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Boreas should have known.

No, he did know something was amiss. He just couldn’t have imagined this. 

Milori had been acting strange for weeks. At first it was small things— arriving late for meetings, zoning out during said meetings, and though he was physically present, his mind seemed elsewhere. 

Boreas had assumed it was just the usual stress of being a ruler. Being an apprentice to the lord of Winter was hard work and even the toughest crack under pressure. 

After all, balancing the needs of Winter was no small task, especially under Queen Altherion’s rule. 

But then, there were the other things.

Milori started sneaking away more often, and always under flimsy excuses that barely held up. His patrols extended just a little too far towards Spring, and his return was always accompanied by a shift in his demeanor—lighter, somehow, as if he carried a secret no one else could touch. 

Not to mention whatever he and Snowflake had going on. Those two were always talking in hushed voices, their heads darting about to check for anyone who could be listening in. He sees the way she would lean into his space and whisper, to which the tips of his ears would go red and his glow would develop a pinkish hue. 

And Boreas would really love to forget that one time he walked in on the two of them deeply engrossed in an anatomical diagram of a female’s-

He shakes his head, trying to will the thought away. If he could wipe away the memory of Milori’s deeply concentrated face while he studied with genuine scholarly intent, he would in a heartbeat. 

One day, Boreas had only been half-paying attention when he passed by the icy walls of the Hall of Winter, glinting in the sunlight as he roamed through its hallways. But then, he heard that tone—low, teasing, and far too amused for his liking.

“I’m sure you were very eager.” 

“I- that’s not-”

Boreas peeked around the corner. There they were. Snowflake and Milori— the former leaning into his space in a way that set off all the alarm bells in his mind. Snowflake’s smirk was unmistakable, dripping with amusement, and Milori-

Was he blushing?

No, he definitely was. His glow thrums with a rosy glow, uncharacteristically bright. 

Boreas narrowed his eyes. 

“What was it like? Did she sound as pretty as I imagined?” Snowflake purred, tilting her head, her voice laced with something deliberately wicked. Dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, she asked “Tell me, did you beg?”

Milori made a strangled noise. “I— what?”

Snowflake tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I bet you had to work for it.” She gasped, eyes alight with faux scandal. “Were you desperate? I bet you’re still remembering it, aren’t you?” 

Milori’s face turned a dangerous shade of pink. “That’s- I wasn’t-”

Snowflake’s laughter rang through the air, light and knowing. “Oh, you so were. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Boreas stopped completely.

What.

His gaze flickered between them. The way Milori rubbed the back of his neck, looking thoroughly cornered, only made Boreas more suspicious. Snowflake was having far too much fun, her eyes twinkling with mischief, and-

Milori looked like he wanted to melt into the ice beneath him.

Boreas folded his arms, clearing his throat. The two fairies snapped their heads toward him like guilty fairies caught raiding the Pixie Dust supply.

“What,” Boreas said flatly, “exactly am I walking in on?”

Snowflake, recovering first from the initial shock, grinned innocently and folded her hands in front of her, while Milori groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“Oh, nothing,” Snowflake said airily, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “Just discussing some… pressing issues.” 

“Snowflake-”

“Pressing issues?” Boreas clarified 

“Mhm.” She hummed, her gaze flicking to Milori and she flashes him a smile. “Quite pressing . Wouldn’t you say, Milori?”

Milori was practically vibrating with mortification, looking as if he were debating whether flinging himself out the nearest window was a valid escape plan. “Oh my frost, Snowflake, please. ”

How strange it was, seeing normally gruff, no-nonsense, perpetually exasperated, Milori reduced to this… bumbling mess. 

Boreas arched a brow, scrutinizing them both. The way Snowflake was needling him, the way Milori looked like he’d been personally victimized by whatever conversation they were having— 

Oh fuck. 

Were they—

“Are you two-” Boreas asked slowly, his voice filled with the deep weariness of someone who knew he wasn’t going to like the answer. “Is this—?” he gestured vaguely between them.

Milori’s eyes widened in horror. “No!”

Her laugh is sickeningly sweet as she lays her palm over his shoulder, the sound echoing in the bare hallway. “Don’t mind him, Boreas.” She smiled, pressing ever so slightly into Milori’s shoulder. “He’s just a little shy.” 

Milori let out a strangled noise, and all Boreas could do was stare, trying to determine whether he was disgusted, impressed, or just plain tired of whatever nonsense he had just walked into.

“Right,” he muttered. “I need a drink.”

And he decided he really did not want to know whatever those two were doing. If they were fucking around behind his back, so be it. Let him remain in the dark. 

Boreas had no intention of discovering anything. 

Until the truth crawled right into his lap. 

It was late. Deep into the night, when even most winter fairies had settled into their nests of frost and ice.

Boreas was only out because he couldn’t sleep, his thoughts tangled as usual in the endless tug-of-war that was his life.

A quiet flight through the Winter Woods should have cleared his mind. 

Should have.

But then he heard voices.

