The frost air tasted the same as when I left—sharp, clean, and indifferent to whether I'd returned victorious or alone.
It made me limp. How I ever tolerated a life here was beyond me.
The settlement rose from the snowdrifts as if carved from the mountain itself—precise walls, rooflines honed to shed the weight of endless winter. Frost elves did not waste effort. Or compassion. We built to endure, not to comfort.
Cold. Predictable. Completely dull.
My boots crunched through the packed snow toward the great hall. Faces turned as I passed, their eyes lingering just long enough to notice the faint warmth threading my hair before sliding away. They'd whisper later, when it suited them.
Typical cowards.
Inside, the cold was sharper still. Elders sat in a crescent of carved ice and stone, their white-and-silver robes dissolving into the frozen architecture. Silent, patient, watching.
I cared little for their theater, but I could play along. For now.
Elder Thavren's voice cut the stillness. "Seldric. You have been gone beyond your allotted span. Report."
And who allots me the time? You? This council? Piss off.
I stepped forward, posture perfect. "My quarry proved… difficult." A controlled pause. "The expedition to reclaim my betrothed ended in failure. She is dead."
Dead to them. To me, she was alive—only sharper now, more perfect. My snowflake. I had to suppress the twitch of a grin and the tightening heat low in my gut.
A ripple moved through the elders. Not grief—calculation. A valuable pairing lost.
I let the next words drop like frost on still water. "Her death was not without value. The one who struck her down was unlike any I have faced—a warrior of exceptional pedigree. Technique precise. Instincts honed. Composure… unshakable. She fought with the elegance of a true-born frost elf, though I have never seen her among our kind. Likely an isolated bloodline from deeper in the ranges."
My Yuki. My perfect snowflake. You will be mine.
The lie slid as easily as breath.
Elder Vorenn's gaze sharpened. "You claim she is of our blood?"
Of course I do. She told me so herself. But I'll give you only what I choose.
"I would stake my life on it," I said without hesitation. "Her eyes, her bearing—they speak of lineage, not chance. If I am correct, her bloodline is worth more than what I was sent to retrieve."
Much, much more.
A murmur rippled along the benches—interest, not doubt.
I pressed. "If acquired, she would strengthen our stock. The loss of my betrothed is regrettable, but this… this is an opportunity."
The perfect mask: the dutiful hunter returning with a better prize in sight. None of them needed to know the truth—that the woman I spoke of was my betrothed, reforged by defiance into something far more desirable. That the thought of claiming her now, of breaking that newfound steel in her spine, consumed me.
Elder Thavren's tone was cool. "And you believe you can bring her in alive?"
Alive, yes. Unharmed… who can say?
I allowed a small, confident smile. "Yes. But she is dangerous. I will require a small, specialized unit—hunters who can move unseen and strike without hesitation."
The elders exchanged their quiet, coded glances. I caught one, faint as it was—Vorenn's lips curving, the glint of the same hunger I felt. He wanted the bloodline too.
After a long moment, Thavren inclined his head. "You will have your unit. Bring her back intact. If she resists… break her spirit before her body. We need her useful."
I bowed in acknowledgment. "It will be done."
It would be done.
Not because they wanted her bloodline.
Not because she would strengthen the tribe.
Because I wanted to watch her will splinter in my hands.
Because I could still see the heat in her eyes in the middle of that frozen battlefield.
Because nothing that perfect should walk the world without belonging to me.
My dear snowflake… I'm coming.