Chapter 22
SERAPHINA
I wake to the sound of Azriel’s laughter filtering through the connecting door.
For a moment, I’m disoriented—the room is too cold, the bed too large, the light from the window hitting at the wrong angle. Then memory crashes back. We’re in Winterhold. In Kieran’s fortress. This is our life now.
I throw back the covers and pad barefoot to Azriel’s room, pushing the door open quietly.
He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed in his nightclothes, and Kieran is crouched beside him, showing him something. My breath catches at the sight—the Ice King in casual trousers and an untucked shirt, his silver-streaked hair slightly mussed, looking almost… normal.
“And this is the Northern crest,” Kieran says, pointing to something I can’t see. “The wolf represents strength and loyalty. The mountains behind it show our endurance through harsh winters.”
“Why is the wolf howling?” Azriel traces whatever he’s looking at with his finger.
“Because wolves call to their pack. They’re strongest together, not alone.” Kieran’s voice is patient, gentle in a way I’ve never heard from him. “That’s what it means to be Northern—we protect our own.”
“Am I Northern now?” Azriel asks. “Or am I still Eastern?”
“You’re both.” Kieran shifts to sit on the edge of the bed. “Your mother’s blood and mine. That makes you special.”
Our mate, Luna whispers, stirring in my mind. Being gentle with our pup.
I push down the ache in my chest and knock on the doorframe. Both of them turn, and Kieran’s expression immediately shifts, that softness disappearing behind his usual cold mask.
“Mama!” Azriel bounces on the bed. “Papa was showing me my crest! I’m going to have my own seal and everything!”
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart.” I step into the room, very aware of how thin my nightgown is under my robe. “But you should let your father get back to his duties. I’m sure he’s very busy.”
“Actually, I was hoping to spend the morning with Azriel.” Kieran stands, and the movement brings him closer to me. The bond pulls tight, and I see his jaw clench. “If that’s acceptable to you.”
The way he says it makes it clear he doesn’t actually need my permission, but he’s asking anyway.
“Doing what?”
“I thought I’d show him the training yards. Let him see what the warriors do.” His eyes meet mine, challenging.
“He’s five years old.”
“Which is why I’m showing him, not throwing him into combat.” Kieran’s jaw tightens. “Unless you’d prefer I keep him locked in his chambers?”
Azriel looks between us, his earlier excitement dimming. “I don’t have to if you don’t want me to, Mama.”
I force a smile. “No, baby. You should spend time with your father. Just…” I look at Kieran. “Keep him safe.”
“He’s my son.” The possessiveness in his voice is unmistakable. “Of course I’ll keep him safe.”
“Can I get dressed first?” Azriel asks.
“Of course.” Kieran moves toward the door, pausing beside me. His scent hits me—pine and snow, and something that makes Luna whine. “I’ll wait in the corridor.”
He leaves, and I help Azriel dress in warm clothes suitable for the cold training yards. My hands shake slightly as I tie his boots.
“Mama?” He tilts his head. “Are you mad at Papa?”
“No, sweetheart. Why would you think that?”
“Because you always look sad when he’s here.”
The observation hits harder than it should. “I’m not sad. Just… adjusting.”
“To having a papa?”
“To everything.” I brush his hair back from his forehead. “But that’s not your problem to worry about. You just focus on having fun, okay?”
He throws his arms around my neck. “I love you.”
“I love you too, baby. More than anything.”
When I open the door, Kieran is leaning against the wall opposite, arms crossed. He straightens when he sees us.
“Ready?” he asks Azriel.
“Ready!”
They start down the corridor together, and I watch them go—my son’s small hand reaching up to hold his father’s larger one. The sight makes something in my chest crack.
Our family, Luna whispers. This is what it could have been.
“Stop,” I mutter, closing the door before I do something stupid like cry.
I spend the morning unpacking, trying to make these cold stone chambers feel like home. It’s impossible. Everything here is too stark, too practical, too… Northern.
A knock at the door interrupts my brooding.
“Come in.”
A young woman enters, curtseying quickly. “Princess Seraphina? I’m Mira. Helga assigned me as your lady’s maid.”
She’s younger than Elena, maybe twenty, with warm brown hair and nervous green eyes. She keeps her gaze down, clearly terrified.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mira.”
“Helga said to tell you that Lord Cassius requested your presence for tea this afternoon. In the solar.” She twists her hands together. “If you’re willing, my lady.”
Lord Cassius—the charming advisor from last night who actually treated me like a person instead of an unwanted guest.
“What time?”
“Two hours, my lady.”
I glance at the trunks still half-unpacked. “Then I suppose I should make myself presentable.”
The solar turns out to be a bright room in the western tower, all windows and pale stone that makes it feel less oppressive than the rest of the fortress. Lord Cassius stands when I enter, his amber eyes lighting up.
