The ice spirits were better guides than any map. They led Ryn not with a grand procession, but with subtle cues—a fox darting down a specific path, a crystalline bird flitting toward a particular archway, the ice-horse nodding its magnificent head in a certain direction. They brought him to a secluded, almost invisible postern gate, half-frozen over but somehow unguarded, as if the very palace had decided to let him in.
"Hey," Ryn whispered to his temporary companions, giving a small wave. "Thanks for the escort. Don't suppose you know where the kitchen is, too?"
The ice fox simply blinked its luminous blue eyes before turning and melting back into the forest shadows. The audience was over.
"Do not squander their favor by getting caught pilfering leftovers," the Ice Fox spirit chided, her voice a crisp echo in his mind as he slipped inside.
The interior of the Cryalis palace was even more breathtaking than the outside. Corridors were vast canyons of carved ice, lit from within by a soft, perpetual glow. Frost-ferns grew in intricate patterns along the walls, and the air hummed with a low, resonant magic that made the hairs on his arms stand up. It was alien, but after the spirit forest, it no longer felt hostile.
"The magic here is… orderly. Contained. Unlike you."
"Quiet, you," Ryn thought back, his boots making no sound on the polished, frozen floor. "I'm blending."
His first order of business, as always, was sustenance. His nose, finely tuned to the scent of free food, led him unerringly to the kitchens—a cavernous space steaming with paradoxical warmth where great hearths burned with enchanted blue flames. He moved like a ghost, a shadow in the bustling world of cooks and scullions. A glazed pastry stuffed with spiced winter-berries vanished from a cooling rack. A sliver of smoked frost-salmon disappeared from a platter. He ate like a king, or at least, a very sneaky jester.
"This is beneath the dignity of a primordial vessel."
"Hey, a growing boy needs his nutrients," he retorted, pocketing a few more pastries for later. "And my dignity and I have a long-standing agreement to avoid each other."
Sated, he resumed his aimless wandering. The palace was a maze, and he had no destination, only a vague notion of finding Kael and Thalor. He drifted through halls of frozen statuary, past libraries where books had covers of etched ice, his senses overwhelmed.
"Your heart rate is elevating. You are nervous."
"I'm not nervous, I'm… aesthetically overwhelmed. And lost. Very, very lost."
Finally, he heard voices—familiar ones. He followed the sound to a pair of towering doors, wrought from silver and inlaid with mother-of-pearl that shimmered like the aurora. They were slightly ajar. Peeking through the crack, he saw a breathtaking throne room. The throne itself was a sculpture of interlocking ice crystals, and upon it sat Princess Seraphyne, her silver hair and pale gown making her look like the heart of the frozen palace itself. She was even more striking than Kael's adolescent memory suggested, her beauty severe and untouchable.
Before her stood Kael and Thalor. Thalor was in the middle of speaking, his hands moving in calm, fluid gestures. "...and the Vulmir Empire echoes these concerns regarding the stability of the southern trade routes, Your Highness. Prince Kael and I believe that a show of unity, perhaps a joint oversight council..."
Ryn's eyes drifted to Kael. And he stopped breathing for a second.
Kael, the brash, loud-mouthed Prince of Vulmir, was silent. He wasn't just quiet; he was utterly still. His usual slouch was gone, replaced by a straight-backed, almost formal posture. His arms were crossed, but it didn't look defiant—it looked like he was holding himself together. His eyes were fixed on Seraphyne, and the look in them wasn't the smug amusement or volatile anger Ryn was used to. It was something raw, open, and completely captivated. He was hanging on her every silent, composed movement, his own fire banked to embers in her presence.
"Whoa," Ryn breathed aloud.
"The fire-child is tamed by the dawn," the Fox spirit observed, a note of dry amusement in her tone. "A fascinating paradox."
"Hey, I think it's called having a crush," Ryn corrected mentally. "A really, really bad one. He looks like a puppy that's been hit by a snowball."
He was so engrossed in the scene, in the utterly bizarre sight of a subdued Kael, that he let his guard down completely. He didn't hear the soft footsteps, didn't sense the shift in the air.
A hand landed on his shoulder.
It was a light touch, but it sent a jolt of pure, undiluted panic straight through his core. His blood ran cold, colder than the palace walls. The pastries in his pocket felt like lead weights. This was it. The guards. Captured. All because he wanted to see a prince make heart-eyes at a princess.
"Fool!" the Fox hissed, her voice spiking with alarm.
Slowly, dread pooling in his stomach, Ryn turned.
It wasn't a guard.
It was a girl. She looked about his age, with a mischievous glint in her bright, curious eyes and hair the color of spun moonlight that seemed to float around her head as if caught in a perpetual breeze. She wore simple, practical clothes of white and grey, and for a moment, he thought she was a servant, or maybe another thief like him.
But then he saw them. Tucked neatly behind her, semi-translucent and shimmering with a pearlescent light, were a pair of elegant, feathered wings. They weren't solid, but composed of condensed air and magic, folded against her back.
Before he could utter a word, she pressed a finger to her lips, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Her grip on his shoulder tightened, but not with menace. With… invitation.
Then, the world dropped away.
A gust of wind lifted them both, and Ryn's stomach lurched into his throat. They shot upwards, the throne room door shrinking to a tiny sliver of light below. They weren't climbing stairs; they were flying straight up a vertical shaft, a chimney of ice and wind. In seconds, they burst out onto a vast, flat rooftop overlooking the entire frozen capital. The wind howled, tugging at his clothes and mask.
The girl—the winged girl—landed lightly, her feet barely making a sound on the frost-encrusted ledge. She released his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.
"Okay," she said, her voice a lively, breezy chatter. "Spill. Who are you, why are you spying on the super-serious princess meeting, and most importantly, why do you smell like the deep, old frost? Not the new, boring palace frost. The fun kind!"
Ryn, his heart still hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, could only stare. "I… what?"
"Your magic!" she said, gesturing animatedly at all of him. "It's all… crinkly and ancient! Like a storybook! So, who are you?"
He straightened his cloak, trying to reclaim some semblance of dignity. "I'm… the Ice Fox."
Her eyes widened, and then she let out an delighted gasp, clapping her hands together. "No way! The Ice Fox? The one who ruined Caelum's wedding? The one who's got, like, five empires looking for him? The one Kael won't shut up about sometimes?" She bounced on the balls of her feet, her wings fluttering with her excitement. "This is amazing! I'm Sylphie! Princess of the Wind Empire! Well, one of them. And you are so much more interesting than trade route negotiations!"
Ryn blinked, his panic slowly being replaced by a wave of sheer, bewildered astonishment. He was standing on the roof of the Ice Palace, having a conversation with a flying princess who seemed thrilled that he was a wanted criminal.
"Hey," he thought to the voice in his head. "Is this real?"
"It appears," the Ice Fox replied, her tone utterly deadpan, "that you have attracted the attention of the zephyr. May the spirits have mercy on us both."