“This meeting makes my deal with you complete, fairy. I’m to host the Crimson Court soon. I will not keep them waiting.” The Crimson King’s voice carried the roughness of his seasons, a sound cracking at the edges. ‘Twas a voice that had disciplined Cane with iron and ferocity in his early seasons; one Cane had heard command enemies to their deaths more times than he could count.

“I come in search of a special drum whose rhythm makes the Winter snow dance. I think you know it.” Porethius got right to it.

The king’s glower sharpened on the pair—Cane’s hair was stained cocoa, and he wore a hood to cast his masked-face in shadow, but even so, he cringed under the scrutiny of the king until it settled back on Porethius. The king and the fairy chatted a measure more, but their words dropped from Cane’s awareness when a door opened across the room, and in walked Scarlet Strange.

Or, as they called her now in this dreadful palace, Holly Kissing.

The obsession of his childhood paused her step when she saw him standing in the middle of the throne room. He knew she recognized him; he could not breathe.

A braid of honey-gold locks rested aside her neck, smooth and lovely. Too treacherously lovely. A lovely girl who was betrothed to Forrester.

Cane tore his stare away. He glanced to where Forrester sat in his second-prince’s seat, bored. The ivory-haired bear of battle looked deadly, even while he sat doing nothing at all.

“…and what can I offer you in exchange for a glimpse of this ancient drum? I have myrrh, pirate loot, rubies, or rings,” Porethius was saying.

The Crimson King leaned back in his throne. “I do not need more riches. My wish is the same as it was in the season past. I wish for you to join me in my war against the Evergreen Host. I wish for you to fight for me.”

“My assignment is elsewhere.” Porethius did not bat an eye.

“To which Winter king do you belong?” the king challenged. “I shall pay you more than he.”

At that, Porethius went quiet, and Cane shifted at her side.

“We serve the King who once owned the drum. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? Elowin, King of Truth,” he blurted.

Whispers erupted through the throne room; the Red Princes leaned in closer. Though it would ruffle Porethius’s delicate, violet wings, Cane went on, “And if you will not suggest a reasonable deal, we will come back with another offer,” Cane added, lowering his voice lest his sound be recognized. “Please allow us to stay a short measure while we sort it out.”

Porethius’s head tilted toward the once-prince, her expression alone reminding him that it was not her plan to stay.