The transition to life in the Winter Court began the next morning when Isabelle was escorted to her new quarters. The room was unlike anything she had ever seen, a harmonious blend of icy elegance and inviting warmth that seemed almost impossible. The walls shimmered with frost-like patterns, their intricate designs glowing faintly in the dim light, as though the room itself was alive. The furniture, upholstered in deep silvers and blues, exuded an ethereal quality, each piece perfectly placed as if to welcome her.
Mr. Darcy, ever curious, darted ahead of her. His fluffy calico tail swished with purpose as he sniffed at the thick, plush rug and pawed delicately at the ornate bed frame. Isabelle watched him with a faint smile, her fingers brushing over the smooth fabric of a nearby chair. The room was breathtaking, but it was her cat’s nonchalant exploration that brought a flicker of comfort to the unfamiliar surroundings.
She had just finished unpacking the few belongings Florence had deemed essential when a soft knock at the door drew her attention. Before she could respond, Olberon stepped into the room, his tall figure framed by the doorway. He carried himself with his usual composed grace, but there was a warmth in his expression that softened the sharp edges of his regal demeanor.
“I trust the new room is to your liking?” he asked, the deeper tone of his voice carrying a note of genuine curiosity.
Isabelle turned to him, her breath catching momentarily. The faint light of the room caught in his frost-colored eyes, making them seem to shimmer like the icy patterns on the walls. “They’re…It’s beautiful,” she said catching herself, her voice soft as she glanced around the room. “It’s like living inside a snowflake.”
Olberon’s lips twitched into a faint smile, and he stepped further inside, his gaze sweeping the space as though appraising it anew. “Fitting,” he said, his tone thoughtful, “for a member of the Winter Court.”
“Member?” Isabelle asked, turning her attention back to him, her brow furrowing in surprise.
“For now,” he clarified quickly, a faint flush creeping across his cheeks that caught her off guard. “Your debut will be soon, and then you will have the freedom to make your choice. Until then,” he paused, his gaze meeting hers briefly before flicking away, “consider yourself a guest—but one we hold in high regard.”
The way he spoke, with measured words and an almost shy sincerity, made her heart flutter unexpectedly. There was a vulnerability in his demeanor she hadn’t noticed before, a stark contrast to the confident lord she had first met.
“High regard?” Isabelle said lightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”
Olberon’s smile widened slightly, and he let out a quiet chuckle. “I’m sure you’ll manage,” he said, his tone teasing but gentle.
For a moment, an easy silence settled between them. Isabelle caught herself studying him and the way the frost-like patterns on the walls seemed to glow faintly around him, the way his presence felt both commanding and calming. He seemed so at home in this world of frost and magic, yet there was something about him that felt… human, almost achingly so.
Mr. Darcy chose that moment to leap onto the bed with an indignant meow, his tail flicking as though to reclaim attention. Olberon glanced at the cat, his smile softening further. “I see your companion is settling in nicely.”
“Oh, he’ll claim the entire court if you let him,” Isabelle joked, brushing a hand through her hair.
“I wouldn’t dream of challenging him,” Olberon said, his expression amused. His gaze lingered on Isabelle for a heartbeat longer than necessary before he straightened slightly, as if catching himself.
“Well,” he said, his tone shifting back to formality. “If there’s anything else you need, don’t hesitate to ask. This room—and this court—are yours for as long as you wish.”
“Thank you, Olberon,” Isabelle said sincerely, her eyes meeting his.
He inclined his head slightly, hesitating as though he wanted to say more, but then turned and made his way to the door. “Rest well, Isabelle,” he said softly before stepping into the hall and closing the door behind him.
Left alone in the quiet glow of the room, Isabelle let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
____
The days passed quickly as Isabelle adjusted to her new life in the Winter Court, though each day brought a sense of wonder that made time feel almost irrelevant. The sprawling grounds of the estate seemed to stretch endlessly, their frosted beauty ever-changing with the subtle shifts of light and shadow. Isabelle spent hours exploring, her steps crunching softly on paths of frozen gravel, her breath visible in the crisp air.
Every corner of the garden revealed new wonders, each more surreal than the last. One morning, she stumbled upon a frozen fountain nestled in a secluded grove. At first glance, it appeared still, encased in ice like the rest of the estate. But as she approached, she realized the water wasn’t frozen—it was flowing backward, spiraling upward in defiance of gravity. The liquid shimmered with an inner light, casting refracted rainbows that danced across the snow-dusted ground. She stood transfixed, watching the dazzling display of motion and light, her heart pounding with the quiet thrill of discovery.
Another day, Isabelle found herself drawn to a library tucked away in one of the estate’s many wings. It was a vast, circular chamber with shelves that stretched up into the gloom of the high, domed ceiling. The air smelled faintly of parchment and frost, and as she ran her fingers along the spines of the books, a tingling sensation traveled up her arm. Curious, she opened one at random, only to hear a soft, melodic voice begin reciting its contents aloud.
She flipped through several more, finding that each book had its own distinct voice—some deep and sonorous, others high and lilting, but all hauntingly beautiful. They whispered secrets of the Winter Court, tales of ancient Fae, and poems so vivid she could almost see the worlds they described. The library became one of her favorite places, a refuge where she could lose herself in the history and magic of her new world.
As Virgil recovered, he became her guide through this strange and enchanting realm. One afternoon, they strolled through the gardens together, the winter sun casting long, golden shadows over the frost-laden hedges. Virgil walked more slowly than usual, his movements careful, but his enthusiasm hadn’t diminished.
“Remember,” he said, gesturing to the glittering expanse of the grounds, “the Winter Court is not just about ice and frost. It embodies endurance, clarity, and reflection. It’s about the stillness that allows growth, the chill that sharpens the mind, and the beauty found in stark simplicity.”