Soft ones. Familiar…

Boreas frowned, his sharp ears twitching. No one was supposed to be out this late, and certainly not him .

He moved silently toward the sound, the cold wind muffling his steps. As he rounded a frost-covered tree, the sight before him made him freeze.

There, tucked away in the secluded clearing on the cliff sat Milori. And beside him…

The familiar shade of hair, catching in the moonlight like strands of sunlight woven from dawn, and wings he knew were tucked in the thick coat she wore. 

Clarion. 

Stars , he was done for. 

Boreas stared. 

With his arm around her waist, she leaned into him like he was the only thing tethering her to this earth. 

And Boreas knew. 

There was no way he could pretend that this was some tense, politically delicate conversation. It was already far from being a truce between monarchs. 

Boreas has seen Milori do a lot of things. He had seen him wrestle a wayward lynx to the ground, and once, accidentally snap a doorknob clean off. 

But this, he had never seen before. 

It was almost hard to believe what he was seeing. Milori reaching over to cradle her face with a tenderness he didn’t know he was capable of, like she was a delicate little flower instead of the Princess of Pixie Hollow, who lest they forget, was also the daughter of the autocrat. 

Oh stars. 

Altherion. 

Boreas blinked, half-wondering if he had fallen into some bizarre fever dream. He definitely needed a drink now. 

He did not have long to process this revelation before Clarion—damn her starsent senses, stiffened, her head turning sharply in his direction. Her breath hitched, pulling away from his hold like it burned. 

Milori followed her gaze, and the moment his eyes landed on Boreas, his entire expression dropped into something between shock and pure, unfiltered horror.

“…Boreas,” Milori said slowly, as if saying his name any faster might cause the entire world to explode.

Boreas, still frozen in place, took a very long moment to process what was happening. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Then, finally, he managed a brilliant, eloquent, world-shattering response:

“What the fuck?”

Milori physically recoiled as if Boreas had just thrown an entire glacier at him. “I can explain.” 

His gaze darts between the two of them just standing there with their tails between their legs. There could be no other explanation. 

“With the future queen of Pixie Hollow? Milori, what are you thinking?” 

“I… couldn’t help it.” He says softly, turning his head to meet her eyes. 

Shit. He was smitten, wasn’t he?

Boreas looks at Clarion. standing a little too still, her eyes cast down as though bracing for a storm. 

He takes a breath. Strangely, he couldn’t feel the anger he thought he would feel. Something else he hasn’t seen is Milori, seemingly lost in a wave of dread. He let the silence stretch between them. 

He steps closer. “Does Altherion know?” 

Clarion tilts her head up to look at him at the mention of her name. Her mouth falls open in a slow inhale. That was enough of an answer on its own, though he already knew. No way Altherion would let this happen. The things that tyrant would say to this girl. Poor thing. 

Boreas exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face. “So she doesn’t know.”

Milori, standing stiff as ice beside Clarion, finally looked up. There was a tightness in his jaw, something stark and raw behind his eyes.

“No,” he admitted, voice quieter than Boreas had ever heard it. “She doesn’t.”

“And if she found out?” 

Clarion, still poised as ever, folded her hands in front of her, as if steeling herself for what came next. “It would… complicate things.”

Boreas scoffed. “Complicate?” He shook his head. “She’ll throw a fit loud enough to wake the dead. We all know that.”

Neither of them argued.

Clarion, calm as she was, was still holding herself a little too carefully. Milori, for all his strength, looked like he was waiting for the world to collapse around him. He’s never seen him like this before. 

And there he understood. They weren’t just afraid of getting caught. They were afraid of losing each other.

“Please.” Clarion breaks the silence. And when her cerulean eyes met his, wide and pleading, Boreas felt something settle in his chest. “Don’t tell her.” 

Boreas gave her a wild, disbelieving look. The audacity- “Oh, don’t? What, are you going to bribe me?”

Clarion tilted her head. “Would that work?”

Milori groaned. “Clarion.”

He let out a sharp, exhausted exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, Frost help me.”

Milori, still looking like a man teetering on the edge of disaster, met his gaze, his voice quieter now. “Boreas, please.”

And that, more than anything, made Boreas pause.

Because Milori rarely asked for things. He was stubborn, too self-sacrificing, too honorable for his own good. And yet, here he was, standing with her, looking at Boreas as if this was the one secret in his life he could not afford to lose.

Boreas groaned. Loudly. Stars, the mess he’s somehow gotten himself in. “Fine. I won’t. She’ll have all three off our heads if she finds out.” 

At that, their postures finally relax. Clarion gave him a small nod in thanks, though the tension still lingered around her like an invisible weight. “Altherion is going to be so pissed.” He sighs inwardly. 

Wait- 

Altherion is going to be so pissed. 

Oh.

Altherion is going to lose her fucking mind.

Boreas could already picture it.

The sheer, incandescent rage. The glaring. The yelling. The inevitable violence. 

Being bossy, stubborn, and infuriatingly good at making things his problem. If he can’t win an argument against her, at least he can sit back and enjoy watching her implode over something he didn’t cause for once.

