“Then let’s go. We shouldn’t keep Mab waiting.” Before either of them could reply, I strode forward with my head up and my back straight as Fix had instructed. The walk of a queen, regal and confident. After a moment, Ash fell into step beside me. I could sense he wanted to say something, argue with me, but he kept silent and didn’t bring it up again during the long, cold ride to Winter.

* * *

To put it mildly, the court of the Winter Queen was not my favorite place in the Nevernever. The last time I’d been to Tir Na Nog, I’d been a prisoner of Queen Mab and the Unseelie Court. My own doing, of course. It was part of a deal I’d made with Ash in exchange for getting my brother home safely. And though I’d do it all again if I had to, it was, as I remembered it, the worst few weeks of my life. Mab despised me, her middle son, Rowan, constantly tormented me and her Unseelie subjects either wanted to kill, freeze, torture or eat me.

Then there was Ash. He had been there as well, but he had turned cold and cruel, abandoning me to the mercy of his brother and queen. Or so I’d thought at the time. The Winter Court is brutal and unmerciful, viewing emotion as a weakness that must be destroyed. Ash had been keeping me safe the only way he knew how: by playing the part of a heartless Winter prince. He’d played it well; he’d hinted to me about how he would have to treat me when we got there, and I’d still believed his act wholeheartedly. I’d thought he had turned on me, used me, and my heart had broken into little pieces. I didn’t realize until later how much Ash had sacrificed to keep me safe.

God, I was so naive, I thought, watching crystalline stalactites roll by the carriage windows. Mab’s palace resided in an enormous icy cavern, the ceiling so high you couldn’t see it through the darkness. I’m lucky I didn’t get eaten the very first day I was there. If I could go back to that moment and talk to myself, I’d probably smack me. Thinking of that shy, uncertain girl now made me sigh. You can’t afford to wear your heart on your sleeve anymore, Meghan. Not in the Winter Court. You’re the Iron Queen now. You have a whole kingdom counting on you to be strong.

The palace came into view through the carriage windows, a pristine, glacial blue castle with ice hanging off every tower, coating every step, as beautiful as it was deadly. Just like its queen.

Who, admittedly, was not terribly pleased with me for marrying her favorite—and now only—son.