Crowned in Rime

The dream always begins the same. Mist curling through the trees, cold and searching. Moonlight hanging low, beautifully haunting, blue-white and pulsing, as if it had breath. And then I see him.

Tieg. Etched in moonlight. Impossibly real. The boy I’m forbidden to love. The craving I cannot silence. Always facing away from me, at the end of the aisle. I try to call out, but the sound never comes.

Only the trees answer me.

Rustling.

Warning.

I float down the aisle. My silver wedding dress, a shimmer in the mist and moonlight, its sleeves trailing behind me like phantom wings.

Tieg turned; his gaze met mine.

“I do.” He murmured, clasping my hands in his, then he kissed me.

My brows drew together, as an ember floated above his head.

The warmth between us swelled. Comforting at first, then too hot.

Burning. Heat pulsed under my flesh, crawling up my arms, scorching. I looked down, sparks bled from my hands.

My dress was a blaze, flames eating at the silver silk.

I had lost control.

The altar cracked beneath us, embers searing its edges.

Tieg’s face wavered, shifting. His features blurring until he was no longer a man. He was a beast.

He snarled at me with maddening eyes, saliva bubbling, dripping from his frothed mouth. My flames had no effect.

He opened his jaw, too wide. It unhinged with a sickening crack.

Inside was not a throat, but a void. Endless and pulling.

I felt myself lean forward, caught in the undertow of it.

The way I always had been, the way love becomes gravity.

Then,

He lunged. His teeth met my shoulder. But it wasn’t pain that I felt.

It was disappointment. Cold and sharp as a blade beneath my ribs.

I tried to scream. But no sound came.

Only ash.

“Evie! Get up!

Feah’s hand pressed into my shoulder, shaking me from the dream, or rather, the nightmare. The taste of ash still lingered on my tongue. A dull ache pressed against my ribs. I sat up and peered out the window. My breaths heavy. A cold sweat dripped down my temple. Dawn had barely broken. The amber rays just began to sneak over the mountain peak, flickering between the forest trees.

I groaned, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

“What is it, Feah?!”

“Don’t you remember?

It’s Harvesting Day, Evie. Her breath came sharp, annoyed.

We need to gather for the Croft. Fruits, vegetables, all of it before dark. I pushed my covers aside, yawning.

I hadn’t forgotten, only hoped I could ignore it a little longer.

She tossed a bundle of clothes on my bed, no questions, no hesitation. Stepping into her big sister role with a seriousness she’d always worn. Efficient, stern, like the world would turn off its axis if I didn’t spring out of bed fast enough.

The bundle spilled apart, a brown tunic dress brushed with crimson, as though it had borrowed its colors from autumn leaves. Woolen knee-high socks, practical and dark, slid free from the fold. And at the edge of the bed sat my boots, chestnut leather, scuffed but sturdy, laced high with iron eyelets and thick soles meant for stone and soil. They were the kind of boots one could kneel in at the fire’s edge, or walk steady into the heart of a ritual without faltering.

“Grab some tea and let’s go!

“Okay, okay. I’m up!”

She gave a satisfied nod, her sternness easing only as I rose from the bed and reached for the clothes she had laid out like offerings.

My clan of Fire, along with the clans of Ice and Earth, would gather beneath the waning light. Harvesting Day was not only a duty, but a rhythm etched into us: hands stained with soil, baskets brimming with the last fruits of autumn, the fields heavy with grain. The Earth clan moved among the rows as if the land itself bent to their touch, coaxing roots free without effort. The Ice clan worked more delicately, binding herbs and preserving what would wither without their cold precision. And we of Fire, our work was swifter, hotter, hauling crates, carrying burdens, feeding the flames that kept the day’s labors alive.

By nightfall, every token of the season’s bounty would be laid at the Croft, waiting to be blessed beneath the blood moon. A ritual as old as the clans themselves, and one that never let me forget how small I was in the weight of tradition.

The scent of damp soil and burning cedar lingered in the cool air, carrying with it a fragile kind of hope, a quiet eagerness for the harvest.

Everyone had a task for the day, each one essential to ensure the ritual would unfold without falter.

Our first task was the hearths.

I gathered armfuls of dried wood while Feah hauled the heavy iron baskets of coal, each balanced across a long pole we carried between us. The clan needed every hearth rekindled, every flame ready to guard against the creeping cold that would soon settle over the village.

