The great hall of the Ice Kingdom stretched endlessly— columns of pale blue crystal rising toward a ceiling lost in shadow, the air so cold it bit at exposed skin like tiny teeth. Torches lined the walls, but they burned weakly, their flames thin and struggling, as if even fire knew better than to be too warm here.

At the far end of the hall stood a man who looked like winter had carved him from marble and forgotten to give him a pulse. White hair fell past his jaw, sharp and severe. His red eyes were fixed forward with the flat, unreadable expression of someone who had stopped being surprised by anything a very long time ago.

So it's you.

He said it to no one in particular.

He turned his head away, breath leaving him in a thin white cloud.

You're smaller than I expected.

His voice was low, clipped. Not cruel exactly, but utterly devoid of warmth.