Chapter 4

Chapter Four

ALVA

T he ballroom glistened like freshly fallen snow under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. Every surface was coated in wintry elegance—snowflake garlands draped across the vaulted ceilings, icy sculptures twinkled like starlight, and towering evergreen trees adorned with silver and gold ornaments shimmered like jewels.

I stepped back to inspect the scene, my clipboard clutched tightly in my hands. It was, without a doubt, one of my finest creations. The Crystal Snowball would be a spectacle to behold, though I’d sooner walk barefoot through a tundra than admit I was even remotely proud of it.

I adjusted a stray ribbon on one of the banquet tables, barking orders to a pair of elves scurrying past me with platters of glittering sugared confections. “Those go on the dessert station, not the appetizer table! And where are the mistletoe arrangements for the alcoves? ”

“On their way, Miss Brightwinter!” one of them called back, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. I didn’t have time for mistakes tonight. As much as I resented this task, I refused to let it be anything less than perfect. My reputation as the head elf was at stake, even if the event itself was frivolous and ridiculous.

The first of the guests began to arrive, their gowns sparkling like moonlight as they glided into the ballroom. Members of the noble houses from across the North Pole stepped forward one by one, their names announced with grandeur: House Frostpine, House Icevale, House Glimmerholt, and so on and so on…

And then, of course, the suitresses. Each female was more dazzling than the last, their beauty rivaling the icy splendor of the room itself. One wore a gown of ocean-blue silk that seemed to ripple like water. Another’s golden hair was crowned with a tiara of holly and berries. They curtsied and smiled sweetly, their eyes shining with excitement and ambition.

Oh, to be the next Mrs. Claus. It was an honor bestowed on a select few. And no one worked harder than the current Mrs. Claus to ensure Christmas was always perfect, to ensure her husband delivered every present on time, and that no child woke up feeling sad—even those on the naughty list. Sure, I ran the actual operation, but I did it under her supervision.

I admired her so much. I sighed, trying not to think about how utterly unworthy Nicholas was of any of the females who’d come here to compete for his heart and a chance of filling his mother’s shoes—though no one probably ever could.

The chime of a bell announced the arrival of Santa and Mrs. Claus. The room fell silent as they entered, the regal presence of the Clauses commanding every gaze. Santa’s scarlet robes trailed behind him, lined with fur as white as the first snow. Beside him, Mrs. Claus shone in a gown of ruby velvet, her serene smile the picture of holiday grace. Both wore crowns adorned with jewels of every color. “Everything looks lovely, Alva,” Mrs. Claus murmured as she passed me .

My blood raced with tingly bubbles as I nodded, managing a tight smile. Praise from her was rare, but it did little to ease the tension in my chest. Because moments later, Nicholas Claus Jr. made his entrance.

He strode into the room like he owned it, which I supposed he did in a way. His dark chestnut hair was artfully tousled, the embroidered collar of his crimson jacket just slightly undone in that rakish way of his. His golden-brown eyes scanned the room, alight with mischief, and when he smiled, it was like the air itself shifted. The suitresses practically swooned. I didn’t.

Not outwardly, anyway. I couldn’t stand his ass, but I wasn’t blind. The prince was the picture of utter male perfection. If he just stopped being so arrogant and at least showed some remote interest in his legacy, in what we did here at the North Pole to bring joy to so many around the globe…

Winter’s grace, if he cared even just a little, he would be undeniably breathtaking—the perfect Christmas Prince.

“Your Highness,” I greeted, my tone clipped as he approached me.

“Brightwinter,” he said smoothly, that insufferable smirk tugging at his lips. “Spectacular job, as always. I could almost forget how much you despise me.”

“It would do you well not to forget, my Prince,” I shot back, stepping aside so he could greet the hopefuls.

