I stare at Friedrich.

"What do you think. . ." I take a deep breath, pushing down my rising anger. "What do you think I was DOING BEFORE YOU BROUGHT ME HERE?"

My voice echoes around his large chambers.

Friedrich wrinkles his nose. "How should I know? I hardly spend my time wondering about your whereabouts."

"I WAS ESCAPING."

I close my eyes to block out his stupid face. When I open them again, he has risen to his feet.

"You would not have gotten very far," he says. "You don't even know the way. You would have been caught within a day. Making you my problem again."

He crosses the room and unhooks an elegant evergreen coat from an ornate black stand.

"Although perhaps you would have died in the cold," he adds. "So perhaps I should let you go alone."

I take a deep breath and grit my teeth.

Do not strike the Yule Prince. Do not strike the Yule Prince.

"Is it not true? Or do you know the way, Joy?"

Silence stretches as he waits for me to tell him what he already knows.

I need his help.

Another game of chicken.

I curse him under my breath. "I know. . . I know the general direction. . . "

"Oh, you know the general direction?"

"Well it's not hard to work out," I snap. "It's probably—"

"Probably. That's so very reassuring, Joy. That you will probably escape my father, the Great Krampus, so we can probably avoid having to spend the rest of our lives in unholy matrimony. Probably, one day, I'll spring horns from my head, too, and—"

"You've made your point, Friedrich."

"Well?"

"I don't know the way," I hiss.

A cold smile spreads across his pale lips. He inclines his head stiffly.

Then he slides his coat on over his unbuttoned shirt and he walks to the door.

"I need to go to St. Nicholas's first," I say sullenly. "Before I go to the mortal world."

"Of course."

I frown. "Of course?"

"I presumed that was where we were going."

"You did?"

He shrugs. "Of course. If St. Nicholas is assassinated, you become a lot more. . . valuable to my father." He scratches his throat, then shrugs. "As long as it gets rid of you, why should I care where you go?"

He disappears into the corridor without looking back.

"Well? Are you coming?"

***

We steal two great black horses from Krampus's stables and ride into the night.

The cold air howls, and hooves pound against the ground as we gallop across the snowy terrain. I can barely see as we leave the Yuletide castle lights behind. My red hair, pulled loose by the wind, whips my face. The darkness out here is so thick I can taste it.

The immortal Yuletide folk do not use saddles, so I have to clench my legs around the beast to stay atop her, pushing my body forward against her neck. The earthy scent of horse floods my nostrils. My fingers are stiff with cold and my palms burn as I grip the leather reins. It takes all of my strength. My bag bangs clumsily against my thigh and I feel the skin bruising through my breeches.

Friedrich rides ahead. He is an irritatingly competent rider. He leans forward and moves fluidly with the horse as though he is controlling her with his thoughts. He does not look back to check I am behind him.

I do not know for how long we are riding before the snow begins to fall.

It starts slowly. But soon bullets of ice hurtle through the air and my coat is sodden through. I will my teeth not to chatter. I will my fingers to grip the reins.

I must keep going. I must reach St. Nicholas's Kingdom.

I must find my way home.

Friedrich does not feel the cold, none of his kind do, and he does not even seem to notice the storm raging around us. But after a while, I realize he must be having problems too. He slows to a trot. Then he changes direction and starts to zigzag around the bleak countryside until I'm sure he must be lost.

He said I would not find my way.

I pull my horse up beside him. Snow dusts his eyelashes, and his pale hair is wet and slicked back from his forehead. Before I can shout out an insult, he gallops off into the heart of the blizzard.

"FREIDRICH!" His name is lost to the howling wind

The storm clouds pass over the moon and I am plunged into total darkness. My horse whinnies as the realization of what has happened hits me.

He has brought me here to die. Of course he has. What did I expect?

It is a cold thought at first. But then it lights a fire inside me. I grit my chattering teeth as I look for any sign of him. If I am to die, I will damn well make sure I take him with me.

I would die happy knowing I'd slit his throat first. With my last breath, I would savor the look on his smug face as he realized his precious father couldn't save him out here. I'd enjoy watching his blood spill onto –

A weak light flickers in the distance. I frown. My progress on horseback is slow, but soon I find the source of it.

Friedrich stands by the door of a derelict wooden cabin, a fiery torch flickering violently in his hand. His cool eyes briefly sweep over me and take in my sodden coat, my wild hair plastered to my cheeks, and my chattering teeth.

A look of distaste passes over his face.

"The horses needed rest," he says.

I do not believe him. The horses are fine. We have been riding a few hours at most, and they are used to these conditions.

But he hates me. He can't have stopped for my sake.

His eyes are angry, as if he's daring me to ask. And this is a different game of chicken; the rules of which I'm not familiar.

"I. . .yes. . . Of course," I say as I slide down off my horse.

My feet are so numb that I almost fall when my boots plunge through the blanket of snow.

"You're a mess," he says. "Wipe your feet before you come inside. This place is—" His slender shoulders tense. "Never mind. Just. . . Don't trample your dirt everywhere."

Without waiting for a response, he spins on his heel and heads inside.