Oh Christmas Eve Why Me

chapter 5

Chapter 5: My Sister, My Wound

Kaelan

I tell myself I should feel nothing. I tell myself I should feel triumph instead.

The girl I grew up calling my sister just bled black onto our perfect white snow, and the entire pack finally saw her for exactly what she truly is: an enemy. A dangerous stranger. A lethal threat. She is everything I was strictly raised to fear and hate.

So why does my chest feel like someone violently carved it open with a dull, rusty blade?

I watched her walk away from the celebration hall earlier, her thin shoulders visibly trembling even though she was desperately trying to hide the movement. Something inside me cracked—it was a sharp, deep, painful sound. I immediately told myself that feeling was just anger. I told myself I was finally free from the binding lie that held us together. I told myself I could finally hate her properly now that the ugly truth was completely out.

I lied to myself.

Back in the great hall, Father kept aggressively raising his gilded goblet, loud and openly drunk with his own pride. “To my true son! To the Frostfall line, unbroken and pure!” The pack immediately roared in loud agreement.

They cheered and clapped me hard on the shoulders. They praised my perfect, brightly glowing mark. I smiled widely because I knew I was absolutely expected to smile. I allowed noble girls to press themselves close against me, whispering compliments about how powerful I looked, and how lucky the entire kingdom was to finally have me.

None of it truly touched me.

All I could hear, ringing painfully in my head, was her small, cracked voice, barely holding itself together: Keeping me alive is worse than death, Kaelan. And you know it’s the truth.

The following hours blurred into a meaningless haze. Laughter rose and fell like violent waves. Wine spilled onto the carpet. Music shrieked constantly. I felt nothing at all. I was simply a hollow crown walking emotionlessly among dangerous wolves.

Then, through the ringing chaos, I heard it.

Three kitchen maids stood near the punch bowl, giggling loudly behind their hands, leaning in much too close to each other in that distinctly cruel way people do when their own hearts are empty and cold.

“…left the little Shadow Wolf in the back yard. Door securely bolted. By morning, she’ll be a pretty ice statue…”

My blood instantly went molten hot.

I crossed the room faster than a breath could be taken. “Repeat that exact statement,” I commanded, my voice low and dangerous enough to silence the nearest tables instantly.

They dropped down into immediate, shaking curtsies, their expensive silk skirts shivering visibly. One girl immediately spilled her wine all across her own shoes. The boldest one—pale, freckled, and terrified—stammered, “J-just a terrible joke, Your Highness. Maria said the bastard—”

I didn’t stay another second to hear the rest of their fearful explanation.

The heavy doors to the kitchen slammed open violently under the sheer force of my hands, one hinge instantly snapping clean off. Heat blasted out fiercely—the ovens were roaring loudly, pots were clattering—and the entire room froze solid the moment they saw the look on my face.

Maria was standing at the cutting block, her heavy cleaver raised mid-swing. When her eyes met mine across the room, her grip immediately faltered. The large, dangerous blade tumbled down, clanging loudly against the butcher block.

I did not give her a single chance to speak.

My hand flew across her face, delivering a crack so loud that the closest metal pots rattled from the sheer force. Her head snapped violently sideways. She gasped out loud, a sound of raw shock.

“How dare you touch her?” My voice shook hard—not just with typical anger, not fully, but with something far more dangerous, something I fiercely refused to name or acknowledge.

Maria clutched her cheek, trembling all over. “Sh-she’s the enemy now, my prince! We—we were only—”

I instantly grabbed her by the throat and slammed her hard against the stone wall. The massive force instantly knocked various utensils off a nearby metal table, the metal scattering loudly across the rough stone floor.

“Open,” I growled into her face, “the back door. Now.”

Her shaking fingers fumbled weakly through her apron pocket. The key ring jingled wildly, the sound horribly out of place. She unlocked the heavy bolt with shaking, clumsy hands. The door slowly creaked open—and a violent blast of brutal winter cold crashed immediately in, snow swirling like deadly shards of ice.

Then I finally saw her.

Alex. She was crushed deep into a snow drift, curled tightly on her side, her exposed skin almost the exact same color as the surrounding snow. Her lips were blue. Her eyelashes were perfectly white with thick frost. She was so deathly still she barely looked alive anymore. Her chest seemed to rise only when the fierce wind moved her thin coat.

The world instantly narrowed into a single, violent throb deep inside my ribs.

I dropped Maria’s throat like she was worthless garbage and crossed the frozen yard in two long, powerful strides. The intense cold of the blizzard sliced at my exposed skin, but I didn’t even feel it at all.

I knelt down quickly, slid my strong arms beneath Alex’s frozen body, and lifted her carefully against my chest. She was completely weightless. Too weightless. Her head fell weakly against my shoulder, her cold cheek feeling like pure ice against my neck.

“Alex,” I whispered her name, but the howling storm instantly swallowed the sound.

I turned quickly back toward the open doorway. The cluster of maids stood frozen, their eyes wide with fear, terror choking the air in the warm kitchen. Maria shrank back violently into the stone wall, her hands shaking uncontrollably, her cheek already swelling quickly.

“You had no right to touch her,” I said, the words heavy.

The words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them. Before I could truly understand their shocking meaning. Before I could desperately pretend they weren’t absolutely true.

Maria’s voice cracked painfully. “Y-your sister—”

“She is still under my direct protection.” My voice was sharp, splitting the air like cracked ice. “Tomorrow, every single one of you will answer directly to me. You should pray I am in a forgiving mood then.”

They didn’t move. They didn’t breathe.

I carried Alex through the kitchen, past the roaring ovens, past the bright torches, past the silent terror I saw in every single pair of eyes I passed. The blasting heat inside the room didn’t seem to reach her at all. She felt exactly like a carved ice statue pressed firmly against my chest.

Every single step I took made something twist deeper and tighter into my lungs.

Her weak breath ghosted softly against my throat—it was barely there, like a single, fragile string ready to snap at any moment.

Why does this pain hurt so much? Why do I feel like something essential in me will break permanently if she doesn’t quickly wake up?

Why do I suddenly feel fear—real, genuine fear—for the very first time in my entire life?

I didn’t take her to the usual healers. They would immediately ask too many questions. They would certainly tell Father everything. And Father… he would simply say let the enemy blood freeze. A problem successfully removed.

So I climbed the dark servants’ stairs toward my own private chambers, holding her tighter with every determined step. The unbearable cold of her skin quickly seeped deeply into my own bones, but I absolutely did not care about the chill.

She let out a small, broken sound against my chest—it was barely a whimpering noise. It instantly tore straight through my heart.

Could it possibly be…? Is it truly possible, after all this time…?

No. No. I cannot allow myself to think that thought. I cannot let myself believe it could be true.

She’s my sister.