The winter palace was made of harsh arches that mimicked the mountains around it. A thin layer of snow clung against the stone and glass exterior as if it was wearing a sheer blanket, and the windows were as dark as lifeless eyes, like the entire castle was sleeping.
Howls of wind blew her hair back and clawed at her cheeks. The cold was voracious, striking in a thousand swift bites. Grim didn’t seem to mind it as he took a few steps forward. “It wasn’t always empty,” he said. “I remember it full.”
“What happened to everyone?” she dared ask. “They died. Every single one.”
She felt a bite of pain, remembering what he had told her. Everyone Grim had ever truly known was gone. Everyone except for her.
“Did you spend a lot of time here as a child?”
He nodded. “From the time I was born, until I started my training. This area is called the Algid, the northernmost part of Nightshade. Here, it snows all the time.”
The forever winter here was a reminder of her fate. Of the limited time she had left to change it.
“Has it been abandoned for long?”
“Not completely. The grounds are maintained, and the main chambers are attended to, in case of a visit.”
She turned to him. “I don’t remember coming here. Why didn’t you take me?”
He frowned. “It’s cold. You hate the cold.”
The moment Grim stepped foot inside the castle, flecks of silver lit up within the stone of the interior, a million lights around them, like stars
buried in the night sky. Isla gaped at them.
“It’s a special stone,” Grim said, glancing at her. “Lights up when it senses Nightshade power.”
It reminded her of Starling. She told Grim, and he nodded. “The realms aren’t as different as we make them out to be.”
Grim showed her down hall after hall, room after room. She saw a few attendants who bowed, then went on their way.
By the end of his tour, Grim seemed lighter. He ran his hand along the back of a chair carved in an intricate style she had never seen before.
“You look . . . happy,” Isla said, watching Grim take all of it in. He nodded. “As a child, I was happiest here.”
“Why?”
“Because my father lived in the other castle,” was what he said. “We can be happy here,” she said, putting her hand on his.
Remembering the words he had told her before he had taken her to bed.
And, even as she hid her true purpose for being here, she meant it.
Grim had portaled in a wardrobe full of soft fabrics. Sweaters, pants casual enough to sleep in, thick tights to wear beneath her dresses. There were
capes with hoods lined in furs, and gloves that would reach her elbows. It wasn’t all black, either.
“I thought you would appreciate color,” he said. The color in question was a mix of white, greys, and the occasional Starling silver, but she was grateful.
“This was thoughtful,” she said.
He looked almost sheepish. “All I ever think of is you.”
Isla stepped close to him. She went on her toes and didn’t even come near his height. “Remember when we first met?”
“Of course, I remember.” He pulled his shirt up, revealing the silver slash on his chest. “You made it difficult to forget.”
She rolled her eyes at him as he smoothed the fabric back down. “The Grim I first met would have been disgusted by the words that just came out of your mouth.”
Grim scowled. “Does this end in a point?”
She flicked his nose, and it seemed like he was trying very hard to glare at her. He ended up pulling her close to him. “My point is . . . people can
change.”
His face softened. “If they have a reason to,” he said, reaching down to run his rough fingertips across the side of her face. Even that simple touch felt like sparks trailing down her skin.
“I want to see you relaxed,” she said. “I am relaxed.”
He was wearing three different types of swords, a cape, and wraps around both of his arms. His spine was soldier-straight.
“Right.” She frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything . . . casual.” She walked over to his own wardrobe and tore it open. Cape. Cape. Cape. Cape.
She turned around, exasperated. “You wear it when you’re alone too?” He just looked at her.
“No.” She shook her head and grabbed his hand. “Where are we going?”
“Take us to the closest village,” she said. Her plans could wait. If they had a couple of days together to celebrate their union, she wanted to enjoy them. “This time, disguise us as something fun.”
In the valley of mountains that resembled carnivorous teeth sat a village draped in snow. The houses were quaint, roofs like folded pieces of parchment, glistening with frost. Smoke rose from stout chimneys like steam from tea. She had never seen a place so beautiful. Isla gaped at Grim. “I can’t believe you weren’t ever going to take me here.”
Grim gave her a look. “Who said I wasn’t?”
She stared at him. “We were married for months, and I can’t seem to find this particular place in my memories.”
He grabbed her hand. “We’re still married,” he said. “And you hate the cold. I thought we established that.”
She nodded down at her cape, which was lined in fur and the softest fabric she had ever known. Her dress was made of thick wool. Beneath it she wore soft tights and boots that went up to her knees. “Not so much when I’m dressed for it.”
No one paid them much attention as they walked through the village, and Isla knew Grim had disguised them with his power. Children played in the snow, their cheeks pink, their words coming out in clouds. Shops featured pastries and licorice in their windows.
“I used to steal those, when I was a child,” Grim said, nodding at the candy.
She glanced at him. “Villainous from your first breath.”
“Precisely.” He looked thoughtfully at the shop. “My father didn’t allow candy, or games, or anything he thought would make me weak. My
guardians were good at enforcing his wishes.” He shrugged. “But I discovered my flair at a young age. When they thought I was sleeping, I was here, stealing candy, and watching the other kids play.”
She tried to imagine a child Grim. Messy black hair, pale face. Alone.
It was exactly what she had done with her starstick, once she had discovered its ability. Grim’s power—even though he hadn’t known it at the time—had provided them both with an escape.
“When I was old enough to be trusted with money, I walked into the store, dropped a pile of coin on the counter, and walked out.”