Then Boreas, barely containing himself, grinned. 

The guilties glanced worryingly at each other. “Why is he smiling?” Clarion whispers. 

“I’m not… Sure.” 

Then, after a long, slow, horrifying beat—

He threw his head back and cackled.

“Oh, you are so dead.” He jabbed a finger at his apprentice. 

He almost felt bad for the queen. Almost.

But then he thought about all the times she’d personally made his life hell.

And suddenly? This was the best thing that had ever happened.

He just wished that if that day does come, he’d get front row seats to her reaction. 

“Boreas…” Milori sighed, and whatever else he said fell on deaf ears as the Lord of Winter took flight, leaving them in the clearing, his laughter echoing in the air. 

“He won’t tell her… Right?” Clarion steps up next to him. 

 Milori ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. “I’d like to believe that.”

Clarion gave him a sidelong glance. “That’s not very reassuring.”

“He said he wouldn’t.” He says, taking hold of her hand and running a thumb over her knuckles. “I trust that he won’t.” 

She pouts, “Unless one day he decides he wants to see Mother lose her mind.” 

He sighed, again, but offered a smile. “He doesn’t betray people that easily, Ree. We’ll be fine.” 

They don’t notice the way Boreas stills in the tree cover, turning back to look at them. He sighed. Milori was still there looking at her like she’d personally hung the moon in the sky. Between his broad frame, sharp glare, and general lack of tolerance for nonsense, and the princess’ elegance, warmth, and ability to get her way by sheer grace and charm, there’s no reason why they work. 

But they do. Like the sunshine after a storm. 

And Milori is… What does Snowflake call it again? Down bad? 

As he finally leaves, he shakes his head, still processing what he’d just witnessed.

Because, somehow out of every fairy in Pixie Hollow, Milori was the one who managed to pull the future queen.

Milori.

The same Milori who scowled at everything. The same Milori who, if given the choice between having a heart-to-heart or wrestling a wolf, would seriously consider the wolf. The same Milori who had all the charm of a blizzard and the emotional range of a boulder.

And yet, there he was—looking at Clarion like she personally crafted moonlight just for him.

Boreas raked a hand through his hair, half in disbelief, half in something he was almost ashamed to admit felt like… pride?

Not that he’d ever tell Milori that.

Still, he couldn’t help but be impressed. Because Milori wasn’t just with Clarion.

Clarion, elegant, composed, untouchable Clarion, looked just as gone for him.

Perhaps he was wrong about him. Maybe Milori wasn’t as emotionally constipated as he thought. 

⋆⁺⁀༄⋆❅.

Fuck , Altherion thinks, it’s so fucking cold. 

This was the Pixie Dust Tree. The heart of Pixie Hollow. It was never this frigid, not even at night. And it wasn’t even winter on the Mainland. She could feel it through her armour, any colder and she thought her wings would freeze. 

Had she lowered the temperature herself without realizing? Or—Heaven forbid, had she actually invited Boreas over and somehow forgotten?

Her brows furrowed and she wished she had put her gauntlets on. No, that couldn’t be it. Even she wouldn’t make a mistake that ridiculous.

So then… why did it feel like winter had crept into the very core of Pixie Hollow?

Still, she sauntered over to the meeting hall, half expecting Boreas to be pacing around waiting to spar or… other things. 

Not that she minded the fights. The fights were almost fun . But the rest? The frustrating, infuriating, completely avoidable mess that always seemed to follow? That was another story.

With a sigh, she pushed open the door, already preparing for whatever nonsense he’d dragged in this time.

Only to find the room empty.

Her frown deepened.

So if Boreas wasn’t the cause… then what in the Stars was going on?

Slowly, her gaze flicked upward, to the ventilation that carried air through the Pixie Dust Tree. The system that kept the entire place at the perfect, controlled temperature.

The system that only starsents had access to.

Her stomach twisted with something uneasy.

Clarion.

Clarion had access.

And Clarion had been acting… strange, lately.

A thought struck her, sharp as an arrow.

No. That was ridiculous. The princess wasn’t reckless enough to tamper with something so delicate.

…Was she?

Elvina had mentioned something about Clarion being distracted during her lessons, her mind straying with a dreamy expression on her face. 

Stars, what was she up to?

Altherion let out a breath, shoulders tense. She was going to wring Clarion’s neck. If the girl had actually been tampering with the temperature-

A noise.

Soft, but unmistakable. A scrape against wood.

Her head snapped up.

It was coming from outside. 

Then she heard it again.

A muffled grunt. A shuffle.

She stormed to the window, peeking her head out into the warm air outside. 

Her eyes narrowed at the source of the sound— Clarion’s window. 

And then, she saw it. 

Altherion froze.

There was no fucking way.

Milori.

Milori, who was supposed to be in Winter, who was definitely not supposed to be climbing out of Clarion’s window like a guilty thief in the night.

And he tried to be quiet, but he was this broad shouldered brick trying to sprauchle out of a window way too small for him. 

