The frost at his eyelashes obscured his vision, leaving the world in a chaotic flurry of icy whiteness. The hand at his wrist burned like a brand. Despite his thick clothes, it seared with such intense coldness that his skin blistered beneath the frozen fingers. Though he wanted to cry out, his teeth clenched shut at the brunt of the wintry assault. Each breath drew that frost-bitten wind into his aching chest. The cold pain of it drowned out thought, drowned out memory, drowned out his name.

Just when he feared the world might freeze solid, the cold released him.

Gasping for breath on his hands and knees, Faolan marveled at the strangeness of feeling warm while half-buried in thick snow. The wonder only lasted a heartbeat. In a horrified moment, Faolan realized that it was the absence of that icy touch which made the snowdrift as warm as spring.

"Rise, my tender-hearted knight," a voice commanded. It was as rich as cream, sweet as honey.

Though his muscles ached in the chill, Faolan stood slowly and shakily, compelled to obey. He brushed the crystalline cold from his eyes, leaving a rough prickling on the wind-chapped skin.

Tall and lovely stood the human shape of winter, draped in a gown of fresh snow. The long strands of her silvery hair glowed in the starlight, under the sapphire and violet expanse of winter sky. At her brow, a crown of birch branches glittered with frozen dew. Beneath it, eyes brighter and deeper than a frozen sea followed him, alight with amusement.

The fae queen.

No other creature could appear so perfect, and yet, she was horrifying.

She cursed Siofra, Faolan's heart whispered. She cursed a child for another's mistake.

The image of the face frozen in tree bark surfaced, the sound of her raspy voice, the bitter frustration of her lost fingers. Just as Siofra's rough exterior hid gentleness, this lovely face masked cruelty. Hot anger brewed within him.

"I'm not yours, Your Majesty," he replied, the steam of his breath rising around him.

The secret satisfaction that twisted her smile sent a bolt of dread to Faolan's gut. Despite her unblemished youth, her unearthly beauty, an ancient wickedness stirred behind those glacial blue eyes.

"Come," she murmured, holding out her hand. Faolan stared at her in incredulity. He rubbed the stinging, blistered skin of his forearm.

Laughter like diamonds, like frozen rain, rang around them.

"You'll get used to the cold with time."

She waited, patiently smiling, her marble skin glowing in the starlight.

Her beauty dominated the world around them. For it was only then that Faolan considered his surroundings. The shimmer of the night sky, the music of the wind through snow-touched crystal leaves—the enchanting loveliness of Otherworld was not unfamiliar to him.

Yet through the living archway of crystal trees stood a palace, bright in the frozen moonlight. Like moonstone, like glass, it gleamed in translucent magnificence. Light seemed to play along each spire, along the crystal walls. Its color shifted from each angle, a mirror reflecting the stars, the sapphire and amethyst glow of the night sky.

"Come," the fae queen repeated, her bird-song voice layered with alluring sincerity.

Unsure, Faolan held his arm for her. He flinched as the sharp breath of winter returned to his skin, to his bones. The fae queen had not spoken falsely—the cold was not as severe this second time.

Though he had offered his arm, it was she who led them through the path of crystal and opal-leaved trees. Movement flickered in the shadows beneath their canopies, but she paid them no attention. The fae queen kept her brilliant eyes on Faolan.

As they crossed a crystal bridge, a frozen river visible far below their feet, she smiled sweetly and spoke.

"Such kindness to stop for a stranger by the road," she said, her words soft as fresh-fallen snow. The weight of her smile on him almost made Faolan forget the icy sharpness of her touch. The endless blue of her eyes almost made him forget everything except their haunting, enchanting shade.

"Might I have the name of my gallant rescuer?" Her voice was music, addictive and lovely.

Lulled by her enchanting presence and the exhausting cold, his name formed on his lips.

Don't you know the danger of true names here?

The raspy memory killed the breath behind his words. The memory of Siofra raked the dying coals of his spirit, sending up embers that cleared the icy mist in his head.

"I don't have one," he lied weakly. If the cold had not already chapped his cheeks raw, his blush would have shamed rose petals. The presence of the icy queen seemed to rebel against dishonesty—each word of untruth tangled his tongue. Without reason, the hollowness of it filled him with shame.

The queen stilled, a cold alabaster statue, and then a furious scowl twisted her mouth into ugliness. It shattered the flawless symmetry of her face. A fissure split through the bridge beneath them. The ice seemed to scream—liar!—as it cracked into thousands of spiderwebs.

Faolan moved to pull his arm from the grasp of the fae queen, to flee back into the unknown of shadowy winter wood, but her hold was too tight. Her hand was gentle on his arm, and yet it chafed like chains.

"Then I will name you," she breathed, her comely composure restored. More disturbing than the furious change in her countenance was the speed at which it disappeared. Sweeter than honey, softer than down-feathers, her voice tempted and promised. It made him dream. The cold faded from the world. "Will you lead me home, my dear Tamlin?"

It did not pull him as his true name had, but there was an undeniable desire in obeying her. He felt himself nodding. He followed his feet, escorting the fae queen as solemnly and chivalrously as a knight. Her control was incomplete, but it was strong as iron.

They passed through an intricate gatehouse, silent save for the whisper of her snowy hem across the flawless ice. Beyond the twisted tendrils of the frozen portcullis, stillness and silence echoed through the courtyard.

In the center, surrounded by frozen violets and silvery snowdrops, stood a grove of white-trunked trees. Winter swallows flitted from their branches.

Idiot boy, their sharp voices chirped.

Another flash of warmth melted the ice creeping around a frosted heart. He shook his head to clear it. A shower of snow fell around him, snowflakes flurrying to the ground in a glittering cloud.

The hand tucked into the crook of his elbow tightened. A curious, incredulous expression paused the queen for a second time.

She pressed her long, thin fingers to his chest.

"I dislike sharing, brave Tamlin. Who owns your heart?"

A tendril of shivery cold followed her touch. Faolan struggled to form the words, his breath was so frozen in his chest.

I am no one, Siofra had said.

"No-no one," he said, teeth clenched against the frigid onslaught. The half-truth was easier.

"Tell me of her," the queen sighed, locking her icy eyes with his. Her dreamy tone battled the sharpness of her stare. Those deep, knowing, curious eyes looked into his very soul. "Is she fair?"

Strange inky eyes, a half-face mottled, gnarled branches for limbs.

"No," Faolan answered. Compared to the ageless, pristine beauty of the fae queen, the words rang with truth.

With a wicked smile, she traced spirals of cold against him. The queen continued, "Is she kind?"

Are you really so foolish? Idiot boy.

"No." His breath turned misty.

"Does she return your love?"

Leave, Faolan!

"No," he whispered.

She purred, "My poor sweet Tamlin!"

The song of victory in her tone solidified the layer of ice around his heart. He grasped to keep the image of her face, the cadence of her name. He fought the spread of ice and chill, trying to find his dreamweaver in the shape of the trees, in the disjointed flight of the swallows.

Her icy alabaster hand pulled his face to hers, locked her eyes to his. The deep eyes of the fae queen—blue ringed with silver—erased everything.

Raising her hand, a fury of ice and mist descended upon the courtyard, spiraling around the grove. The howling wind echoed as it fled, leaving behind glittering trees. Silver instead of white, dripping with twinkling ice, their branches held the icy statues of silent swallows.

"Come, Tamlin," the fae queen commanded gently, turning him away from the grove. "And I will mend your broken heart."

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