The kitchens are busy. They are always busy this time of year. Even though the Yuletide Kingdom struggles to feed its people, Krampus enjoys many feasts around Yuletide.

But this evening there is a frantic energy about the place. Fires are crackling, pots are banging, and people are shouting. The steamy air smells like cooking meats, mixed with cloves and cinnamon.

I wonder what is going on as I knock shoulders with a cook carrying a cauldron. She eyes me distastefully but says nothing. Many of the kitchen staff look at me in a similar way as I push through the chaos.

They are mortal, like me. They were also kidnapped from their homes as children. Unlike me, though, they have not gained favor with the Great Krampus—favor that makes me unpopular among immortals of the Yuletide Kingdom, and Krampus's mortal victims alike.

I finally spot a head of dark curls bending over a big vat of red wine that's mulling by the fire. The first smile I've felt today spreads across my face.

Maggie is my only friend in this damned place. She was taken from a foster home a couple of Christmases before I was, and found that she actually preferred the life here at Krampus's castle. She's never held the resentment toward me that the others do. She took me under her wing when I arrived here, and we've been close since.

I grab a clementine from her bowl of fruits and hoist myself up onto the counter beside her.

"That's not for you, girl," she says in her south American drawl as she drops more cinnamon sticks into the cauldron.

"I'm sure you can spare one clementine for your best friend."

"You're spoiled. You know that, right?"

Coming from anyone else her words would sting because I know that's what people think of me. But Maggie is aware that Krampus's special treatment of me is hardly a blessing. For one thing, none of my own kind will speak to me. For another, it means I'm on the cold and cruel radar of the Yule Prince, himself.

"I heard you were called to the Throne Room," she says. "How was his royal Dick-mas?" Her big dark eyes glint with mischief as I absently peel the fruit.

"Oh, you know, same as usual," I say. "Bored, on a power trip, stick up his backside."

She smiles sympathetically then wipes her hands on her apron and comes to lean on the counter beside me.

"So, if this isn't for me, who is it all for, then?" I nod at the fruit, the wine, and the rest of the bustling kitchen. I pass her a segment of clementine and pop another into my mouth.

"You haven't heard? Jack Frost is on his way to meet the Great Krampus. Unscheduled."

I frown as the sweet taste of citrus bursts in my mouth. "Really? Why?"

"It's strange, for sure. I've never heard of the rulers of the Winter Kingdoms meeting outside the annual Christmas Eve Feast. And that's tomorrow in St. Nicholas's kingdom. You'd think it could wait." She shakes her head. "It's causing complete chaos throughout the castle. We're all rushed off our feet."

"Chaos, huh?"

Her expression darkens. "No, girl. I know that look. Don't you be doing anything stupid now."

I slide off the counter. "Of course not." I grin. "Unless you count breaking into Krampus's office to check the Book of Sinterklaas stupid."

She puts her hands on her hips. "Joy. Don't."

I step back. "An impromptu feast and Krampus entertaining Lord Frost unscheduled. It's the perfect distraction."

"It's suicide. Don't fall into his bad favor. You've got it too easy." She shakes her head. "You don't know what it's like for the rest of us." Her tone carries an unusual hint of bitterness.

"When will I get another chance, Mags? I need to find my name in that book. I need to find my address and the names of my parents."

Her eyes soften. "Joy, sweetie—"

"I want to find them, Maggie. I just want to go home."

***

It is even easier than I thought to slip into Krampus's office undetected.

After the sun has set over the castle, I complain of a stomachache to the mortal handmaiden who is attending to me. When I'm alone in my chambers, I wait until the sound of merriness from the feast rises through my floorboards and thick wolfskin rugs. Slipping a knife into my belt, I sneak through the deserted corridors.

I have never been in Krampus's office before. As soon as I push open the heavy iron door, it strikes me how intimidating it is—as is fitting for an immortal, devilish king like Krampus.

A big, black desk takes prominence, its legs carved into cloven feet. A horned metal goat head with eyes made of rubies is mounted on the stone wall behind it. Oil paintings depicting torture cover the left wall, and there's a large cupboard standing against the right. A whip made of birch twigs hangs above the unlit fireplace.

Despite the ominous grandeur of the room, it is the red tome on the desk, sitting beside a burning advent candle, that I'm drawn to. The Book of Sinterklaas.

Once, before The Great Winter War, this book was a record of all mortal children, good and bad, and it was used by both Krampus and St. Nicholas. Now its pages are filled with the names of the children Krampus has kidnapped and brought to his immortal kingdom.

My name is somewhere in this book. And with it my childhood address, and the names of my parents.

Pulse racing, I flip it open and a cloud of dust dances in the candlelight. Finger on the parchment I trace the names inked inside.

And something stirs behind me.

I grab my knife and slam the intruder against the wall—pushing a blade to his throat.

The Yule Prince's cold blue eyes blink back at me. "What are you doing here?" he says.

"I might ask you the same thing."

"This is my castle. I can go wherever I please."

"Were you in the cupboard?"

He drags his teeth across his bottom lip. "Yes."

Silence hangs, cold, between us. Then he raises an eyebrow.

"Would you care to remove the blade from my neck? Or would you prefer I called for my father?"

I tighten my grip around the hilt. How I long to slit the pale skin of his throat; to have his blood run red over his oppressive green coat. How easy it would be.

And how badly I would suffer for it.

"Well?" he says.

I will not hurt him. I cannot. But I do not think he will not call for the Great Krampus, either.

Another game of chicken.

I hold the knife steady.

"You will not call for your father because you're not allowed in here either, Friedrich. Why else would you have been hiding in the cupboard? Now tell me, what are you doing?"

His eyes flick to the desk.

"You were looking in the book," I say.

His face settles into one of boredom. "Your name is not in it, you know? It seems you will never find your parents, Joy."

"You're lying."

A look of indignation passes over his expression. "I certainly am not. When have I ever lied to you? Go ahead." He nods at the dusty tome. "Check for yourself."

I don't need to. Friedrich has never lied to me. There is a simple cruelty to the truth.

"Why were you looking for my name?" I snarl.

He raises a pale eyebrow. "Well, I was going to burn the page your name was written on so you could never get what you want. But it seems I have no need to, after all."

I have to breathe deeply to contain the blizzard in my chest. He watches me, a smirk tugging at his lips. He knows me. He knows this revelation has shattered me. He knows I cannot react to him.

But he is wrong.

I should not react. But that does not mean I cannot.

"Do you think that your father will protect you?" I move my face closer to his. "Your father is not here, Friedrich."

I push the blade into his throat and I nip his skin. A small droplet of blood trickles down my silver blade and onto his almost translucent neck. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly.

But it doesn't give me the release I wanted. And nausea rolls in my stomach as I realize what I have done. I clearly do not hide the regret from my face as quickly as I should have.

Friedrich smiles. "You will pay dearly for—"

Heavy footsteps cut him off mid-sentence. Krampus's voice bellows out in the hallway.

If he finds me here, blade to his son's throat, I am dead. Or worse than.

"You're in trouble now," whispers Friedrich.

"So are you."

We stare at each other.

A challenge.

A game of chicken.

My heart thunders against my rib cage. I steady the tremble in my hand.

The door handle rattles.

And Friedrich grabs my arm and pulls me into the cupboard—shutting us both inside.