I flex my fingers, remembering how the ice responded to me in the maze. The power felt so natural, so right—like something that had always been part of me, just waiting to be awakened.
Like something monstrous waiting to emerge.
“What are you thinking?” Ivrael’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts, low and intimate in the close confines of the carriage.
“I’m thinking about fairy tales,” I answer honestly. “About monsters and princes and queens.”
Understanding flickers across his face, both the aristocratic duke and the ice dragon shining through his features.
“Not all monsters remain monsters,” he says softly.
“And not all queens become villains?” I glance out the window again, watching frost patterns form on the glass. “But don’t they? Name one fairy tale queen who didn’t try to kill someone or curse an entire kingdom or?—”
“Perhaps it’s time for new stories,” he interrupts. “New endings.”
The hope in his voice makes my throat close.
I want to believe him. Want to believe we can write our own ending, find some way through this maze of politics and power and destiny.
But I remember the fire in his ballroom, the screams of the dying.
I’ve seen how easily power corrupts.
Know how quickly love can turn to poison.
Even the evil queens probably thought they were doing the right thing, once upon a time.
Izzy stirs against my shoulder, mumbling something in her sleep. I smooth her hair back, grateful for this moment of simple sisterly affection. This, at least, I understand. This, I know how to handle.
“I don’t want to be a queen,” I whisper, more to myself than Ivrael. “I don’t want to rule anything.”
“What do you want?”
The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with all the things we haven’t said. All the truths we’re both afraid to face.
I want to be free. Want to protect my sister. Want to find some way to save this world without losing myself in the process.
Wanthim, though I can barely admit it even to myself.
The ice horses pull us higher, their hooves striking sparks like starlight from the air.
We’re caught between the ground and the sky, between what was and what could be, between love and duty and power and fear.
Between fairy tale and reality.
And I still don’t know which is more dangerous—becoming the villain in this story or admitting that I’ve already fallen in love with the monster who was never supposed to be my prince.
The carriage soars onward, carrying us toward whatever awaits at the Ice Court.
Toward whatever I might become when we get there.
I just hope I recognize myself when the story ends.