His wings clipped the upper edge of the window with an audible thwack. The force sent him tipping forward—gracelessly, might she add.

For a brief, beautiful moment, Altherion thought he was going to eat dirt.

But at the last second, Milori caught himself, one hand gripping the frame and his wings finally flapping to save his life, as if he forgot he could fly. Idiot . 

Her eyes narrowed. This was not the time for whatever nonsense was unfolding.

But then, just as she thought it couldn’t get worse, a soft voice drifted through the opening.

“Be careful.”

Altherion’s gaze snapped to the source.

Clarion’s face appeared at the window, her eyes wide and full of concern, her voice just above a whisper. She was still in her nightgown, the soft fabric flowing around her, 

And there it was, that softness that made Altherion want to scream.

Clarion. The future queen of Pixie Hollow.

And here she was, telling Milori to be careful. The same Milori who had clearly lost his damn mind tonight.

Altherion stood there, eyes locked on the scene unfolding before her.

Clarion, with that familiar gentleness, as if nothing in the world could ever go wrong, was still peering out after Milori, her cheeks flushed pink and her expression soft, almost… fond. She hadn’t even realized the mess she was part of.

Altherion’s chest tightened. Oh fuck . 

Clarion’s voice barely reached her as she spoke again, “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

Milori nodded, still by the window, awkwardly hovering between leaving and somehow not being able to fully leave.

But Altherion had heard enough.

“Clarion!”

She didn’t even remember flying out the window, but in a blink she was there, floating over the two of them. The sound of her voice cut through the soft quiet of the night like a dagger.

Clarion’s head snapped toward her, wide eyes meeting Altherion’s cold stare.

And just like that, the warmth from Clarion’s presence shattered, replaced by a heavy silence. Her eyes flickered nervously between Altherion and Milori, his own look of surprise illuminated under the light of the queen’s glow. 

“Mother,” Clarion said, voice small, and for the first time, guilty . She took a step back, hands clasped awkwardly in front of her. “It’s not what it looks like.” 

“Oh yeah? Because it looks a lot like treason.” 

It took every will of restraint in her not to draw her sword out right now. Milori had the cheek to narrow his eyes at her. 

Distantly, it registered that Altherion hadn’t known Milori much at all. All she knew about him was that he was a general who wrote unexpectedly impressive reports and was Boreas’ stupid little protege. However, now he was still, silent, tense in a way that had nothing to do with combat.

And when she looked at him— really looked at him—she saw something she hadn’t prepared for.

He wasn’t afraid of her. He wasn’t even worried for himself.

He seemed worried for Clarion .

Altherion's gaze flickered between them, between the way Clarion stepped just slightly toward him, and the way he shifted subtly in front of her in response. Protective. Like a shield.

It was wrong .

She had spent years ensuring that nothing could break Clarion. That no one could jeopardize her future. And yet, here was Milori, standing between them, already holding something of hers that Altherion couldn’t rip away.

“Mother, please, just let me explain-” 

“Leave.” The word left her lips like ice fracturing over a lake—sharp, inevitable, final.

But Milori didn’t move. She could order him thrown into the dungeons. She could have him exiled, executed. She could make an example out of him, make it hurt —and yet, Clarion was already looking at her like she had drawn her sword to her own daughter’s throat.

“Or I will make it so blazing hot in here you’ll perish instantly.” 

Clarion turned to her, pleading. “Mother, please.”

Altherion didn’t look at her. She couldn’t.

So instead, she looked at him. At the way he stayed in front of her, unyielding, prepared to bear whatever storm came his way, and at the way he had already decided he would endure it, if it meant staying by Clarion’s side.

“Milori, go.” Clarion took hold of his arm, breaking the spell he was in. “Please, just go.”

Milori didn’t move at first. His eyes flickered between the queen who would raze the earth to protect her, and the daughter who stood between them like a bridge caught in a storm.

Clarion’s grip on his arm tightened. “Please.”

Altherion watched as something in him broke when he looked at her, at the desperation in her eyes . He exhaled, slow and heavy, nodding once before finally stepping back.

But he didn’t bow.

Didn’t give her the respect of submission, only the necessity of retreat.

It made her hate him all the more.

With a final glance at Clarion—soft, reverent and lingering, Milori took flight, his wings beating against the chilly night air. 

Altherion didn’t move until he was gone. Until the lingering chill of his presence finally dissipated into the night air.

Then, at last, she turned to her daughter.

“Inside. Now.”

Clarion hesitated for only a moment before obeying, following her back into the meeting hall. Altherion paused, shutting the window behind them with a snap, sealing out the night, and the mess that had just unfolded within it.

The silence between them was heavy, pressing down like a storm cloud ready to break. Clarion stopped in the middle of the room, turning to face her, shoulders drawn back but fingers trembling where they curled at her sides.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she started, her voice quiet but steady. “But-”

“You don’t,” Altherion interrupted, stepping closer. “You really don’t.” She exhaled, slow and measured. She had prepared for threats to Clarion’s reign—traitors, war, disasters. She had fortified her against them, built her up to be unshakable. 

