The Frost Festival had ended hours ago.
The laughter that had filled the streets faded into silence as the people of Frosthold returned to their homes. One by one, the lanterns hanging above the square were extinguished until only the moon illuminated the snow-covered city.
From her chamber in Frosthold Keep, Evadne couldn’t sleep.
She stood by the narrow window, wrapped in the wool scarf Alistair had lent her earlier that evening.
Her fingers unconsciously brushed over its soft fabric.
She sighed.
“You’re thinking too much,” she whispered to herself.
It wasn’t the scarf keeping her awake.
It was the faces she’d seen throughout the festival.
The smiling children.
The grateful farmers.
The exhausted mothers pretending everything was fine.
Their smiles had been genuine…
Yet some