He shook his head with a chuckle, a silky strand of hair falling over his brow. “I’d expected to find you salty as ever. You certainly don’t disappoint.” With that, he strode away from me. My heightened elvish senses afforded me the ability to experience the world more potently than any mortal, like my sense of smell. And right now, his scent hit me like a rolling avalanche. It was like a freshly cut evergreen mixed with the sweetness of spiced wine. Something deep in my core tugged as an unbidden thought made an appearance in my mind… my tongue licking the strong column of his neck .

Heat flooded my cheeks, and I had to use my clipboard to fan myself as I watched him move through the room, laughing, flirting with each suitress as though he’d known them all his life.

And I hated it. I hated the way they giggled at his every word, the way their cheeks flushed when he held their hands, the way he pulled them close to whisper in their ear. I hated how effortlessly he could charm them. And I hated the unfamiliar pang in my chest every time he smiled at one of them.

What in the blistering wind was wrong with me? I’d practically gagged every time someone had ever mentioned the prince around me. I particularly couldn’t stand it when the elves in the workshop couldn’t stop giggling and gossiping the day after one of his parties, oohing and aahing about how dashing he’d looked. How charming he’d been.

I’d never once imagined myself being swept up by the fantasy of this ball. That I, Alva Brightwinter, could actually see the damn scoundrel as anything other than an arrogant, selfish, maddingly handsome, annoying prince.

“Miss Brightwinter!” An urgent voice cut through my thoughts. I turned to see one of the stable elves running toward me, his face pale. “It’s Comet. She’s getting worse, and now Blitzen’s showing the same symptoms. We’re worried it might spread to the others.”

My stomach sank, my world falling back into focus. We’d noticed Comet was showing signs of some type of illness earlier, but I’d hoped maybe she’d eaten something that had upset her stomach. But if she’d gotten worse, and now Blitzen was also sick…

This was terrible news.

Without the reindeer, the sleigh couldn’t fly. And without the sleigh, Christmas would be doomed. “I’ll handle it,” I said firmly, handing my clipboard to a nearby elf, and instructing them to take over the rest of the party.

I hurried out of the ballroom, the cold air biting at my skin as I stepped into the snow-covered courtyard, more than happy to miss the next part of the ball—where the prince would dance with each of the ten hopefuls before he would choose the five females he would court over the next few days.

The stable elf rattled off symptoms, but my mind was racing, jumbled with thoughts of potential repercussions. This was possibly the worst thing that could happened this close to Christmas.

“Brightwinter.” I turned to see Nicholas striding toward me, his crimson jacket stark against the snow. “I saw you leaving the ballroom in a hurry.”

His words stunned me. I didn’t think anyone would notice my absence, let alone that the prince would actually see me leave.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his brows furrowing in a way that almost made him look concerned.

“Just handling a problem,” I replied curtly.

He cocked his head, his golden-brown eyes narrowing. “What kind of problem?”

“Not your concern, Your Highness,” I said, though I knew that wouldn’t stop him.

“Brightwinter,” he said again, softer this time, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “What’s going on? You left the ball in the middle of the highly anticipated dances with the suitresses. I imagine it’s not like you to abandon your post. Is something the matter with my father’s dispatch?”

For a moment, I hesitated. But then I exhaled, my breath fogging in the cold night air. “Two of the reindeer are sick. If we don’t figure out what’s wrong with them soon, the sleigh might not be ready to fly by Christmas, especially if the rest of the reindeer get sick, too.”

His expression shifted, the playful smirk gone. For the first time since yesterday, he finally looked… serious. “Maybe I can help,” he said, his voice steady.

“Really, my Prince, you don’t need to trouble yourself. You need to get back to the ball.”

“Call me Nick. I can’t stand the formality.”

“Nick,” I said, his name sounding odd on my tongue when addressing him without his title. “You need to go back in there and dance with the suitresses. Your father expects?—”

“Fuck what my father expects. I may be an insufferable prick, but I grew up tending to this reindeer team since they were calves. If something is wrong, I want to help. Please. I promise to get back to playing the courtly winter prince afterward. Your hard work won’t go to waste.”

And for reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt a flicker of hope that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t entirely wasted potential after all.