But this?

This was something else entirely.

“For the love of Stars, you have got to be kidding me, Clarion. With him? He’s winter fae!” 

Clarion swallowed, but held her ground. “So what if he’s winter fae?”

“Could you be any louder?” Altherion scoffed, “Do you want everyone in Pixie Hollow to know?” 

“And what’s so wrong with that?” Clarion challenged, lifting her chin.

Altherion felt heat crawl up the back of her neck— not quite from anger, but from the sheer, mortifying reality of the situation.

Clarion, her Clarion, the future queen of Pixie Hollow, had just been caught sneaking around with the Guardian of Winter—by her own mother—and if anyone, anyone outside these walls found out- 

She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply.

No. No, this could not leave this room. This could not be what the court whispered about behind their hands, what the advisors snickered about when they thought she wasn’t listening. They were Starsent, for crying out loud. Divine in the eyes of their subjects. Untouchable.

And yet, here they were.

Clarion, standing tall but flushed, and Altherion— She was trying very hard not to claw her own face off.

“We’re in deep shit . ” Altherion hissed, running a hand down her face. “You—we—have an image to uphold. Do you have any idea how humiliating this would be if word got out? That the Starsent princess is sneaking around with some-” she gestured wildly toward the window, still bristling from the memory of Milori trying and failing to leave with dignity. “-some Winter Guardian who can’t even climb out a window?”

Clarion’s lips pressed together, like she was trying very hard not to smile.

Altherion groaned. “Oh, for Dust’s sake, this is not amusing, Clarion!” She took a step forward, voice low and urgent. “Nobody hears about this. Nobody. Do you understand me?”

She nodded, looking up at the queen through her lashes, but there was something unreadable in her gaze. “But, would that really be so bad? For them to know?” She asked quietly. 

Altherion threw up her hands. “Let’s just parade that around the Hollow, shall we? Let’s give the council something really special to talk about. Do you want them to whisper that the Starsent line has been compromised? Let’s have them whisper about the Starsent princess entangling herself with the enemy! ”

Clarion’s expression darkened. “Winter isn’t the enemy.”

Altherion scoffed. “Oh, sure. And I suppose next you’ll tell me Boreas himself is a delight. ”

“Do you think I don’t know what you really do when Boreas comes here?” Clarion rolled her eyes. 

Altherion groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose, choosing to ignore whatever Clarion had accused her off. “You don’t understand what you’ve done, Clarion. You don’t understand the politics of this.”

Clarion bristled. “Oh, forgive me, Mother, I must have imagined every lesson you ever gave me about strategy and diplomacy.”

“Strategy and diplomacy-” Altherion’s voice rose, but she cut herself off, inhaling sharply. She could not afford to lose her composure. “Strategy and diplomacy,” she continued, measured this time, “do not include sneaking around with a winter warrior behind your fairies’ backs. You are Starsent. Do you understand what that means? ”

Clarion’s expression didn’t waver. “It means I am bound to the Hollow.”

“Yes. And the Hollow must see you as untouchable. Unbreakable. Above everything.” Altherion stepped forward, lowering her voice. “And yet, here you are, tangled up with him.”

Clarion’s breath hitched, and for the first time, there was something fragile in the way she stood—something almost pleading.

“I love him.”

Her voice was softer than it had ever been, like she was willing Altherion to believe it, to understand it. Her hands clenched at her sides as though resisting the urge to reach for her, to make her listen, to prove that this wasn’t just a foolish mistake.

“Oh, wonderful. ” She rolled her eyes so hard she thought they could have gotten stuck, sarcasm lacing every word. “You love him. That changes everything. I suppose I’ll just waltz into the court and tell them, ‘Don’t worry, everyone, the Starsent princess has fallen for Winter’s Guardian , but it’s fine because she loves him.’”

Clarion sighed, closing her eyes shut. “Mother-”

“No, really,” Altherion continued, pacing now. “I’m sure that’ll go perfectly with the advisors. And the council. And the entire Hollow . I’m sure they won’t think for a second that it’s a catastrophic scandal waiting to happen. Who knows, perhaps they’d even start a bet on you. Do you want them to whisper that the Starsent line has been compromised? That you’re weak? That you’re influenced?”

Clarion’s jaw tightened. “I am not weak.”

“Then act like it.” Altherion stepped closer, lowering her voice to a hiss. “Do you understand how humiliating this is? Not just for you but for me too? You’re Starsent, Clarion. That means your affairs are not just your own. They reflect on this entire kingdom.”

Clarion sucked in a deep breath, her expression hardened and the hurt behind her eyes buried beneath sheer resolve. “ You must have loved before, Mother. Can’t you try to understand me?” Her voice cracked, desperate, pleading for something, anything , but the cold, unrelenting wall Altherion always was.

And perhaps for once she was successful as Altherion’s gaze faltered for a split second. The armor she had so carefully built up over the years, the layers of detachment and control, seemed to crack just a fraction. There was a flicker of something softer in her eyes—something almost human, that quickly vanished behind the storm of her thoughts.

