Thread of Frost

Ch. 34: Great Esteem

Isolde looked up.

Halson stood in the center of the dining hall. His blond hair was damp with snow, and the cold night air had slapped colour into his cheeks. He was dressed in a black jacket that plunged down to his waist, revealing a slash of pale skin; the silver collar curled around his throat like an enormous scarf. It was the sort of jacket, Isolde thought, that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but it looked good on Halson.

She suspected anything would look good on Halson.

He took a step forward. Servants dropped their gaze as he passed. One woman spun to face the wall, her hands trembling slightly.

Halson picked up an apple from the table. Wiped it on his shirt.

"What are we celebrating?" he asked.

He bit into the apple. The crunch was thunderous in the silence, and Isolde forced herself to breathe. She clasped her hands.

"Your return," Isolde said.

Halson turned to face her. His smile was genuine.

"Darling," he said.

Halson chucked the apple aside, moving to kiss her on the cheek. His mouth was sticky and sweet. He smelled of night air and smoke, of salt air and peppery cologne. Isolde forced herself to smile.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

Halson raised an eyebrow. "You did all this for me?"

"Of course," Isolde said.

She was lying through her teeth. Halson's eyes were clear arctic waters. For a terrible moment, Isolde felt that he was seeing right through her, cutting into flesh and bone; then the young emperor turned away.

"Adore it," Halson announced. "I'm so lucky to have such a thoughtful wife." He squeezed her waist, then held out a hand. "Jules."

Julian's face was solemn. "Halson."

The two men clasped hands. Halson's face was relaxed, but his knuckles were white, as if he was crushing Julian's hand in his palm.

"How was your meeting?" Julian asked.

"Fruitful." Halson released his hand. "We'll discuss it more tomorrow." He looked around the dining hall. "Is there any wine? I'm parched."

A servant appeared, eyes lowered, her tray trembling slightly. Becca, Isolde thought; she'd recently started in the kitchens. Halson didn't look at her as he plucked a glass of red wine from the tray, steering Isolde towards the head table.

"Everyone, please." Halson flapped a hand. "Be seated."

Everyone sat.

Halson reclined in his throne. Isolde made to sit, but Halson's hands snaked around her waist, pulling her on to his lap. His sharp belt buckle dug into her thigh. When he spoke, she could feel his voice reverberate through her back.

"I'd like to make a toast to my lovely wife," Halson said. "Darling, your compassion inspires me every day. I'm so proud to be married to such an exceptionally thoughtful hostess." He raised his glass. "To Her Holiness!"

Movement rippled through the room. "To Her Holiness!"

Halson's smile was the flash of a knife. "Well, don't stop on my account." He clapped his hands. "Musicians?"

The fiddle music swelled. Conversation began, melting into laughter like butter in a hot dish. Wine flowed freely. One of the servants gave a tentative smile as she refilled Halson's glass, and he murmured a thank you. Platters of lemon-roasted potatoes and slabs of roasted meat appeared, and Halson dug into his steak greedily, red juice dripping down his chin. Isolde shifted on his lap.