Of Feuds and Frost

“Stand still, dearest,” my mother spoke, her fingers deftly weaving a silver ribbon through my hair.

She had spent the last two hours polishing me up like a porcelain doll, making sure my heavy velvet gown sat perfectly. But my mind wasn’t on the royal court, nor the grand feast, nor the dazzling lanterns.

Just that morning, Father had brought home a tiny, snow-white rabbit for me. It was currently tucked away in a warm basket in my room, a little ball of soft, twitching fluff. I was completely, utterly obsessed with it.

The thought of leaving my little rabbit behind to spend hours sitting upright among stuffy lords and whispering ladies felt like an absolute punishment. I didn’t care about the palace. I just wanted to go back to my basket.

“Hurry now, the carriage is waiting,” Mother urged, giving my shoulder a firm but gentle nudge toward the door.

With a heavy, reluctant sigh, I dragged my feet and followed her out into the freezing night. The bitter wind immediately bit through my heavy velvet cloak as we stepped into the courtyard, where the iron-rimmed wheels of our carriage sat half-buried in the rapidly accumulating drifts.

As we approached, Father reached his hand out through the open door, his warm grip steadied us up into the carriage.

I pressed my palm against the frosted window, watching the city disappear behind us. The snow was falling so heavily it blurred the sharp gothic edges of the Archontate into soft, ghostly shapes as we drew closer to its massive, towering silhouette

When the carriage finally ground to a halt outside the grand palace gates, the driver rushed to throw open the door, offering a hand to help us down into the slush.

As we approached the grand threshold, the heavy oak doors swung wide. The Captain of the Guard snapped his halberd against the marble floor, the sharp crack echoing above the din of the music inside.

“Make way!" He barked. "The Grand Tutor and his esteemed house. Welcome to Her Majesty’s winter court.”

Inside, the chill vanished, replaced by the suffocating heat of a thousand wax candles and the rich aroma of roasted venison.

A dozen ministers turned their heads to watch our entrance as a servant hurried forward to take our snow-dusted furs. My father merely offered a curt nod, his heavy, gold-embroidered velvet sweeping the floor as we stepped in.

The stewards ushered toward a long trestle table positioned dead-center of the hall, directly across the expanse of polished marble from the royal dais where the Emperor and Empress currently sat.

Her Majesty was enthroned in magnificent, snow-white fur and heavy brocade that shimmered like frost under the chandelier light, a striking contrast to the cold, imposing stone of the Archontate. Despite the weight of the massive crown nestled in her intricately braided hair, her posture held a relaxed grace.

My gaze bypassed the row of broad-shouldered guards, skipping past their polished armor and the princes' heavy furs until it snagged on the very end of the line.

There, tucked so deep into the recess of a stone pillar that the firelight barely touched, sat a boy... His collarbones cut sharp lines against a mantle that hung loose over his narrow frame.

Because of where our table sat, he was positioned directly in my line of sight: a solitary, dark silhouette framed perfectly by the pale marble architecture.

Amid the sea of glittering silk and boisterous laughter, he was completely still.

The rest of our table was occupied by stuffy adults, save for one girl around my age, a general's daughter who spent the evening whispering behind her linen napkin.

A low, mutinous growl vibrated in my gut, a stark reminder that I’d skipped lunch during the frantic hours of getting dressed.

My world quickly narrowed to the porcelain rim of my plate. I snatched a crust of warm, braided bread, tore it open, and used it to sweep up the pools of rich gravy, barely chewing a slice of roasted pheasant before reaching for a cluster of fresh greens.

If anyone was watching the Grand Tutor’s child eat like a starved street urchin, they’d have to wait until I finished my third pastry to tell me.

“What are you doing, darling?” my mother’s whisper suddenly cut in, her tone a mix of embarrassment and worry. Her hand shot out under the table, while her face maintained a rigid, bright smile for the benefit of the Countess across from us.

My hands froze mid-crease. I looked down at my lap, where my linen napkin had been meticulously folded into a makeshift pouch. Inside lay a chaotic heap of shredded cabbage, fragrant sprigs of mint, and a handful of glazed figs.

“I want to take this home,” I answered honestly, keeping my voice quiet. “For my little rabbit.”

