It had been two days since that quiet confrontation in Erithia's inner sanctum, and yet the frost palace seemed changed by it.
Servants moved more cautiously. Courtiers whispered in smaller knots, voices dropping to strained hushes when Ren and Lyra passed. Even the endless drifting petals of frost seemed slower somehow, like the entire court held its breath.
Erithia was nowhere to be seen. Not at the morning audiences. Not in the vast crystal gardens where nobles paraded their subtle enchantments and delicate power.Rumors swirled like cold mist.
"She's ill.""She communes with older spirits, seeking to understand the mortal's heart.""Perhaps his goddess finally frightened her into retreat."
Lyra drank in these murmurs with dark delight. Each time she caught another slip of rumor about Erithia's sudden seclusion, her smile grew sharper, her hand tightening possessively in Ren's.
But Ren knew better.He'd seen the look on Erithia's face after their last encounter — the way her breath had caught, pupils wide, hand curling as if trying to hold something already slipping away.
It wasn't fear that drove her behind closed doors.
It was confusion. Hunger.A queen who had ruled for countless years without ever once tasting the kind of raw, consuming bond that he and Lyra shared.
Late on the second night, Ren found sleep elusive.He lay tangled in silken sheets with Lyra draped over him, her head on his chest, breath slow and content. But his mind churned with the memory of Erithia's delicate fingers against his cheek, the startled wonder that had cracked her careful facade.
When he finally drifted off, his dreams were a blur of pale eyes and voices calling from behind walls of ice.
He woke to Lyra pressing a kiss just under his jaw. Her hand traced idle shapes across his stomach. "You were frowning in your sleep."
"Was I?" His voice was rough. "Maybe I was just dreaming of you clawing some frost queen's eyes out."
Lyra's answering laugh was soft but edged with dark promise. "Don't tempt me. I've never minded blood on snow."
A knock came at their door just after dawn.A servant stood there, pale as fog, bowing so low her forehead nearly touched the floor.
"Your presence is requested by Queen Erithia," she whispered, voice trembling. "In the Hall of Hollow Hymns."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "She dares summon us at this hour?"
The girl flinched. "She… she asked it be taken as a courtesy. That you come as you are. No formal guard, no court. Only yourselves."
Lyra's power simmered under her skin, faint silver flares that made the little servant sweat despite the chill. But Ren touched her arm lightly. "Let's see what she wants. I'd rather end this game on our own terms."
"Or start a new one?" Lyra muttered, though her mouth curved in reluctant amusement. "Fine. But if she so much as breathes wrong on you, I won't be merciful."
The Hall of Hollow Hymns was nothing like the court's other chambers.It was vast, circular, with walls formed of interlocking spires of ice that rose up and up until they vanished into shadows. Strange carvings marked every surface — tiny runes that seemed to shift when watched too long.
Erithia waited at its center. Alone.She wore no crown, no heavy gown. Only a simple robe of faint blue silk that clung to her form, hair loose and spilling like liquid silver down her back. In her hands she held a small crystal — pulsing faintly with internal light.
Ren felt Lyra tense beside him. Her power flared in warning, tendrils of silver dancing along her fingers.
Erithia looked up. Her eyes were wide, uncertain — so unlike the composed queen who had first welcomed them with cold, amused smiles.
"I asked you here without witnesses," she said quietly, "because I did not wish my court to see how fragile I have become."
Lyra's laugh was low, sharp. "Your court suspects plenty already. What is this, Erithia? Another little trap to test how far your chill can creep before it breaks against us?"
"No," Erithia said. Her voice cracked. "Not a trap. A confession."
She stepped forward. Slowly. Like approaching a ledge that might crumble underfoot."I ruled centuries without care for the bonds others spoke of. Love, loyalty… even desire was always a calculated tool to bind lesser lords to my will. But then you came." Her gaze locked on Ren. "And your goddess who would set worlds alight to keep you."
Lyra's fingers curled hard into Ren's. "Do not mistake our patience for weakness."
Erithia shook her head, a small, broken laugh slipping free. "I see it now. How absolute it is. How terrifying. I summoned you because I needed to understand it — to touch it, even if it only deepened my own hollow places."
She lifted the crystal in her hands. It pulsed once, then dimmed. "This is a fragment of my heartstone. A piece of the power that sustains my throne. I have never given it to anyone."
Ren tilted his head. "And why offer it now?"
Her breath shivered. "Because if I cannot have what you have — I want at least to remember how it felt, standing in its shadow. Even for a heartbeat."
Silence stretched between them.Then Ren stepped forward. Lyra's grip went tight, but she didn't stop him — only pressed closer, her power winding up his arm protectively.
He took the crystal from Erithia's shaking hands. Their fingers brushed, a crackle of cold running up his wrist. Erithia sucked in a sharp breath, pupils blown wide.
"This doesn't make us yours," he said softly. "It only means you'll carry this hunger longer. Are you prepared for that?"
Erithia's laugh was wet with unshed tears. "I have ruled long enough with an empty chest. Let me ache for something real, even if it shatters me."
He pressed the crystal back into her palm, closing her fingers around it."Then keep it. Let it remind you not of us, but of what your throne could become if you ever choose something beyond fear."
Erithia let out a ragged exhale, shoulders slumping. For the first time, she seemed smaller. Mortal."Thank you," she whispered. "Now go — before I decide to be selfish after all."
They left her there, alone in that vast hall of whispering runes.
Lyra didn't speak until they reached their own corridor. Then she spun, pushing Ren against the wall, her mouth finding his in a hard, desperate kiss.
"She nearly broke herself trying to taste what's ours," she rasped against his lips. "Do you understand how mad that makes me? How it makes me want to drag you to our bed and mark you until no queen would dare dream your name again?"
His answering groan was low, wrecked. "Then do it."
And she did. Right there, in a shadowed alcove of cold marble, where any passing servant might have seen. Her hands were rough, her kisses feral, as if trying to claw Erithia's ghost from his skin.
When he finally shuddered, spilling into her hand with a hoarse, broken moan, Lyra caught his mouth again — swallowing his cries, savoring every tremor.
Far down the hall, frost gathered in faint swirling patterns on the floor — a silent echo of a queen who still watched from afar, her own heart cracking in places even her ancient power couldn't mend.