come together. I've grown curious

The next morning dawned bright and cruel.Sunlight struck the palace's towers of ice and crystal, scattering cold brilliance that hurt to look at too long. Courtiers swept through the halls in soft murmurs, their frost-laced garments whispering against stone, eyes darting toward Ren and Lyra with open curiosity — and just a hint of fear.

They were becoming spectacle here.Not merely guests, not even threats. Something more unsettling. A mortal who had walked unbroken through Miraye's temptations and now stood untouched amid Erithia's delicate snares.

Lyra felt it too.She walked with her head high, shoulders back, hand locked tightly in Ren's. But each time she caught a lesser noble or spirit staring too long, her power flared — tiny sparks of silver that fizzed across her skin. It left the watchers flinching, stepping quickly aside.

"Your eyes are sharp this morning," Ren teased, voice pitched low.

Lyra shot him a sideways look, mouth curving. "Let them look. Let them all wonder how long before I tire of their stares and start tearing down walls."

They made their way to the main courtyard, where the queen's retinue had arranged a demonstration of frost magic — tall columns of enchanted ice swirling with trapped flowers and pale flames. Spectacles meant to impress.

But Ren found his gaze drawn elsewhere.

At the far end of the courtyard, seated on a throne of sleek, living frost, Erithia watched. Her long silver hair had been swept up today, revealing the fragile points of her ears, tiny sapphire studs gleaming against her skin. Her gown was layered in thin gossamer that seemed to catch every breath of wind, making her look more ghost than queen.

And her eyes — cold blue, endless — were fixed entirely on him.

Lyra felt it. Her hand clenched tighter. "She's becoming reckless. That's twice now she's looked at you and forgotten the pretense of polite curiosity."

Ren only smirked faintly. "Then let her stare. She's trying to understand something she can't touch."

The performances dragged on. Courtiers demonstrated spells that wove frost into dancing shapes, knights shattered enchanted columns with delicate blades, and singers with voices like wind over glaciers sent tremors through the courtyard stone.

But Erithia never applauded. Never even looked away.

Finally, when the last song faded, she rose. The entire court hushed instantly.

"Enough of these pale entertainments," Erithia said, her voice carrying effortlessly. "Today, I would rather speak plainly. With my guests. Alone."

Her eyes found Lyra, then flicked back to Ren. "If they dare."

A ripple of uncertainty moved through the gathered nobles. Alone with the frost queen was no light thing. The legends of her moods were old and cruel.

But Ren stepped forward without hesitation. "As you wish."

Lyra's mouth tightened. Her eyes sparked dangerously, silver cracks crawling up her throat. "If you think I'll let you walk into her chill embrace by yourself—"

Erithia lifted a hand. "Then come together. I've grown curious about the way your power folds around his. Perhaps it's time I felt it up close."

They were led through the palace by two silent handmaidens draped in thin sheets of icy mesh. Their bare feet left no prints on the frost-carved floors. Lyra never released Ren's hand once, though her grip had shifted from possessive to outright protective — power coiling along her arm where it tangled with his.

They entered a circular chamber with no throne. Only a pool of still water in the center, rimmed by low cushions. The surface mirrored the ceiling, where faint constellations moved behind filmy ice.

Erithia waited there, already seated on one of the cushions, robes spilling around her like frozen breath.

"Sit," she commanded softly.

They did, though Lyra settled half in Ren's lap, pointedly curling one leg over his, as if daring Erithia to comment.

For a long moment, none of them spoke.Erithia only watched them, head tilted slightly, her pale lashes lowering each time Ren exhaled — as if studying how the air moved around him.

Finally, she murmured, "What does it feel like? To love something so fiercely the world itself seems small next to it?"

Lyra blinked. It wasn't the question she'd braced for. Her power dimmed slightly, confusion flickering across her face.

Ren answered, voice low, honest. "Like a blade held to your own throat. You know it could end you, and you hold it tighter anyway."

Erithia's breath caught, a soft sound that seemed almost pained. Her hand lifted, fingertips skimming the surface of the water. Tiny cracks of frost chased her skin.

"You've walked through shadows deeper than any I've known," she whispered, eyes on Ren. "Miraye's hunger. Gods who wished to break your bond for sport. And yet here you sit, still pressed together as though this entire realm might vanish if you loosened your grip."

Lyra's lips curved into a small, dangerous smile. "Because it might. He's the only thing in any world that matters more to me than my own pride."

Erithia shivered. Literally. Tiny flakes of frost drifted from her shoulders.Then, startling them both, she leaned forward — her hand brushing Ren's cheek in a touch so light it barely existed.

Instantly, Lyra's power flared. A thin line of silver fire snapped across her skin, but Erithia didn't recoil. Her own magic flared cold and bright, swirling around Ren's shoulders in delicate threads of ice.

For a breathless second, two primal forces tangled over him — cold that wanted to understand what made heat endure, and heat that would sooner burn the world than let go.

Ren didn't flinch. He met Erithia's eyes steadily, letting her feel all of it: his loyalty, his dark hungers, the raw, tender ache that was Lyra's alone.

Erithia pulled back with a sharp inhale. Her pupils were wide, almost startled. Her hand fell to her lap, curling tight.

"Thank you," she rasped. "I thought… perhaps love was merely a tale mortals told to comfort themselves against eternity's teeth. But I see now it's something sharper. More dangerous."

When they finally stood to leave, Erithia didn't stop them.She only watched, her expression hollowed by something like awe. Or envy.

As they reached the threshold, she called softly, "Lyra."

The goddess paused, head turning slightly.

"If he ever tires of your storms… send him to me. Not to rule. Not even to warm my bed. Only to remind me what it felt like, this moment."

Lyra's smile was slow, cruel, and unbearably tender all at once. "He'll never tire. And that's why your palace will stay as empty as your hands."

Outside, Ren let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Lyra pressed close, her mouth finding the hollow of his throat in a kiss that was almost vicious.

"She nearly touched something you gave me first," she whispered. "I'll forgive her once. Only because I saw her flinch when she felt how completely you're mine."

That night, Lyra rode him hard and slow under tangled sheets, her hands framing his face as if staking her claim on every quiet breath. When he spilled into her with a low, wrecked moan, she caught his mouth in a kiss that felt less like devotion and more like a promise to destroy any hand that reached for what she held.

Far above, frost moons drifted across black skies, watching a mortal and his goddess write a legend that would outlast even cold thrones.