But Clarion saw it. For the briefest moment, she saw it: a glimpse of the mother who had once held her when she first emerged from her chrysalis, who pressed her forehead against hers as she eased her fears. Ever since they left the chrysalis nursery, times like those had been rare. 

Altherion clasped her hands in front of her, missing the security she felt her gauntlets gave her. “Love makes fools of us all.” Her voice was quieter now, but no less sharp. She took a breath, straightening. “This doesn’t leave this room,” she said, her tone cold. “You will end it. And no one will ever hear about it.”

Clarion stared at her. “What?” 

Altherion’s gaze was unyielding. “You heard me.”

Clarion shook her head, taking a step forward. “You can’t be serious.”

“I have never been more serious.”

“You want me to just end it ?” Her voice wavered, a desperate edge creeping in. “Like it’s nothing?”

Altherion inhaled sharply through her nose. “Like it never happened .”

Clarion stared at her, searching for something—anything—in her mother’s face. Some sign of softness, of understanding. Some crack in the unrelenting armor. But there was nothing. As usual. “And if I refuse?” she whispered.

Altherion’s jaw tightened, shooting her a glare. “You will.”

Clarion straightened, lifting her chin. “No!”

The word landed between them like a lightning strike, sharp and absolute.

Altherion exhaled slowly, the muscles in her back tightening like coiled steel. “Clarion,” she warned with a pointed look, voice low, dangerous. “Do not test me.”

“I’m not.” Clarion’s voice was steady, but her fingers trembled where they curled at her sides. “I’m telling you I won’t.”

Altherion felt something hot coil in her chest. Anger. Frustration. And something deeper, something she didn’t dare name.

“I’m not giving you a choice,” she said, her tone like steel. “You will end it with him, or I will do it for you.” 

Clarion flinched like she’d been struck, but only for a second. Then she ran her fingers through her hair and pressed her eyes shut. “Do you even hear yourself?” she hissed. “You think you can just dictate my life—like you dictate everything else?”

Altherion’s expression darkened. “You don’t have a life separate from this kingdom. You never will.”

“I have given you everything, and it is still not enough for you.”

Altherion stepped closer, eyes cold as steel. “It was never supposed to be enough. It is your duty. ”

Clarion’s chest rose and fell, hands curling into fists. “So that’s it, then?” Her voice was hoarse, bitter. “You would rather break me than let me be happy?”

Altherion’s jaw clenched. “Happiness is a luxury. You weren’t born for luxuries.”

Clarion let out a sharp, breathless laugh, but there was no joy about it. “And you wonder why I love him,” she spat. Clarion kept hands clenched at her sides. She had spent her whole life being shaped into the queen her mother needed her to be, it was everything she hated. “I am not ending it,” she said, quieter now but unwavering.

Altherion stared at her for a long moment, unreadable. Then she exhaled, as if exhausted, and turned away. “Go to bed, Clarion.”

It wasn’t permission. It was an order.

Clarion lingered for a moment, waiting for something more—for anger, for argument, for anything to latch onto. But there was nothing. Altherion had already decided the conversation was over.

So she swallowed back everything she wanted to say and left, her footsteps quiet against the floor.

Altherion didn’t move until she was alone.

Then, and only then, did she let out a slow, controlled breath and rub her temple.

This was a disaster.

⋆⁺⁀༄⋆❅.

Altherion stood in the shadow of the Pixie Dust Tree, arms crossed over her chest, waiting. She had sent the summons without explanation for she knew he’d come anyway. He always did. 

The wind shifted, and then, there he was. Boreas, Lord of Winter, stepping into the hall like he owned the night itself, all smug amusement and effortless control. 

He bowed before her. “Your Majesty,” he greeted, tilting his head. “Missed me already?”

Her glare was like a blade drawn at his throat. “Spare me.” She scoffed, “We need to talk.”

Boreas exhaled, a visible breath in the unnatural chill that lingered around the tree. “Ah. I assume this isn’t about the weather, then.”

She took a step forward, her eyes blazing as she came eye to eye with him. “Your Guardian,” she bit out.

Boreas’s expression didn’t shift, but there was the faintest twitch in his jaw. “What about him?”

“He is seeing Clarion.”

That got a reaction.

His brows lifted, surprise flickering across his face before settling into something more measured. “Oh,” he said simply.

“Oh?” she echoed, incredulous. “Is that all you have to say?”

He shrugged, ever infuriatingly. “Well, he’s a grown fairy. And so is she.”

Altherion clenched her fists, feeling a migraine creeping in. “You knew.”

Now, he smirked, obviously unable to contain it anymore. “They’re not very good at hiding it. I’m just surprised it took you this long.” 

“And you did nothing?”

“Tell me, what exactly would you have had me do, Altherion?” Boreas spread his arms, the very picture of casual indifference. “Forbid him? Lock him away? Unlike you, I don’t control my subordinates like pieces on a chessboard.”

