they are making their own play; meanwhile, our plans carry on, unmolested.”

Kris shakes his head, and I watch his brief spurt of fight ebb away.

My turn.

“This is wrong,” I say. “All this manipulation—it’s wrong. And you know it.”

Dad’s face drops, showing a flicker of something like sorrow, but it’s gone in a flash. “What I know is that the type of joy that Christmas brings—tradition, camaraderie, and family—is capable of global transformation. The more we can strengthen our holdings, the more we will be able to bring that sort of joy to the world.”

“Do we?” I ask. “Bring that sort of joy now? Because from what I see, Christmas is—well, it’s what I was railing about before. Cheap plastic shit and gifts and nothing meaningful —”

“For now.” Dad’s lips are in a thin line. “We must make concessions for what can be easily reproduced with the least amount of magic in favor of extending Christmas’s reach.”

I shake my head. “So you are focusing on Christmas being cheap and commodified?”

“Temporarily. For this initial goal, to spread our influence beyond that of any other Holiday, we must make adjustments.”

I’d been half joking before when I’d snapped at Neo about trading Iris for cheap plastic trinkets. But—I wasn’t wrong. Dad is letting Christmas be known for stuff and ineffectual nonsense so he can stretch our control, sacrificing any true, lasting goodness we might create.

Has Christmas ever been capable of true, lasting goodness, though? If it was, wouldn’t things be… different ?

He believed we were capable of bringing happiness to the world. The look on his face when I was younger and he’d talked about our —his and mine—duties. He’d believed in Christmas, more than this.

Hadn’t he?

“So Iris and I get married after you lie to Halloween,” I say. “Which gives them double the incentive to carry through on any retaliation afterwards. They could turn opinion against us, at the very least. I know you hate that.”

“Christmas and Easter will be united. Halloween will realize they won’t win.”

I grab my head, my headache doubling, tripling, until streaks of light pulse across my eyelids.

“And what if I just don’t want to marry her?” I ask. Because it’s all I have left. “What if I just hate seeing you treat my best friend like this?”

I feel his presence move.

I feel him stand in front of me.

“You will trust, then, that the decisions I make are the best things for you and our Holiday,” he tells me.

No magic threat needed. His tone is enough. Confident, calm. He honestly believes this is right.

I want to scream at him that he’s wrong, but he wasn’t always wrong, and I don’t know how to get back to the way things used to be because I don’t really remember the way things used to be, I’m just holding on to this little ember of hope based around flashes of childhood memories.

Maybe this is who Dad has always really been. I was just too young and idealistic to realize it.

He turns away. “It goes without saying, but this discussion is not to leave this room. Now get dressed—I expect better from you both.”

He leaves.

Kris shakes his head in the proceeding silence. “We should, um—we should go see Iris.”

“Her father will probably tell her.”

“Maybe.” I hear the dip in Kris’s voice. Yeah, maybe. Or she’ll find out about it when Halloween comes back and agrees and all this shit hits the fan.

The worst part is watching my brother try to pull himself together. And imagining Iris’s face when she finds out she’s been used, again.

One of the first ways I tried to harness magic was to guarantee that my brother had a merry Christmas. But I’d created a self-fulfilling prophecy, because I made sure he had all his favorite foods—waffles and roast turkey and gingerbread cookies—and the best gifts—a bunch of video games and some really nice leather-bound notebooks because he’s always writing about something, even when we were kids—and we did all the activities he loved most—sleigh racing, snowball fights, ice skating. So he did have a merry Christmas, but it wasn’t made because of magic. It’s not that easy.

I almost do it now, reach down into the part of me that’s twelve and wants to make sure my brother is happy.

I hook my arm around Kris and steer him for the door. “The most wonderful time of the year, huh?”

Iris and the Claus Boys

IRIS

maybe we all get food poisoning to avoid this halloween welcome party. or what’s that thing about poinsettias being poisonous? they’re everywhere, so they infected us

KRIS

I think that’s only for cats who eat them.

but i like where your head’s at. i’ll boycott if you will

IRIS

ughhhhh. no. i’ll go. i just need to be dramatic about it first.

Coal named the conversation “Two Bros and a Ho Ho Ho”

IRIS

nicholas claus if you value our friendship you will delete that group name right now

Coal named the conversation “50 Shades of Sleighs”

IRIS

i’m having a full crisis over here and you’re googling christmas puns aren’t you

excuse you i have these locked and loaded at all times baby

but what do you want me to do

seriously, name it. because all i got is to try to make you laugh

hey watch this

theirs nothing wrong with trying to make someone laugh

KRIS

Coal, I hate you.

Fucking delete it.

My eyes are bleeding.

IRIS

what? is this another stupid inside joke i don’t get

KRIS

You really don’t see it? Why do I talk to either of you.

He used the wrong “there” to piss me off.

And it’s working.

i don’t know what your talking

about

your

your your your

KRIS

COAL. NOT FUNNY.

IRIS

a little funny

YOURRRRR

KRIS

Oh my god, I’m getting hives.

For each time you make a mockery of the English language, I’m going to hide one Elf on the Shelf somewhere in your room.

CROSSING THE LINE KRIS

KRIS

You’re up to two. Two elves. With those beady soulless eyes. Just watching you from the shadows. You won’t know where. But you’ll feel them.

Studying.

Learning.

Waiting.

your not funny

your a dick

i can do this all day

KRIS

Four.

Are you really going to keep testing me, Nicholas?

I don’t fuck around with grammar.

iris are you laughing

i’m doing this for you

you’d better be laughing because i’m now risking my very life for a bit

you know those elves have killed before and they’ll kill again

IRIS

yeah i’m laughing

against my will you punk ass nerd.

nerds.

both of you. huge punk ass nerds.

but you love us

IRIS

also against my will.

Iris named the conversation “Iris and the Punk-Ass Claus Boys”