Thread of Frost

Ch. 33: A Good Day

Julian dropped his hand. "I've received an urgent missive from the palace. We have to return at once."

***

They rode in silence.

Snow fell in thick flurries, dusting the cobblestone in white icing sugar. She could hear the clop-clop of horse hooves outside, accompanied by the occasional creak of an iron fence or a pub sign. Gas lanterns cast odd shadows across Julian's face, turning his skin waxy. He could have been a stranger.

She cleared her throat. "Penny and Grayson—"

"I've sent word ahead," Julian said. "You remember Alexander?"

Isolde nodded. "He fitted my leg."

The carriage hit a bump. Julian's mouth tightened. "I've asked him to escort them to the cottage by the stables for the evening. Just in case."

"Their companion?" Isolde asked.

"Maribel?" Julian clarified. "I've moved her to a cottage, too."

She swallowed. "Thank you."

The empty wicker basket sat on her lap. Isolde pushed it down, feeling it dig into her skirts. Her stomach rolled, and she wondered whether she might be sick. Was Halson back at the palace? Was that the reason for their hasty return? She couldn't bring herself to ask Julian. She rubbed her wrist, feeling the bruises that lived beneath the skin.

The carriage stopped. Julian leaned forward.

"Isolde..."

She waited. But Julian turned away, opening the door.

"Next time," he said, "you should bring a cloak. It snows a lot this time of year."

They stepped into the palace together. Cheerful yellow candles flickered in the sconces, and fiddle music drifted down the corridor. A servant — her arms full of crimson ribbons — was scattering rose petals and thistles, humming a jaunty tune.

Isolde and Julian exchanged a look.

They barrelled towards the dining hall. The fiddle music grew louder, accompanied by shouts of laughter. Servants danced through the long room, setting out plates and wine goblets and platters of smoked fish. A butler was chasing a kitchen girl around with a roasted hog, snapping at her playfully. Unease prickled at the back of Isolde's neck.

A platter was shoved toward her. "Would you like a biscuit, Your Holiness?"

"Thank you," Isolde said, accepting the biscuit automatically.

"Your Holiness!" A red-cheeked girl waved at her across the room. "I read that book you recommended. I've just got to the part where Count Muristo seduces the young sailor. Proper page-turner, it is."

Isolde forced a smile. "I'm happy you're enjoying it."

She pushed through the dining hall, scanning the long tables. No sign of Halson. Several courtiers were already taking their seats, looking mildly scandalized by the uproar. Isolde's heart slammed in her chest.

"Gods above," Julian muttered.

He was scanning the room, his eyes the colour of winter storms. Isolde swallowed.

"Jules—"

"I know," Julian said softly. "He can't see it like this."

"Your Holiness!" Emily called. "Come dance with us."

The servant girl grabbed Isolde's hand, yanking her toward the fiddle music. It was nothing Emily hadn't done countless times before — showing her a book in the library, or dragging her to see the newborn puppies, or sledging through the snow — but Isolde pulled back abruptly, cradling her hand to her chest.

"Wait." Her pulse thundered. "There's something I must tell you."

Emily's smile was radiant. "Do you see that man over there? The one smoking a pipe?" She nudged Isolde's ribs. "That's Joseph. He works in the stables, and he's just asked me out. He's handsome, don't you think?"

"Emily—"

"I really fancy him," Emily sighed.

Isolde gripped her shoulders. "Emily, listen."

Her heart felt as if it might break through her ribcage. This was wrong, Isolde thought, all so wrong. And if Halson were to see it— if he arrived at the palace right now...

The double doors opened.

Heavy footsteps entered the hall. The fiddle let out a squeak and plunged into silence. Any laughter died. The dining hall was completely still, save for the footsteps drawing closer. Isolde closed her eyes. She didn't need to look up to see who it was; she could sense him, even before he spoke.

"Well, well," Halson said, his voice silky. "What's happening here?"