“Enough to pay for all the licorice?” she asked, looking up at him. “Enough to pay for the shop, if I wanted.”
She pulled his hand. “Let’s go, then.” He started to refuse, but then he gave up, and let her lead him inside.
“One of each,” Isla said at the counter, and Grim chuckled behind her, remembering when he had said the exact same words at the Centennial.
When they were brought a pile of different flavored strands, he sighed and stared at her over the table.
“This was much more charming with chocolate,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed, nodding her head solemnly. “It wasn’t at all alarming that the villainous Nightshade was feeding me chocolates.”
A smile played on his lips. “You liked it.”
“Of course, I liked it,” she said, grabbing one of the licorice strings. “It’s chocolate.” She motioned at him. “Now, should we get started?”
Isla watched Grim take a bite, and his eyes closed as he slowly chewed.
A smile almost crept across his face. “It tastes exactly the same,” he said, disbelieving. “Centuries later, and it hasn’t changed.”
She chewed on a piece, and it was fine—it wasn’t chocolate. But seeing the joy it brought Grim made her love it.
They took the rest wrapped in paper for later. Then the real fun started. She found a shop that sold clothes and pushed Grim into a changing room. “What are you doing?” he demanded.
“I’ll get options,” she said. “You can try them on.”
He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “I’m not changing in a store,” he said, as if the idea was ridiculous.
“Fine,” Isla said, throwing her hands up. “You’ll just have to buy options without knowing how they look. You might not end up getting anything you like.”
Grim looked exasperated. He turned to the shop-owner, handed her a mountainous stack of coin, and said, “One of each.”
“You’re leering at me again,” Grim said.
She really was.
He was wearing a soft, long-sleeved black shirt and casual pants. No cape. No boots. No spiked armor.
Just him.
Something about that was doing strange things to her composition.
For her part, she felt like she had made an outfit from a cloud. She wore one of Grim’s new sweaters, like butter against her skin and deliciously oversized, and a thicker version of the tights he had brought her.
Most of her life, she had either worn dresses with bodices that cut off her air supply, or armor that weighed her down like an extra layer of gravity. Only recently had she known the comfort of thick, smooth fabrics against a cold night.
She walked over to him as he cautiously eyed her. “Isn’t this comfortable?”
He frowned down at his outfit. “It’s fine.”
She made a sound of indignation. Her hands smoothed down his chest, the fabric softer than silk beneath her fingers. She groaned. “Tell me you can feel this,” she said, looking up at him. His eyes had darkened.
“Suddenly,” he said, “I’m liking it more.” She beamed at him.
There was a small fireplace in their room, and they sat in front of it, watching the snow and trading stories from their childhoods. Isla told him about how she would sneak sticks and leaves in her pockets during training to build dolls out of them. One was named Stick-man.
“Creative from your first breath,” Grim said, and she flicked his nose again.
Grim told her how he had first discovered his flair. He was seven years old, in this very castle, and had just been locked inside of his room, as a punishment for allowing himself to be struck during training. He had banged on the cold glass windows and had wanted to be somewhere warmer. Somewhere different.
When he opened his eyes, he was on the beach below the Nightshade castle to the south. He had almost driven himself mad trying to get back to his room, in time for his guardians to check on him. He had managed to portal back just before dinner.
No one had noticed the sand in his shoes.
He had kept it a secret for as long as he could, knowing that once he shared the news with his father, his movements would be more closely monitored. It wasn’t until the portaling became a strategic fighting
advantage that he shared his flair. By then he had mastered it, having traveled across Nightshade and beyond.
It was the same flair Cronan had been born with thousands of years before. She knew now how the comparison must have weighed on him.
How it would have put even more pressure on him to become as monstrous as his ancestor.
“Are flairs usually passed down through family lines?”
Grim shook his head. “Besides rulers, only very few familial lines have flairs. It isn’t guaranteed and is rare.” Grim must have seen her confusion, because he added, “It is strange you have the same flair as your father. But anomalies happen.”
Speaking of family. “I talked to Astria.”
“Did you?” he sounded wary. Perhaps a bit amused.
“Yes. She told me she strongly advised you to stick my head on a pike.”
Grim’s shadows surged, but his smile was playful. “She’s very loyal to her family,” he deadpanned.
“Yes, I gathered that.”
“So. What did you say in response?”
The edges of her mouth twitched. “I told her that I heard the position of general runs in our family, and that I would be happy to replace her.”
Grim’s chest shook as he laughed. “You want to be my general, Hearteater?”
She shook her head. “No. That would require listening to you. And I think far too highly of my own ideas to be able to do that.”
He laughed again. Fighting a smile, she thought it was the perfect time to tell him what Astria had told her about the romance books in the library. The ones about him.
His amusement withered away. He scowled. “Astria’s idea of a joke.” Isla grinned. “No. Not a joke.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “And you know that how?” Her smile brightened. “Because I read one.”
Grim shook his head at her. “That library’s days are numbered.” “I thought you would say that. So, I wanted to let you know I really like the library. And I would be very sad to see it reduced to a pile of ash.”
“Too bad,” he said, without any bite.
It seemed like a perfectly normal time to ask, “Does . . . this castle have a library?”
He nodded. “It does.” Hope gleamed within her. He sensed that hope and frowned down at her. “If you’re looking for any more of those books, I can assure you this collection isn’t the romance variety.” She swallowed.
She had almost forgotten how careful she had to be with her emotions around him, especially when she was hiding something.
She raised a brow at him. “Why not?”
“It’s our most ancient texts. Every piece was curated by my ancestors.” Good.
