"How," I whispered, my voice trembling, "do you know that name?"
For a second, neither of us moved. The howling Northern wind seemed to dull into a distant hum. I was pressed against his chest, completely enveloped by the unnatural, furnace-like heat radiating through his coat.
Then, the Duke of Dristan blinked.
The raw, devastating grief vanished from his golden eyes so fast it gave me whiplash. The ice returned, thick and impenetrable. He released my waist and took a massive step back, as if the mere touch of my cloak had burned him.
"You misheard me," he said. His voice was flat. Empty.
"I didn't," I pushed back, my survival instincts temporarily overridden by sheer confusion. "You said—"
"The wind plays tricks in the North, Princess," Callisto interrupted, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate. He didn't look at me. He turned his imposing frame toward the carriage, where Sir Braddock was currently trying to make himself invisible against a wheel.
"Leave the luggage," Callisto commanded.
Braddock squeaked. "Y-Your Grace?"
"Leave her trunks on the snow. Then get back in your tin box and leave my territory."
Braddock's pale face went entirely gray. "But... but Your Grace, the horses! They need rest! And my men, we are half-frozen! Surely we can impose upon your hospitality for just one night—"
"No." Callisto's voice was a low, terrifying rumble. "You brought a royal bride to my borders in December without proper furs. Tell the Emperor if he sends garbage to my territory again, I will return it to him piece by piece."
I blinked. Garbage? Was he talking about me, or the carriage? Given the hostility radiating from the man, it was a toss-up.
"But we will die in the storm!" Braddock cried.
Callisto finally looked at him. The golden eyes were glowing faintly in the dim light of the snowstorm. "Then die quickly. If you are still on my lands when the sun sets, I will let the wolves use your armor as a chew toy."
He wasn't joking. I could tell by the absolute stillness of his posture. This man had killed before, and he wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over adding an imperial knight to his tally.
Braddock didn't say another word. He practically scrambled up the side of the carriage, screaming at the driver to turn the horses around.
Callisto didn't watch them leave. He turned back to the massive oak doors of the estate.
"Inside," he ordered, walking past me. "Before you freeze to death and make a mess of my stairs."
Ah. There's the savage, I thought, my heart finally slowing down to a normal rhythm. Much better. I know how to deal with rude tyrants. Crying, emotional men are entirely outside my skillset.
I gathered the ridiculously heavy wolf-skin cloak around my shoulders and hurried up the stone steps, careful not to slip a second time.
The heavy oak doors swung open as I approached, pulled back by unseen hands. I stepped over the threshold, bracing myself for a dark, damp, freezing dungeon. I fully expected rusted chandeliers, drafty stone halls, and maybe a few skulls on pikes for decoration.
Instead, a wave of glorious, cinnamon-scented heat washed over me.
The grand foyer of the Dristan Estate was stunning. The floors were polished dark wood, covered in plush, thick rugs. Massive fireplaces roared on either side of the hall, casting a warm, golden glow over the tapestries hanging on the walls. It didn't look like a prison. It looked like a home.
"I see you didn't break your neck on the ice," a dry, feminine voice echoed through the hall. "A pity. I had a lovely eulogy prepared."
I jumped, spinning around.
Standing near the staircase was a woman in a pristine black and white maid's uniform. She had sharp features, dark hair pulled into a severe bun, and she was holding a feather duster like it was a lethal weapon.
"Excuse me?" I asked, completely thrown.
"I am Madame Ivy. Head Maid of the Winter Estate," she said, giving a perfectly executed, entirely sarcastic curtsy. "Welcome to your icy grave, Your Highness. Please wipe your boots. I just mopped."
I stared at her. "You... you were going to read a eulogy if I fell?"
"No, I was going to collect five copper coins from Sir Serion. He bet you wouldn't make it past the front gates without crying," Ivy said completely deadpan. She didn't bat an eye at my shock. "The Duke has retired to his study. I am to show you to your quarters."
I looked around the warm, brightly lit hall. "Where am I staying? The cellar? The attic?"
"The cellar is for the wine, and the attic is for the ghosts, Your Highness. If we put you in either, the Duke would hang me by my toes."
Before I could ask what she meant by that, a loud BOOM rattled the walls.
A heavy wooden door down the hallway blasted open, and a cloud of thick, black smoke billowed out into the pristine foyer.
I let out a very undignified yelp and took a step back, reaching for a weapon I didn't have. Assassins? Already?!
From the smoke, a small boy emerged. He looked no older than ten, his face entirely covered in soot. He was holding a slightly charred wooden training sword and grinning ear to ear.
He took one look at me, his eyes widening as they locked onto my vibrant orange hair.
