The maid—no, King Verdan’s hired assassin and spy—looked up with dull eyes and blunted defiance. “This doesn’t end here. I am but one of many.”

Kham nodded. “Perhaps. But after today, the many you speak of will count one less among their number.”

She returned to Wynter’s side. He enfolded her in his arms, pulling her close to his body. He tilted her face up to his and brushed one large thumb across her cheek in a gentle caress.

“Pay her no heed, min ros. She’s just trying to get under your skin, the same way she did when she tried to make you doubt your old nurse. She knows of no others serving your father here in Wintercraig, and she confessed your nurse had nothing to do with your father’s schemes. She said everyone in Vera Sola knew Tildavera Greenleaf’s first loyalty was to you.”

“You had her questioned about Tildy?” She frowned up at him. “Why?”

“Because I could see that her accusations were troubling you. And I know what it’s like to be betrayed by someone you trust. I thought you deserved to know the truth.”

He knew her so much better than she realized. She hadn’t truly believed Tildy would have harmed her, but the doubt had still been there, poisoning her mind as surely as Bella’s herbs had poisoned her body. And he’d seen that and put a stop to it.

“Thank you.” She looped her arms around his waist and leaned into him. “Take me home, husband. To Gildenheim.”

CHAPTER 20

The Great Hunt

The next month passed in a strange haze of happiness. Or at least Khamsin imagined this feeling was what happiness must be like.

Wynter began to join Khamsin and Krysti on their daily rides. News of her efforts to save Skala-Holt had spread far and wide, and the Winterfolk who had offered her hostility and suspicion now greeted Khamsin with warm smiles and open arms. Valik was actually making an effort to be amiable, and many ladies of the court began including her in their tight-knit circles. Even the mothers of the top-floor children had softened their stance, and allowed her to share the history of Summerlea with their children without protest.

As December deepened and winter solstice arrived, Konundal quadrupled in size. Every room in Gildenheim filled to bursting as folk from all over the kingdom gathered for the grand Festival of Wyrn, which celebrated the official start of winter. Ice sculptors carved enormous scenes and statues from blocks of ice, all lit by a dazzling display of multicolored lamplight each night. Kham’s favorite was the breathtaking Ice Palace, a giant, life-sized castle built and entirely furnished with ice. It sported a gathering hall, a dining room set with a complete service carved from frosted ice, tower walls you could actually walk on, and three bedrooms that adventuresome Winterfolk could rent for the night. Wynter tried to talk her into taking one of the rooms, but she refused for fear that she might melt the palace down around their ears.

She felt like smiling all the time. Her, Khamsin Coruscate. Even the return of Reika Villani could not dim her happiness.

Each morning, Kham woke in Wynter’s arms, his cool body curled against her warmth, his arms wrapped around her, his hair mingling with hers on the pillows. And each morning, she would smile, stretch like a cat, and roll over to look up into those startling glacier blue eyes, and the fire that ever smoldered between them would spark anew.

Lying in her bed as the first fingers of dawn crept over the horizon, Khamsin clutched Wynter’s pillow to her face, breathed in his scent, and gave a laughing groan as the scent sizzled through her veins, rousing vivid memories of this morning’s vigorous beginning. He was always awake before she was, watching her in silence as she slept, but somehow, that didn’t alarm or bother her. Instead, it made her feel . . . protected. Safe. Even . . . loved.

Kham sat up abruptly and flung the pillow aside. Loved? Where had that come from?

She pressed her hands to her cheeks. Wynter didn’t love her. She wasn’t fool enough to ever dream that he would. She was just a means to an end. A womb to carry his heir. She must never forget that. Never. To start spinning romantic fantasies involving Wynter was idiocy. Granted, if she did, in fact, provide him the heir he needed, her position as Wintercraig’s queen would be secure, but that was politics, not love. Once he had his heir, he might well abandon her bed in favor of another’s. The courtiers’ sly, tittering glances, which had faded when Wynter began lavishing his attention on her, would once again grow sharp as glass.

A powerful gust of wind rattled the windows in their panes.

Kham caught herself instantly. No. She wasn’t going to think like that. This last month had been the most wonderful of her life, and she wasn’t going to ruin it with wild speculation, foolish dreams, or dark, unhappy thoughts. Wynter didn’t love her. She wasn’t going to let herself believe he did. But that didn’t preclude their building a good life together.

Khamsin shoved the rumpled linens and furs aside and rose from the bed. The instant her feet touched the floor, dizziness assailed her. She swayed and clutched one of the solid wooden posters to steady herself, but the dizziness had already passed. Her stomach growled loudly, and Kham laughed and shook her head. She should have eaten more at last night’s dinner meal. If she started fainting from hunger, Wynter would probably insist on hand feeding her himself.

Kham cocked her head to one side, and a slow smile curved across her lips. Come to think of it . . . that had all sorts of interesting possibilities.

With a laugh for her wicked thoughts, she reached for the bellpull and rang for her new maid, a cheery Winterlass named Drifa. Kham had promised Krysti they would make an early start of it this morning. He wanted to take her to a place he claimed had one of the best views in the whole valley.