She wanted to strike him. She wanted to knock that insufferable smirk off his face, wanted to- 

“You should have stopped him,” she snapped. “You should have reminded him of his place.”

Boreas’s expression finally hardened, the humor draining from his gaze. “And where is that?”

“Beneath her.”

The words came too quickly, too coldly, and the moment they left her mouth, she saw the shift in him. His shoulders squared, his eyes darkened, and for the first time tonight, there was no amusement left to find.

“I see,” he said quietly.

She refused to falter. “Clarion is starsent. The future queen of this Hollow. He is a soldier.”

“A soldier you’ve admitted is competent.”

“That doesn’t make him worthy of her.” Altherion exhaled slowly, pressing her fingers against her temples as if she could physically knead away the headache this situation was giving her. Then, with a sharp, deliberate movement, she dropped her hand and straightened, her gauntlets glinting in the dim light. Her wings twitched, the only sign of her frustration that she couldn’t suppress. “Who knows what part of you has rubbed off on him.”

Boreas huffed out a laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Altherion gave him a flat, unimpressed look, the kind that had sent even her most unruly commanders into silence. “It is.”

That only made his grin widen. “Ah, so you admit it. You think I’m a terrible influence.”

“I don’t think, Boreas. I know.” Her wings flexed again, this time sharper, more controlled. She stepped forward, closing the space between them. “And now my heir has entangled herself with your little apprentice. Tell me, why should I not hold you responsible for this?”

Boreas tilted his head, a mockery of thoughtfulness. “Because then you’d have to admit he made his own choices? And because, as much as I’d love to take credit, Milori is nothing like me.” His voice dropped, quieter now, more certain. “And I think you’re aware of that.”

Altherion’s expression didn’t shift, but something in her gaze flickered—so quick, so slight that to the untrained eye it might have been nothing.

She hated this. Hated that she couldn’t just dismiss Milori as a second-rate version of his mentor. Hated that she had read his reports, tracked his movements, seen his efficiency, and, despite herself, been impressed.

Her wings twitched again. “It doesn’t matter.”

Boreas sighed, shaking his head. “Doesn’t it?”

She ignored him. “You will make him end this.”

“I can’t make him do anything, My Queen. He’s stubborn , he doesn’t listen to anyone. Seeing him with the princess was a shock to me too.” 

Altherion narrowed her eyes. “You will make him end it” She repeated. “Or I’ll have to take things into my own hands.” 

He studied her for another second, then sighed. “So what now? Are you going to exile him? Clip his wings? Declare war over lovebirds?”

Altherion’s hands curled into fists at her sides. “You think this is funny?”

“No,” he admitted. “I think it’s tragic .”

There’s something in the way he said it that made her fortify her walls again. 

“This doesn’t leave this meeting,” she said, her voice regaining its edge. “You will order him to end it. And he will obey.”

Boreas tilted his head. “And if he doesn’t?”

Her glare was all the answer he needed.

He sighed again, rubbing a hand down his face. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll talk to him.” Somehow the problem that wasn’t his, ended up being his anyway. 

Boreas let the silence linger between them, watching her, measuring her. He knew that look in her eyes—the same one she always had when she felt something she refused to acknowledge. She forced it down, locked it away, and pretended it didn’t exist.

And maybe that was the problem.

He exhaled, tilting his head slightly, voice dropping into something almost casual. Almost.

“You’re stressed, you look like you could use a fight.” A beat. Then, with a smirk, “Care to spar, My Queen?”

It was mockery, it was a challenge, it was an offer.

⋆⁺⁀༄⋆❅.

Clarion sat on one of the thick branches above the meeting hall, her legs swinging absentmindedly and her hands tucked under her thighs, the soft dimmed glow of her wings barely illuminating the dark canopy. Below, muffled voices drifted up—sharp, tense. Altherion and Boreas. Fighting. Again.

“Impressive,” came a quiet voice from behind her.

She didn’t startle She’d heard the soft rustle of wings, felt the slight change in the air as someone landed behind her. She turned her head just enough to see Milori settling next to her, one arm braced against the tree trunk for balance. He was smirking.

She scoffed. “Impressive? I’d call it embarrassing.”

“You know, for someone trying to keep a scandal quiet, your mother sure loves yelling.”

Clarion huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “She’s never exactly been the subtle type.”

“You should have reminded him of his place.” They hear Altherion say from below 

“And where is that?”

“Beneath her.”

She had known, of course she had. How her mother saw things, how she saw Milori. But hearing it out loud, hearing him reduced to something beneath her like his worth meant nothing… it settled over her like ice.

Her fingers curled at her sides, nails pressing into her palms, but the sting wasn’t enough to ground her. She could still hear the words ringing in her ears. Beneath her.

Clarion swallowed past the lump in her throat, pushing down the hurt before it could betray her. This was her mother—this was Altherion. Had she really expected anything else?

Still, as she looked at Milori, her heart ached with something fierce and desperate.

“She’s wrong,” she whispered, barely audible. “You know that, don’t you?”

