And then, when Abner said what he said next, I felt my heart break a little inside my chest.
“I’m a monster.”
Silence stretched between us, long, heavy silence. A lump had formed in my throat, stopping me from saying anything. Listening to him, watching him, I knew he wasn’t lying. I knew this was not some facade to lower my guard; Abner genuinely felt like this, and even though I should feel nothing for him, I hurt for him all the same.
“You belong with my brother,” Abner went on, shaking his head somewhat. His eyes looked at me for a while, but his head eventually turned away, a frown gracing his lips. “He won’t hurt you. He’ll never hurt you.”
I knew what he wasn’t saying: Ishan won’t hurt you, but I might. I might, and I won’t realize I’m doing it until it’s too late.
By the gods, I knew I should hate him. I should, for all he’d done, for all his cold, freezing magic did to the kingdom outside these walls. I should want to run to Ishan and not waste a thought on him, never let him grace my dreams again. I had Ishan’s favor, after all, been kissed by Summer’s glow since I was a child. Everyone had known it.
And yet… and yet I could not stop myself from taking a measured step toward him, from lifting a hand to his face and gently turning that sorrowful gaze back to me. I could not stop my body from leaning in toward his, my hand from weaving up, past his cheekbones and into the white tufts of hair on the side of his head.
Such soft, thin strands, cut short to frame his head, and yet he still did not look like a god standing before me. Forlorn, depressed, all that and more, and I wanted the one thing I shouldn’t.
I wanted to make him feel better.
“Morana…” The way he whispered my name, as if he was hesitant to say it, as if he knew even my name could never belong to him—but that was where he was wrong, for how could I ignore the pang in my chest when I gazed up at him?
As rude as he could be, as awful as his magic could be… I still wanted the man attached to it all. I wanted him, and I wanted Ishan.
I shushed him, standing on my tiptoes to reach him. Before I could say anything else, before Abner could gather his wits and push me away, I pressed my lips on his, my fingers tightening their hold in his hair.
An immediate chill swept over me, but it didn’t feel bad. It wasn’t painful. When his lips were on mine—startled as they were—they felt soft, perfect, as if I was born to kiss that mouth. I had a similar feeling when I’d kissed Ishan, minus the cold, of course, but right now the god of Summer was not on my mind.
Abner was.
He clearly did not know how to take the affection, at first. Abner simply stood there, dumb, his mouth soft but not a participant in the kiss. Not really. You could press your lips upon a stone statue and call it a kiss, I suppose, but to me, a kiss was when both parties gave in, showing their desire through actions rather than words.
And this kiss that I initiated? It said so much more than my words ever could. This was not about forgiveness or any of that; I was not someone who could ever forgive Abner for his sins. This was about two people coming together as one, and it just so happened that one of those people was the god of Winter.
I was slow in pulling my mouth off his, my breath coming out in a white puff, my face a bit chilled from being so close to him, but I did not pull my entire body away, did not drop my hand from his white hair. I gazed into his silvery stare, my lips parted, mere inches between our faces.
He looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he said nothing. Abner did, however, wrap an arm around my lower back and hold me close, his grip surprisingly firm even though his expression was questioning.
My heart pounded in my chest, and I could feel the coldness radiating from him, through his clothes and seeping into me. It was a good thing I held a bit of Summer’s warmth in my heart; I did not know how the others had dealt with the cold without it. Truly, it wasn’t a wonder they literally turned to ice.
Finally, Abner found his voice, “I cannot let you stay here.” As if he would make my decision for me, as if he was putting down his foot and telling me I would go with Ishan.
“You don’t get to make that decision,” I told him, my voice a bare whisper as I ran my thumb along his hairline. What I really wanted to do was bring that mouth down to mine again, to kiss him and have him kiss me back, but I stopped myself, knowing Abner would want to argue with me on that. “The decision is mine and mine alone.”
“But—” He sought to argue with me, and surely he would’ve, had I not done what I did next.
I dropped the hand from his head, dragging it down his chest, feeling him inhale sharply. “Nothing you say will change my mind,” I murmured, my voice faint. “Let us focus on what’s in front of us, and for me, right now, it’s you, Abner.” I knew he hated it when I said his name, hated it with all his being; for whatever reason, he’d much rather be called Winter, but I refused.
I refused, feeling something for the man, not the god.
His expression, normally one of either sorrow or disdain, softened, melting into something else. This time, Abner was the one who lowered his mouth to mine, pressed his lips against mine in an attempt to steal the breath out of my lungs. He very nearly succeeded, too—but I was ready for him. Ready and eager, meeting his passion with my own.
This… perhaps we would look back on this night as a mistake, but I did not care. Not one bit.
Abner’s coldness seeped into me, but the bitter feeling of his eternal chill did not cause me any hesitation whatsoever. I wrapped both my arms around his neck, deepening our lip lock as I gently ran my tongue over his bottom lip, causing him to groan into the kiss. I tasted him in all his glory, and with my walls down, not daring to let myself overthink this, it felt more than good.
It felt right.
There was no possible way this could ever be a mistake, not when it felt like this.
I was not the only one letting the passion between us take over, for in a few minutes, when our mouths were chafed from the hungry kisses, he pulled back, took my hand, and led me out of the throne room and down the hall. Abner took me to the one place I dared not step foot in, not during my wandering days and nights.
His room.
His room was lit with the icy candelabras, the draperies near the tall window drawn open, moonlight shining through. A bigger space than my room, full of regal furniture and portraits and everything that made a castle a castle. If I would’ve stumbled upon this place alone, I would’ve felt strange, like I shouldn’t be here. Not in his room, not at all.
But, holding his hand, feeling his smooth palm cool against my skin, it filled me with a sense of belonging, a sense of peace. I wanted this, wanted him.
We stood beside his bed, an extravagant thing of light blue sheets and dark, carved wood. He turned toward me, shadows dancing across his face as he looked at me with confusion, budding hope, and desire. “Morana…” Again, he said my name, but this time, it came out sounding far different than it had before. This time, when he said it, a shiver completely unrelated to his coldness traveled down my spine.
I gave him a nod, a wordless way of telling him it was okay, that I wanted this. I wanted this and so much more.
He made no moves to reach for me, so I took it upon myself to pull my hand out of his and start to undo the buttons on his shirt, loosening the fabric enough that I was able to help pull it down his shoulders and expose his bare chest. As the shirt fell to the floor, I gazed upon the flat abdomen, the lean chest that belonged to Winter. Not as thick or as sculpted as Ishan, but his pale body was impressive in his own right.