“I’m not on my own. I have Ger, and Imogen, and I’m here almost every day–”
“I’ve missed you, Ade.”
Oh.Guilt twisted at Adeline’s insides. This had always been the hardest part; knowing that moving on with her life came at a cost. And that she wasn’t the only one who’d pay it.
“Marry...” She set down her wine on a side table and reached out to tug Mareda into a hug. Her sister returned it fiercely, until they were holding each other so hard it hurt. “I’ve missed you too.”
A small voice bubbled from the doorway.
“But who did you miss most?”
They broke apart at once, Adeline squealing and dropping to her knees just in time to catch the little blur of white tulle and copper curls that came barrelling into her. Mareda just smiled down at them both, and reached out to ruffle Iseult’s hair.
“You’re home,” Adeline cooed, then grabbed her little sister by the shoulders and held her back so she could look her over. At eight years old, Iseult was still rosy cheeked as a toddler, though her grin had grown keener in the past few years. She spent months at a time across the sea, studying with her usual tutors at her grandfather’s court in Caldbon. Adeline had to wonder what they’d been feeding the girl, for her to shoot up as she had in just a few months. “You’re sotall!Slow down, will you?”
“I’ve already asked,” Mareda sighed.
“And I already told Marry,” Iseult piped up. “Not a chance.”
Adeline laughed, and pulled her close again, breathing in that familiar scent of sunlight and honey.
“I missed you bothequally,” Adeline mumbled into her little sister’s hair.
“Me too,” said Mareda.
Iseult giggled.
“Liars.”
???
Often on nights like these, Adeline would hear her father’s voice in her mind – at least, when he wasn’t standing beside her speaking the words outright:
Every story is a love story.
He hadn’t tired of it to this day, that phrase that reminded him so much of home.If you want to know who someone really is, he would say,look to what they love.
He would smile at her then, as he always did, as only a loving parent could; like she was a revelation he couldn’t wait to share with the world.
That’s how you’ll write your own story one day, little Mischief. You’ll follow what you love.
And she tried. Even if it wasn’t quite in the way he meant, Adeline tried her best to live her life by those words, to follow what she loved. As it turned out, opportunities to follow your heart were thin on the ground for a daughter of Eisalaan’s infamous Snow Queen.
Not that she was complaining. She would’ve been a terrible fucking person to complain, spoiled rotten to her core. She’d had the grand fortune of being born to the Silver Kingdom; and being born a princess, at that. Even if she did thank the Goddess and her Daughters every morning that she was the second-born child, Adeline knew how lucky she was, how privileged. She knew that being bored with her life was a petty complaint, knew that so many would die –diddie – for even one of the opportunities afforded to her. Just for being born to the right people.
So, she did her best to follow what she loved in every little way she could. It was easy tonight.
Tonight, she loved hot spiceberry wine. She loved the fresh flurry of snow dusting the heads and cloaks of every person gathered outside the palace. She loved the lyrical roar of the crowd below, and the warmth of her sisters against her – little Iseult tucked into her side, and Mareda’s slim arm around her waist in a genuine, if rehearsed, show of affection. Adeline loved everything about New Winter’s Eve.
Iseult turned wide eyes up at her; slightly manic eyes, gleaming with the suppressed urge to sleep. It was her eighth Winter, and the first New Winter’s Eve she’d been allowed to stay up for the countdown, gracing the balcony with her sisters to greet their people as they celebrated another long, cold year in the Silver Kingdom. Below them, the crowd called out greetings to the little Princess, merry and adoring.
Iseult! Princess Iseult!
“They know me!” Iseult said – and promptly wriggled out of her sister’s grasp, trying to climb the railing for a closer look.
Mareda gasped out a sharpOh!, but Adeline lunged, catching the frilly hem of Iseult’s dress before she could get herself into any real danger. She risked a glance down into the heaving courtyard, where the Queen presided over the festivities from a central dais; she hadn’t seen them, entirely absorbed in the dancing beneath her, along with whatever sweet nothings Iseult’s father was whispering in her ear.
Adeline tugged her sister down, guiding her a safe distance back. Aloof though she was, Adeline was sure the Queen would be none too pleased if her youngest daughter fell to her death – on New Winter’s Eve, of all days.