Equipped and ready, we made our way toward the long row of stone firepits that lined the square.

“I’m glad to see a touch of light in your step again,” Feah teased, sparks dancing from her fingertips as she tossed them into the kindling. Her braid, a thick rope of red hair, slipped forward across her shoulder, swaying as she worked. Against her pale skin, the color burned even brighter, like fire wound into thread.

She always kept herself bound tight, unlike me. My own curls, wild, unruly, defiantly untamed, fell into my face as I crouched to add my own flame to the hearth. Firelight reflected in my crimson eyes, their faint luminescent glow flickering against my pale skin like embers refusing to die.

“Had you let me linger in my dream of Tieg, I might have woken happier,” I joked. A half-truth. I didn’t say how the dream twisted, how its warmth went up in fire, how it felt more real than waking.

“Again?” she sighed. The edge in her voice wasn’t new, but it still cut.

“Evie, you have to stop doing this to yourself. Tieg will never be allowed to choose you. As the son of our leader, he’s promised to Aewin. You know that.”

I paused, my flame stuttering against the wood.

Aewin. Daughter of the Ice Clan leader. All silver and duty and cold perfection.

Her name rang through me like a crystal bell, sharp and beautiful. Already shaped for a place I could never fit. Beside Tieg. His future wife.

I straightened, brushing soot from my hands. And then, across the clearing, beyond the shimmer of firelight, I caught Tieg’s gaze. His iridescent crimson eyes locked onto mine, even from a distance, I imagined that faint elemental glow I’d seen up close, quiet as a whisper folded into his gaze, something only the sun could draw out. His hair, slick and red, caught the sunlight like it was made for it; bronze skin glowed beneath its warmth, grounded and strong.

He gestured for me to follow.

“Where are you going?” Feah asked, her brow furrowed.

“To see Tieg,” I said.

“Evie, no. You have an obligation to the harvest.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.”

And before she could protest, I was already on the path, my steps quickening toward him. I obeyed, into the woods, our place. Hidden, shadowed, and heavy with memory.

It was here I had given him my first moment, beneath the gnarled trunks where the earth itself seemed to keep our secret. Many more followed, laughter hushed, breath shared in trembling nearness. Here, duty and tradition could not reach us. Here, there was only him, and the forbidden thread that bound us together.

This was our place, a hollowed glade ringed with moonflowers, their pale blossoms glowing as though their flames had been smothered, yet not extinguished. Their scent shimmered in the air, cold lilac and damp stone. Sweet, but strange.

Tieg’s fingers grazed my cheek, a fleeting touch sharp with tenderness. I leaned into him, yearning for his warmth against the lingering chill of the dream that had followed me from sleep.

“I hate this,” I whispered.

“Hate what?” His furrowed brow said he knew.

“Hiding. Pretending.”

“Every time I see you, I want to claim you. But I can’t.” Heat rose from my skin in translucent wisps, curling like extinguished steam.

He drew me into his arms. “I know. But if my father—”

“I know.” My words cut sharp. “He doesn’t care about love. Only alliances.” I flicked a flame into life, then crushed it into ash. “We’re pawns to him.”

His hand lifted my chin. His eyes flickered, hesitant, concealing. Hiding something.

Then he sank to one knee. My breath tangled, caught between hope and dread. The world seemed to tilt, the noise of the forest dissolving until all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears. Would he choose me, at last? The thought lit through me like fire, wild and impossible, yet I could not push it away. Gold threaded his hair; the silence swelled like a vow. My heart leaned forward before my body did, every part of me straining toward him, nearly whispering yes, until his hand passed mine and pressed into the soil.

A shimmer bled outward. From the earth rose a flower in his palm, its golden petals cupping a living flame.

“This flame… that’s how you’ve always felt to me,” he murmured.

The words scorched through me. I took it, my chest aching with want and doubt. Foolish to believe in more than this, foolish to believe in vows when all we had were stolen fragments carved from cruelty. Yet I wanted. Gods, how I wanted.

Rage and longing blurred; I couldn’t stand to be denied. My mouth found his with a violence born of hunger, pulling him down into the moss. The taste of him was salt and fire, unbearable and necessary, a wound I pressed open again and again.