“Princess Seraphina. Thank you for accepting my invitation.” He gestures to a small table set with tea and delicate pastries. “I thought you might appreciate some civilized company.”
“That’s very kind of you.” I take the seat he offers, grateful for the warmth radiating from the fireplace.
He pours tea with practiced ease. “I hope you’re settling in well? The fortress can be rather… unwelcoming to newcomers.”
“That’s one word for it.” I accept the cup he offers. “Everyone keeps staring like I’m about to steal the silver.”
“You must forgive them.” Cassius settles into his own chair. “They’re not used to outsiders, and the circumstances of your arrival were… complicated.”
“Because I’m the woman who destroyed the peace treaty five years ago?” The bitterness leaks through despite my best efforts.
“Because you’re the woman who captured the Ice King’s heart.” His tone is gentle. “That’s far more threatening to them than any political scandal.”
I nearly choke on my tea. “I did no such thing. Kieran doesn’t have a heart to capture.”
“Doesn’t he?” Cassius tilts his head. “He’s never brought a woman to Winterhold before. Never claimed an heir. And yet here you are, residing in the family wing with your son. That speaks volumes.”
“It speaks to his possessiveness over Azriel. Nothing more.”
“If you say so.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “But regardless of his motivations, you’re here now. And you deserve allies.”
“Why are you being so kind to me?” I study him over the rim of my cup. “What do you gain from befriending the woman everyone here blames for their dead soldiers?”
“Perhaps I simply enjoy the company of an intelligent, beautiful woman who isn’t cowed by the Ice King’s reputation.” His smile is warm, genuine. “Or perhaps I remember what it’s like to be an outsider in this court.”
“You’re one of his senior advisors. How could you possibly be an outsider?”
“My family earned their position through service, not birth.” He refills my cup without being asked. “The older noble families never let me forget it. I know what it’s like to walk into a room and have conversations die. To feel eyes judging your every move.”
The understanding in his voice eases something in my chest. “It’s exhausting.”
“It is. But it gets easier.” He leans forward slightly. “If you let people help you. Let me help you navigate the court. Introduce you to those who are more… open-minded.”
“And what do you want in return?”
“Your friendship.” He says it simply. “Nothing more. I promise.”
I want to believe him. Everything about Lord Cassius seems genuine—his warmth, his understanding, his easy charm. He’s so different from Kieran’s cold calculations.
“Something’s wrong,” Luna mutters. “I don’t like him.”
“You don’t like anyone here,” I shoot back. “He’s being nice. That’s all.”
But she continues to pace uneasily in my mind.
“Tell me about yourself,” I say, changing the subject. “You said your family earned their position—what did they do?”
“My father was a military commander. He died in battle when I was young, and Kieran took me in, trained me.” There’s something in his expression I can’t quite read. “I owe him everything. Which is why I want to make sure those under his protection are cared for.”
“Including unwilling guests?”
“Especially unwilling guests.” His smile returns. “You didn’t choose to be here, Princess. The least I can do is make your stay more pleasant.”
We talk for over an hour—about his childhood, my life in the Eastern Kingdom, books we’ve read, places we’d like to visit. It’s easy, comfortable in a way nothing has been since I arrived.
When I finally leave the solar, my cheeks hurt from smiling.
“Don’t trust him,” Luna insists. “Something’s off.”
“You’re being paranoid.”
“Or I’m being cautious.” Her tone sharpens. “That man wants something. I can feel it.”
I ignore her and make my way back toward my chambers. But as I turn a corner, I nearly collide with Kieran.
He’s covered in snow, his cheeks slightly flushed from cold, and Azriel is on his shoulders, laughing as Kieran ducks under a low doorway.
“Mama!” Azriel waves. “We built snow forts! And I learned to throw snowballs! Papa says I have good aim!”
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart.” I catch Kieran’s eyes briefly—something unreadable flashes there before his expression goes neutral. “Did you have fun?”
“So much fun!” Azriel bounces on Kieran’s shoulders. “And the warriors showed me their swords and let me watch them train! They’re so fast!”
Kieran carefully lifts Azriel down. “He did well. Paid attention. Asked good questions.”
There’s something almost… proud in his voice.
“I’m glad.” I kneel down to Azriel’s level. “You must be freezing. Let’s get you warmed up before dinner.”
“Can we go back tomorrow?” Azriel looks up at Kieran hopefully. “Papa said maybe I could try throwing snowballs at targets.”
“If your mother agrees.” Kieran’s eyes meet mine, and the bond pulls tight between us.
“We’ll see,” I manage, standing. “Come on, sweetheart.”
As we start toward our chambers, I feel Kieran’s eyes on us. When I glance back, he’s still standing there in the corridor, covered in snow, watching his son walk away with an expression I can’t quite read.
I keep walking.