"Whoa," the kid breathed, sprinting over to me. He crashed directly into my freezing skirts, leaving a giant soot stain on the fabric. "You're fiery! Are you the new meat?"
My jaw dropped. "...The what?"
Madame Ivy sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Leonel. What did I tell you about practicing indoor combustion?"
"Not to do it near the curtains?" Leonel chirped happily.
"And?"
"And definitely not near the Duke's study." Leonel pointed a sooty finger at me. "Is she really the princess? She looks too squishy to survive the wolves."
I was too stunned to be offended. Children? The bloodthirsty beast of the North lets children run around blowing up rooms?
"Leonel, go wash your face before I make you scrub the armory floor with a toothbrush," Ivy threatened, though her tone lacked any real bite.
Leonel gave me a cheeky salute with his charred sword. "Nice to meet you, Squishy!" he yelled, sprinting down the hallway and disappearing around a corner.
I stood frozen in the foyer, the heavy wolf cloak slipping off my shoulder. "What... what was that?"
"That is a menace we have temporarily agreed to house," Ivy said, turning toward the grand staircase. "Do try not to let him set your hair on fire. It looks highly flammable. Follow me, please."
I followed the Head Maid up the sweeping wooden staircase, my brain struggling to process the last ten minutes.
The Duke had caught me. He was burning hot. He looked at me like someone he had loved and lost. The estate was warm and smelled like pastries. The staff made sarcastic bets and let children blow up rooms.
None of this fit the narrative. It didn't fit the Emperor's warnings, and it certainly didn't fit the logic I had relied on to survive my past lives. In my second life, my "loving" husband had locked me in a tower. In my third, my "loyal" knights had poisoned my tea.
I knew how to handle cruelty. Warmth terrified me. Warmth was usually a trap.
"Does he usually catch people who fall?" I asked quietly as we walked down a long, carpeted corridor.
"The Duke?" Ivy didn't look back. "No. He usually watches them bleed."
A shiver ran down my spine. "Then why..."
"I do not pretend to understand His Grace's mind, Princess," Ivy said smoothly, stopping in front of a set of massive, intricately carved double doors at the end of the hall. "I merely follow his orders. And his orders were to ensure you are kept comfortable."
She pushed the doors open.
I braced myself for the catch. A cold room. A hard bed. A subtle reminder that I was a prisoner here.
Instead, I walked into a dream.
The master suite was massive. A roaring fire crackled in a huge stone hearth, filling the room with comforting heat. The bed was large enough to fit five people, draped in thick, plush blankets of cream and gold. Large bay windows overlooked the snowy courtyard, but thick velvet curtains kept the draft out.
On a small silver table near the fire, a fresh pot of tea was steaming. Next to it was a small vase containing a single, vibrant green fern.
My breath hitched.
I loved ferns. In my third life, I used to sneak away to the royal greenhouses just to sit among them. I had never told anyone that. Not ever.
"Is the room to your liking?" Ivy asked, watching me closely.
"It's..." I swallowed hard, stepping fully into the suite. "It's far too grand for an exiled princess. Are you sure I am meant to be in here?"
"You are the Duchess van Dristan," Ivy corrected sharply. "This is the Duchess's suite."
She walked over to a massive wardrobe made of dark mahogany and pulled the doors open.
"I took the liberty of unpacking the luggage the Duke ordered," she said.
I walked over to the wardrobe and froze.
It was full of dresses. Dozens of them. But they weren't the loud, garish pinks and bright yellows the Capital forced me to wear. They were deep emerald greens, soft creams, and rich sapphire blues. The exact colors I would have chosen for myself if I had ever been given a choice.
I reached out with a trembling hand, brushing my fingers against a heavy, velvet winter gown. It looked exactly like my size.
A cold sense of dread began to pool in my stomach.
"My uncle works fast, I suppose," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "To send an entire new wardrobe with the carriage."
"The Emperor did not provide these, Your Highness," Ivy said flatly.
I pulled my hand back. "Then who...?"
"The Duke."
My brow furrowed. I looked from the dresses to Ivy's unreadable face. "That makes no sense. My exile was a sudden decree. The Emperor signed the papers only two weeks ago. It takes months to source this kind of fabric, let alone tailor a dozen gowns to my exact measurements."
Madame Ivy stood completely still. Her dark eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time since I met her, the sarcastic edge was completely gone from her voice.
"He didn't order them two weeks ago, Your Highness."
I frowned, my heart picking up a nervous rhythm. "Then when?"
Ivy gently closed the wardrobe doors, the click echoing loudly in the quiet room.
"He has been preparing this room for you for three years."