The room was still when he carried her in.
Cold air breathed through the vast, dim space, walls of deep cobalt and pale silver, veined with frost that shimmered faintly beneath the moonlight spilling through the arched windows.
Soren laid her upon the bed with care that bordered on reverence. The silks hissed softly under her heat, some fibers singeing at the edges before his magic cooled them to safety.
He hovered for a long moment, hands braced on either side of her, studying her face, the faint rise and fall of her chest, the traces of ash at her temple, the red bloom of exhaustion across her skin.
She looked smaller than he remembered.
Or perhaps he was only seeing her truth for the first time, not the Fire Queen, but a woman who had burned herself down to nothing and dared to call it survival.
He sat beside the bed.
And, the Ice Emperor did not move.
