After stepping through the gilded doors of the Frost mansion, Julies was led through halls that gleamed with cold luxury—crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and portraits of ancestors who looked as if they'd never smiled a day in their lives.
And before long, he saw her.
His fiancée.
…Only on paper, of course.
Amelia Frost stood by the window, arms folded, the white light from the snow reflecting off her silver hair. She turned the moment he entered.
"Where is Alice?"
That was the first thing she said. Not a greeting. Not even a glance of courtesy. Just that one question.
Julies sighed inwardly. Of course.
"She couldn't possibly come," he said, brushing off the frost from his coat. "She's busy leading the troops."
"Tch." Amelia clicked her tongue, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I had some hope."
Her arms tightened across her chest, her expression sharpening into that familiar mix of frustration and longing that only one person in the world could cause—Alice Draken.