A wave of light, stifled laughter rippled through the surrounding tables. I blinked, looking around the grand hall, completely bewildered by their amusement. What was so funny?

“Is... is it not allowed?” I asked, pulling the napkin a little closer.

“Of course it is allowed,” a remarkably gentle woman voice resonated from the high dais.

The hall fell instantly silent. The Empress was smiling down at our table, her eyes warm. “This must be the Grand Tutor’s daughter. What a delightfully sweet child.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks as my mother gave my sleeve a sharp, frantic tug under the table. I quickly scrambled to my feet, bowing my head just the way I had been taught.

“And take these as well for your little rabbit,” the Empress added with a soft chuckle, gesturing to a maid, who promptly placed a small silver bowl filled with fresh winter berries onto our table.

“My deepest thanks, Your Majesty,” I mumbled, my cheeks burning hotter.

As I sat back down, my eyes instinctively drifted back across the room to the end of the royal table. That boy was looking at me. But his icy mask was gone, replaced by a subtle, mocking twist of his lips. He was smiling. It wasn’t a kind smile, nor was it a cruel one; it was a quiet, knowing look that made my chest tighten with confusion.

Why was he looking at me like I had just done something incredibly foolish?

The heavy silver platters were finally scraped clean, and the suffocating drone of the adults’ chatter began to dissolve. On a cue from the grand chamberlain, a flock of velvet-clad attendants descended upon the tables, gently but firmly steering every child in the hall away from the lingering warmth of the hearths.

We were herded through the towering oak side doors and spilled out into the courtyard. The crisp night air greeted us like a slap, shocking the sluggish, feast-heavy sleepiness right out of my lungs. Around me, the sudden freedom erupted into a frenzy of boots crunching on fresh powder, as the other children instantly scattered into the moonlit snow.

The Empress had transformed the sprawling rose-myrtle garden into a winter wonderland. Hundreds of exquisite glass lanterns hung from the frosted branches, glowing like trapped stars.

“A parting gift from Her Majesty!” an attendant called out, gesturing toward the courtyard’s maze of frosted hedges. “Choose one to light your way home.”

I broke into a run, my boots kicking up sprays of fresh powder as I darted through the labyrinth of stone paths. Then, hanging from a low-sweeping pine branch, I saw it.

It was a delicate thing, crafted from thin paper stretched over wire, hand-painted with soft brown and cream feathers to resemble a tiny, round sparrow. When I unhooked it, the wire handle fit perfectly in my palm. I held it close to my chest, entirely spellbound by the amber glow it spilled across the snow, turning the icy ground beneath my feet into a canvas of warm flickering light.

All around me, the courtyard erupted into a chaotic symphony of shrill laughter and the wet thud of packed snowballs. Children chased each other through the hedges, waving their new lanterns like erratic fireflies.

Yet, the warmth of the sparrow lantern in my hands couldn’t quite thaw the chill gathering at the base of my neck. No matter how loud the games grew, the memory of the boy at the edge of the dais kept tugging at my thoughts. The sharp intensity of his look remained burned into my mind, completely out of place amid the night’s celebration.

I leaned closer to a young palace maid who was adjusting the wick of a nearby lantern. Trying to sound casual, I nodded back toward the glowing windows of the grand hall. “Excuse me... that boy sitting at the very end of the corner table. Who is he?”

The young maid froze, her fingers jerking away from the lantern wick as if she had just been burned. She cast a frantic, fearful glance over her shoulder toward the other attendants, face drained.

“Shh, my lady! Please, do not speak of him,” she pleaded, her hands trembling as she bunched the fabric of her apron into tight fists. She began to step backward, clearly desperate to escape the conversation. “I must attend to the other guests.”

“Wait,” I said, stepping into her path, holding up my arms so she couldn’t easily bypass me.

The maid bit her lower lip so hard it turned white, her gaze dropping to the snow between us. Realizing I wasn’t going to let her pass without an answer, she leaned in close, her breath misting sharply in the freezing air.

“He is... the child of the late Empress Margaux,” the maid murmured, her eyes wide with a heavy, superstitious dread. “They say he was born under a cursed star.”