His wings gave a flutter. “I do.” He murmured. “My place is anywhere you want me to be, Clarion.” 

She took his hand, giving it a squeeze and grounding herself in the quiet certainty of his words. "But where do you want to be?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curved, soft and certain. " Wherever you are. ”

There was that look in his eyes again. The one Snowflake said made her gag the first time because she hadn’t seen him look so gone before. How lucky she was to see it all the time. 

Milori leaned forward, peering down at the two monarchs as they squared off. “What do you think they’re arguing about now? The logistics of my public execution?”

“Oh, definitely,” she said, tilting her head as if considering. “She’s probably insisting it be swift and efficient. Boreas is arguing for something dramatic and over-the-top.”

Milori hummed, nodding sagely. “He’d want an ice sculpture of me to commemorate the occasion.”

Clarion smothered a laugh behind her hand.

Below them, Altherion’s voice snapped through the air like a whip. Whatever she said, it made Boreas throw his hands up in exasperation. “You think this is funny?” Her voice drifts up the tree cover. 

Clarion grinned. “I bet he calls it ‘tragic’ next.”

As if on cue, Boreas sighed and muttered just that, and Altherion’s wings flared in irritation.

Clarion smirked. “I win.”

Milori hummed. “You’re scarily good at this.”

“I have experience.” She let out a small, almost amused breath. 

From up here, they could still see the way Altherion’ gestured sharply at Boreas, who simply crossed his arms, looking entirely unimpressed.

Milori squinted. “Are they always like this?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Clarion said. “I used to think they’d kill each other one day, but now I know that after they’d just end up…” She hesitated, wrinkling her nose.

Milori blinked. Then, horrified, he turned to her. “Clarion. No.”

She just gave him a knowing glance, barely holding back a grin. “I’m just saying,” she whispered, leaning closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial hum.

“Don’t say it,” he begged.

She leaned in. “I mean, have you ever seen enemies with that much chemistry?”

The idea of it made him look exceedingly uncomfortable, but it made her laugh, brushing her shoulder against his. “Stars help us,” He muttered under his breath, sinking his face into his hands. 

The two monarchs’ conversation died down to an inaudible level. Still, they could see the way Boreas approached the queen, cautiously, as if seeking a ceasefire. “I bet they’ll spar after this.” Milori said. 

Sure enough, not long after, Altherion floated over two wooden staffs and stepped back, rolling her shoulders as if shedding the weight of diplomacy. Boreas watched her carefully, his stance shifting just slightly, preparing.

Milori leaned back on his hands smugly and the princess let out a hum. “You’re getting good at this.” Clarion nudged him with her elbow. 

Sure enough, not long after, Altherion was flexing her fingers like a warrior preparing for battle. Boreas smirked, rolling his neck as frost shimmered over his arms.

Milori groaned. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Below them, the first strike landed.

Boreas dodged, just barely, as Altherion’s strike whistled past his face. He let out a sharp breath, half a laugh. “Still as dramatic as ever, I see.”

Altherion didn’t grace him with a response—only lunged again. This time, he caught her wrist, but she twisted, using his own grip to leverage herself into a kick. It nearly sent him stumbling. Nearly.

Milori watched, equal parts horrified and fascinated. “This isn’t sparring. This is-”

“A lovers’ quarrel?” Clarion supplied sweetly.

Milori groaned, but unable to look away from this strange fight of theirs. 

But before it could get good, Clarion lifted herself off the branch. “Are we not watching them anymore?” Milori asked, following after her like a baby duck. 

“It’s usually after they spar that they’ll… you know.” She said, voice dripping with implication as she flicked her gaze downward meaningfully.

Milori blinked. Then, horrified, his wings stuttered midair. “Clarion.”

“What?” she said, feigning innocence. “It’s not my fault they always get extra tense right before disappearing for the night.”

Milori rubbed his temples as if that would erase the mental image. “I don’t need to hear this.”

Clarion only laughed, flitting ahead of him. “Come on, then. Unless you want to stay and see what happens next?”

“I would really rather not.” He shuddered. “Though I do feel bad for everyone betting against them being exes. They’re about to lose a lot of dust.” He catches up to her, placing a palm at her lower back. “There will, however, be a very rich sparrowman when the truth does come out.” 

She blinked in surprise as she caught a glimpse of Milori's face, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his lips. She scoffed, “You placed a bet?” 

Milori shrugged, all too pleased with himself. “I prefer to call it an investment .”

Clarion gaped at him, half-scandalized, half-impressed. “You knew this whole time, and you still placed a bet?”

He grinned, the picture of shameless delight. “Oh, my love, you wound me. I was just waiting for the day everyone else caught up.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “That’s cheating.”

“Cleverness isn’t cheating, my love.” He smirked, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. “It’s just knowing where to place your bets.”

She sighed dramatically, playing along. “And I thought I was the cunning one.” 

He laughed, Letting her tug him along as they disappeared into the night, leaving behind a kingdom still oblivious to the fortune of dust their princess had just secured—and two very irate monarchs still trying to beat the past out of each other.