Morning arrived with a calm that unsettled Freya more than any storm ever could. There was no punishment delivered after Winter’s inevitable complaints. The silence stretched on, and Freya found herself wishing—foolishly—that he would simply call for her and be done with it.

This quiet was worse.

“His Majesty and Her Majesty are having breakfast inside,” a maid informed her, “They’re waiting for you.”

The woman’s smile lingered a moment too long, knowing in a way that made ...