In my first life, I was a puppet. In my second, I was poisoned.
This time, I was pretty sure I was going to die of frostbite before I even made it to the execution block.
I stared out the frosted window of the carriage, watching the endless sea of white roll by. The North didn't just look cold. It looked hostile. Like the snow itself was plotting my demise.
"Are we there yet?" I asked, pulling my thin wool cloak tighter around my shoulders.
Across from me, Sir Braddock shivered violently, his armor rattling. "Any minute now, Princess," he chattered. "Just... please keep your head down when we arrive. The Duke of Dristan is not a civilized man."
I sighed, watching my breath puff white in the freezing cabin. "You mean the part where he's a cursed beast, or the part where he eats people for breakfast?"
"Just don't provoke him!" Braddock squeaked, his pale face tight with panic. "Hand over the Emperor's decree, curtsy, and pray he lets us leave with our heads attached."
So I'm just bait, I thought dryly. Good to know.
Emperor Cesareo—my loving, sun-kissed tyrant of an uncle—had made it very clear when he signed my exile papers. The North was a cage, the Duke was the rabid dog, and I was just the meat thrown in to keep him occupied.
Having died twice already, you'd think I'd be immune to the terrible customer service of the universe. But no. The universe was still finding creative ways to ruin my week.
Clank. Screeeech.
The carriage jerked to a violent halt on the thick ice. I grabbed the leather strap above the window to stop myself from flying forward.
"We're here," Braddock breathed.
He didn't even offer me a hand. He just shoved the heavy iron door open, letting a blast of sub-zero wind whip into the cabin. It hit me like a physical punch.
I took a deep breath, braced my fragile heart, and stepped out into the knee-deep snow.
Instantly, the biting gale whipped my full, curly orange hair around my face. I fought to pull the vibrant, tangled mess out of my pale green eyes, feeling like a walking flare in the middle of a blizzard. If the beast wanted a target, he couldn't miss me if he tried.
I blinked against the stinging snowflakes, expecting to see a firing squad, or perhaps a dungeon guard dragging a rusted chain.
Instead, standing alone at the base of the massive, black-stone steps of the Dristan Estate, was a single man.
I froze.
He's a savage, Emperor Cesareo had whispered.
But the man standing in front of me was not a savage. He looked like the winter itself had decided to take a human shape.
He was impossibly tall. A pristine, dark military coat hung over broad shoulders, making a mockery of the freezing temperature.
Then, the wind shifted, revealing his face.
His hair was long and straight, a striking, pure silver that blended seamlessly with the falling snow, whipping wildly in the gale.
But it was his eyes that made my breath catch in my throat.
Gold. Not a warm, sunny yellow, but a piercing, icy gold that glowed faintly in the gloom. They were predatory. Ancient. And they were locked entirely on me.
My heart did a painful stutter in my chest. Calm down, Letizia. You've survived poison and politics. You can survive a scary man with pretty eyes.
"Duke van Dristan," Braddock announced, his voice cracking horribly as he bowed so low he nearly ate snow. "I bring you Princess Letizia di Ravello. The Emperor sends his regards."
Callisto van Dristan didn't look at the knight. He didn't look at the carriage, or the imperial crest painted on the side.
He just kept staring at me.
The silence stretched. The wind howled. I swallowed hard, forcing my chin up. Play the part. Obedient, quiet, completely unthreatening. I took a step forward and sank into a perfect, practiced curtsy, ignoring the fact that my skirts were rapidly freezing to the ground. "It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace. I am in your care."
I waited for the sneer. I waited for the cold command to get inside.
Callisto took a single step down the stairs. The snow crunched heavily under his black boots. Braddock audibly flinched behind me, taking a quick step back. Coward.
The Duke stopped directly in front of me. Up close, he was even more intimidating. I barely reached his chest. I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the silver buttons of his coat, refusing to show fear.
"You're not wearing furs."
His voice was a deep, low rumble. It didn't sound like a monster's growl. It sounded like rolling thunder trapped under ice.
I blinked, thrown off. "Pardon?"
"The Capital sent you to the Dristan borders in December," he said, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. "And they didn't send you with furs."
"Oh." I let out a nervous, breathless laugh. "Well. It seems my uncle was in a hurry to see me off. I suppose fashion took precedence over survival."
It was a joke. A defense mechanism I'd picked up in my second life. But Callisto didn't laugh. His jaw clenched so hard I thought I heard his teeth grind.
Without a word, he reached up and unclasped the heavy, midnight-black wolf-skin cloak from his own shoulders.
I panicked. Is he going to smother me with it? I instinctively took a step back, raising my hands to guard my face.
Callisto froze.
His hands hovered in the air, gripping the heavy fur. The look that crossed his face was so fast I almost missed it. It wasn't anger. It wasn't disgust.
It looked exactly like someone had just driven a knife into his ribs.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly. The rumble was gone, his voice suddenly quiet, almost strained.
That was exactly what someone about to hurt you would say.
Carefully, slowly, as if he were approaching a startled deer, he stepped forward and draped the massive cloak over my shoulders. The sheer weight of it almost buckled my knees. It smelled like pine, cold wind, and something sharp and metallic. But more importantly, it was incredibly, wonderfully warm.
"Th-thank you," I stammered, completely losing my cool, collected facade.
"Go inside. The Head Maid will show you to your quarters." He finally looked away from me, turning his icy gaze toward the imperial carriage. "I have a few words for your escort."
Sir Braddock let out a sound that was halfway between a whimper and a prayer.
I didn't need to be told twice. I gathered the massive folds of the cloak in my hands and hurried toward the stone steps, eager to get out of the wind and away from whatever massacre was about to happen.
But my frozen leather boots had zero traction.
My foot hit the first black-stone step, slipped on a patch of black ice, and flew entirely out from under me.
Of course, I thought as the world tilted violently. Death by stairs. Very dignified.
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the bone-shattering impact.
It never came.
A hand clamped around my waist like an iron vice, jerking me mid-air before my head could hit the stone. The speed was inhuman. One second he was ten feet away, staring down Braddock. The next, my back hit a solid, incredibly broad chest.
"I have you," Callisto said, his voice directly by my ear.
I gasped, my hands flying up to grip his arm to steady myself. The moment my bare fingers touched his wrist, my brain short-circuited.
He was burning hot.
It wasn't a normal human temperature. Heat radiated off his skin like a furnace, completely contradicting the snow clinging to his silver hair.
But that wasn't the weirdest part. As I clung to his arm, trying to catch my breath, I realized something terrifying. The Beast of Dristan, the ruthless, bloodthirsty monster of the North, was trembling.
Violently.
I tilted my head back, looking up into his face. His golden eyes were wide, blown out, completely stripped of their cold, predatory mask. He was staring down at me with an expression of such absolute, devastating grief that it made my own chest ache.
His lips parted. He leaned in, his face mere inches from mine, and let out a broken, breathless sound that barely carried over the howling wind.
"L...ia."
My breath hitched.
It was so faint I almost convinced myself I had misheard it. Just the groan of the ice. Just the shrieking of the gale. But the raw, agonizing ache in that single, broken syllable made the blood freeze in my veins.
No one called me that. Not the Emperor. Not the maids in the Capital. It wasn't a nickname I had ever used in this life. Or the one before it.
I stared up into the golden eyes of the monster who was supposed to be my grave, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.
He didn't look like a beast catching his prey.
He looked like a man who had just seen a ghost.