She stiffens in surprise and backs up, shaking her head. “Your Highness—I cannot—”

“You are freezing.” I glance at Grey, who is settling the older boy on his horse. “My guard commander will keep you safe on the road.”

Harper watches all of this, her expression nonplussed. “You just said you and Grey were going to ride ahead.”

“No, my lady.” I turn to look at her. “I meant you and me.”

She opens her mouth. Closes it.

Checkmate.

But then her lips flatten into a line. “There aren’t any horses left.”

“There’s one.” I turn my head and whistle, three short chirps that cut through the night air. Hoofbeats hammer the ground and Ironwill appears out of the smoke. The buckskin slides to a stop in front of me and affectionately butts his face against my shoulder. I catch his bridle and rub the spot he likes, just under his mane.

Harper’s eyes go wide and then her face breaks into a smile. “He didn’t run away!” She rubs the bridge of his nose, then hugs his face. “That’s a neat trick. Do all the horses come when you whistle?”

“Not all,” I say easily. “Only my own.”

She loses the smile. “Your … own …”

“You chose well.” I straighten the reins, then grab the pommel and swing into the saddle. Then I put out a hand for her.

She stares up at me. The indecision is clear on her face.

I nod toward Freya and the children. “They grow no warmer, my lady. We should not delay.” I look back down at her. “Then again, I forget that you left Ironrose on a journey of your own. Would you prefer to go on your way?”

That catches Freya’s attention, because she hesitates before lifting the toddler to sit in front of the girl. Her eyes worriedly dance from me to Harper.

Harper sees this, too. She sets her jaw. “No. I’m coming.”

Then she reaches out and takes my hand.

In another time and place, I would be glad to be riding double in the snow, the weight of a girl against my back as we canter along a silent road. The air is crisp and cold, and I haven’t felt snow on bare skin in ages.

But tonight, the magical wounds in my abdomen ache, pulling with every stride. Harper clings to my sword belt instead of wrapping her arms around me, a clear refusal to get any closer than she needs to. Cold silence envelops us, broken only by Ironwill’s hooves striking the ground in a familiar cadence.

Eventually, the dull pain turns into a hot knife and sweat begins to collect under my clothes. I draw the horse to a walk.

“What’s wrong?” says Harper. “There’s nothing here.”

A note of alarm hides in her voice, and I turn my head just enough to see the edge of her profile. “The horse is winded.”

“You sound like you’re winded.”

Indeed. But she is, too, I realize. Her breath clouds on the air every bit as quickly as my own. I wonder if her stubbornness has kept her from calling me to stop earlier.

Much like my own stubbornness has done exactly the same thing.

“You seem to have a knack for finding trouble,” I tell her.

She’s silent for a bit, but I know she is thinking, so I wait.

Eventually, she says, “I was trying to find a way home. Or at least … someone to help me.”

“There is no one in Emberfall who could help you get home.” I lift a hand to point. “Though you should head south if you wish for different companionship. Westward travel from Ironrose leads through sparse farmland, as you see.”

“All I see is snow, Rhen.” She pauses. “Prince Rhen.”

She says it like she means for the word to be an attack, but I do not rise to the bait. “The snow runs deep this season,” I agree.

“Am I supposed to call you Your Highness now?”

“Only if you can do it without such contempt.”

“I still don’t understand why I can’t go home.”

“There is a veil between our worlds. I do not have the power to cross it.”

“But Grey can.”

“The curse grants him the ability for one hour, every season. No more, no less.” I turn my head to glance back at her. “Magic was once banned from Emberfall. You will find no one else who can help you.”

She goes quiet again. Wind whistles between us, lacing its way under my jacket. At my back, she shivers. Her fingers tremble on my sword belt.

Swiftly, I unbuckle the straps across my chest and pull my arms free of the sleeves, then hold the jacket back to her. “Please, my lady. You’re freezing.”

She’s silent for a moment, but the cold must be quite convincing, because she snatches it from my hand. When she speaks, her voice is small. “Thanks.” She pauses. “You’ll be freezing, too.”

With any luck, I’ll freeze to death. “I have survived worse.”

“You really didn’t send those men to burn down that woman’s house? So you could claim her land?”

“No.” I can’t even muster indignation. I remember a time when I would have done so without a thought. Honestly, I shouldn’t be surprised that vandals are claiming such activity on my behalf.

“Why is it so cold here, when it’s so warm at the castle?”

“Ironrose—the castle and its grounds—is cursed to repeat the same season, over and over, until I …” I search for the right words. I am rarely forthright about the curse. “Until I complete a task. Time outside the castle grounds passes more slowly, but it does pass.”

Harper is quiet as a ghost behind me, except when a shiver makes her breath tremble. Snow dusts across my hands, collecting in the horse’s mane.

“My lady,” I say, “you are still shivering. You need not keep your distance.”

Wind rushes between us, accenting her silent refusal.

“We do not have far to travel,” I add. “It would not be—”

She shifts forward and slides her arms around my waist so suddenly that it makes me gasp. Her head falls against the center of my back. Tremors roll through her body and she pulls the jacket around both of us.

Her grip is tight enough to be painful, but I do not move.

This is more about the weather than about trust, surely. But as her body warms and she relaxes against me, I realize some measure of trust must be at work here. The thought feeds me hope, crumb by crumb.

She adjusts her grip, and I hiss a breath and grab her wrist. “A few inches higher, my lady. If you do not mind.”

She moves her hands. “Why? Were you hurt?”

“No,” I say. “An old injury.”

She accepts the lie readily, but I do not like it. Earning this moment feels a thousand times more satisfying than plying women with pretty falsehoods and empty promises. In the darkness, together on the back of a horse, it’s tempting to forget the curse and pretend my life doesn’t exist outside this moment.

“What would you have done,” I ask quietly, “if we had not arrived?”

“Did you see their swords?” she says against my back. “I’m pretty sure I would have died.”

Her voice is so earnest that I laugh. “I’m beginning to wonder if you would have found a way to escape even that. How did you manage to leave Ironrose without Grey noticing?”

“I’m assuming you haven’t seen your trellis.”

“You climbed down the trellis?” She can barely mount a horse. She is crazy, surely. “It is not even beneath your windows!”

“Trust me, I realized that when I hit the ground.”

No wonder I found her facing a cadre of swordsmen in front of a burning house. Next time, it will likely be an army. “Injured as you are, you chose to leap—”

“I am not injured!”

“Then what are you?” I demand. “There is a difference between pride and denial, my lady.”

She says nothing, but her silence feels like resignation instead of anger. I half expect her to pull away from me, but she doesn’t.

“I have cerebral palsy,” she says quietly. “Do you know what that is?”

“No.”

“Something went wrong when I was born. The cord was wrapped around my neck, and I got stuck in the birth canal. I didn’t get enough air. It causes problems in the brain. Some muscles don’t develop the right way.”

She stops, but I sense there is more, so I wait.

“It affects everyone differently,” she says. “Some people can’t walk, or they can’t speak, or they have to use a wheelchair. I was a lot worse off when I was younger, so I had to have surgery to correct my left leg. I still have trouble with balance, and I walk with a limp, but I’m really lucky.”

I frown. “You have an unusual definition of luck.”

She stiffens. “Spoken like someone who lives in a castle with an endless supply of food and wine, but calls himself cursed.”

I bristle, my pride pricked. “You know nothing about me.”

“And you know nothing about me.”

A nettlesome silence falls between us now.

“Have you caught your breath?” I finally say.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yes.” Without another word, I kick the horse into a canter.