But when silence returned, it was heavy. His arms wrapped around me like a promise, yet Aewin’s name coiled in my mind like a thorn.

I held the flower, trembling. “I’m supposed to pretend this is enough? When you vanish, are you with her?”

His face twisted. “I wasn’t with her. Not the way you think. She’s part of the arrangement. My father… the elders…”

“Then why keep hiding?”

“Evie…” He said my name like an apology. His voice broke on the syllable, but no promise followed it. No vow. Only the hollow weight of duty, heavier than any love we might have claimed.

The cold thread in my chest tightened. And before I could say anything more, he tugged my hand. “Come. We need to return to the harvest.”

I followed, though each step felt wrong. The memory of him kneeling, of hope stolen, clung like a spider’s web, silken, sticky, impossible to tear away.

“Tieg!” Milly’s voice cut through the hush, a cutting command of one of his guards. Straight-backed, red-haired, her sharp crest markings like verdicts, she handed him a note. His expression shifted, anxious, yet alight. He pressed my hands briefly.

“I’m sorry, Evie. Duty calls.”

And he was gone, walking off with her before I could ask a single question. I lingered, clutching the flower, watching until they dissolved into the crowd, shadows slipping away.

The square buzzed on without me, laughter and footsteps pressing too close. I couldn’t breathe in the crush of it, not with the weight in my chest and his touch still clinging to my skin. So I turned away. Better to busy my hands than let my thoughts devour me.

I made my way to the storerooms to help with the preparations for the colder months ahead, bundling herbs, hanging roots to dry, stacking jars of oil and grain along the shelves.

Feah was already there.

“You’re back, finally,” she said.

I nodded, heavy-hearted.

Her head tilted, sharp with knowing. “What’s wrong? It’s Tieg again, isn’t it? I warned you, Evie.”

“No, it’s just—”

Before I could finish, a roar split the air from the village center. Cheers, clapping, voices rising in jubilation. To me, it felt like laughter at a funeral.

Feah and I hurried into the square, pushing through the sea of bodies. There, on the dais, stood Tieg beside his father Deglin, both smiling, both waving.

And then she appeared.

Aewin.

The crowd seemed to lean toward her as though she carried her own gravity. Her father walked beside her, but he may as well have been invisible. The air itself chilled with her presence, a breath of winter sliding over the square. Her pale skin shimmered in the morning light, her hair flowing down her back in a silver cascade, each strand catching like spun glass. Frost clung to the hem of her gown, blooming with each step, the frost-thread embroidery scattering sunlight into sharp, crystalline sparks.

Every gaze turned to her. Even mine, unwilling though it was.

She stepped to Tieg’s side, claiming the space as though it had always been hers. When he reached for her hand, a faint mist coiled around their fingers, their breath fogging in the sudden cool. He brushed his lips against her cheek, and the air prickled with a crispness that belonged to her alone.

My stomach twisted. Heat coiled in my chest. My fists clenched so tight my nails carved crescents into my palms.

Deglin’s voice boomed above the din, silencing the crowd.

“Today marks the beginning of my son and Aewin’s betrothal celebration. Their wedding will be held in seven days’ time. May their union be blessed with many years of happiness and children.”

The square erupted again. The noise cut through me like splinters.

Feah’s gaze found mine, sorrow flickering in her eyes, a mirror of the ache tearing me apart.

Tieg raised his and Aewin’s hands high, their fingers entwined like vines tightening around a tree. A shimmer of rime silvered their clasped hands, catching the sun above until it blazed like a crown. She smiled, radiant and unflinching, her composure flawless, her victory complete.

Then her voice rang out, clear as frost-lit crystal:

“On this day, I take Tieg as my devoted husband. Fire and ice, joined for a bond unbreakable. Our love burns as bright as his flame, and our marriage will stand as strong as a frozen fortress.”

The crowd cheered. And when their lips met, a fine veil of frost swept outward, glimmering as it melted into the warmth of the sun.

The world fell away.

I backed from the square, swallowed by the press of bodies. The village roared on, blind to me. Their cheers blurred together, a chorus for the chosen two, while I dissolved into the edges, unseen, a ghost among the living.

He chose her, and I was left with nothing but the splintered shards of my heart, laid bare in the cold.

I slipped away.

And for the first time, I asked myself, was love ever enough?