Isabelle glanced at him, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Clarity and reflection? Are those just poetic ways of saying you all spend too much time brooding?”
Virgil chuckled, his amber eyes glinting with amusement. “Perhaps,” he admitted, “but there’s wisdom in stillness. Sometimes you need the cold to preserve what matters, to hold the chaos of the world at bay long enough to see the truth.”
Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “Should I choose the Winter Court when the time comes?”
Virgil paused, studying her with an intensity that was almost disarming. “I cannot make these choices for you, Isabelle. They are yours to make alone. But,” he added, his tone softening, “you’re capable of making these choices on your own. You wouldn’t have stepped through the London Gate in the first place if you weren’t.”
His words lingered with her long after their walk had ended. The Winter Court, with all its beauty and mystery, seemed to mirror her own uncertainties, still, reflective, and waiting for the right moment to bloom.
____
The days leading up to Isabelle’s Debut were a flurry of preparation, with Virgil at the heart of it all. He took his role as her guide seriously, though not without his usual wit and humor. Every afternoon, they would settle in some quiet corner of the estate—the frost-covered gardens, the sunlit library, or sometimes even in the shadowy corners of the drawing room—and dive into the intricacies of the Fae Courts.
On this particular day, they sat in the garden beneath a trellis of crystalline vines. The air was crisp, the kind of cold that made Isabelle’s cheeks blush and her breath form soft clouds in the air. Virgil had spread out a collection of papers on the table between them, each one scrawled with notes and sketches detailing the Courts and their leaders.
“All right, Isabelle,” Virgil began, his tone teasing but purposeful, “if you’re going to make an impression at your Debut—and I have no doubt you will—you’ll need to know who you’re dealing with. The Courts are as much about politics as they are about magic, and their leaders… well, let’s just say they’re not easily forgotten.”
“Sounds intimidating,” Isabelle said, raising an eyebrow as she leaned back in her chair.
Virgil chuckled. “It can be, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. Let’s start with Autumn, shall we? Lucinda, the Lady of the Autumn Court, is its heart and soul.”
He picked up one of the papers, which bore a sketch of a woman with flowing dark red hair. “Lucinda is a master of change and reflection. Her hair shifts shades like autumn leaves, and her fashion—well, it changes as often as the wind blows. She’s always dressed in fall tones, warm and rich, like the season she represents. But don’t let her beauty distract you. Lucinda is sharp, cunning, and always thinking five steps ahead.”
Isabelle studied the sketch, her brow furrowing. “What does she want from the Debut? I mean, why would she care about me?”
“Lucinda values adaptability,” Virgil explained. “She’ll be watching to see if you can embrace change, let go of what no longer serves you, and reflect on what’s ahead. She doesn’t believe in standing still, and she’ll challenge you to move forward—sometimes whether you’re ready or not.”
“Sounds… exhausting,” Isabelle muttered, earning a laugh from Virgil.
“Perhaps,” he said, his grin widening. “But if you can impress her, you’ll gain an ally who sees the potential in every situation. Now, on to Summer.”
Virgil picked up another sketch, this one of a broad-shouldered man with wild, shaggy blonde hair. “The Summer Court is all about vitality and strength, and no one embodies that better than Gideon, the Lord of Summer. He’s larger than life in every sense—physically, emotionally, and magically. Gideon is the kind of person who walks into a room and owns it. He’s charismatic, passionate, and fiercely loyal to those he considers his own.”
“He sounds like a lot,” Isabelle said, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
“Oh, he is,” Virgil agreed. “But that’s Summer for you—bold, brash, and unapologetically alive. Gideon will want to see if you have the same fire, the same drive to thrive.”
“And what if I don’t?” Isabelle asked, half-joking.
Virgil smirked. “Then he’ll probably try to fan your flames until you do. But don’t worry, you won’t be dealing with Gideon alone. There’s also Zarene, the Lady of Spring.”
He pulled out another sketch, this one of a stunningly beautiful woman with auburn hair like a cascade of spring blossoms—pink, green, and gold blending together in a soft, radiant swirl. “Zarene is all about growth and renewal. She’s a true gardener at heart, nurturing anything and everything that has potential. She believes in fresh starts and the beauty of what’s yet to come.”
“She sounds lovely,” Isabelle said, her voice softening.
“She is,” Virgil said with a nod. “But she’s no pushover. Zarene will want to see if you’re willing to grow, to take risks, and to embrace what’s new, even if it means leaving behind the safety of the familiar.”
Isabelle leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “So, Lucinda wants me to embrace change, Gideon wants me to be bold, and Zarene wants me to grow. What about Winter?”
Virgil hesitated for a moment, his expression turning more serious. “Winter,” he said slowly, “is about endurance, clarity, and preservation. It’s not about tearing down or building up—it’s about holding steady, finding strength in stillness, and protecting what matters most. And Olberon…” He paused, a flicker of something unspoken crossing his face. “Olberon embodies all of that. He’s steady, unyielding when he needs to be, but also deeply loyal.”
Isabelle’s gaze softened. “He sounds… complicated.”
Virgil smiled faintly. “He is. But you’ll see for yourself soon enough. The important thing is that each Court and each leader represents something different—something valuable. Your job is to figure out which one resonates with you.”
“And if none of them do?” Isabelle asked, her tone light but with a hint of genuine uncertainty.
Virgil leaned forward, meeting her gaze. “Then you make your own path,” he said simply. “But trust me, Isabelle—you’ll find your place.”
She smiled at that, a flicker of confidence warming her chest. “Thanks, Virgil.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he teased, leaning back with a grin. “You’ve still got a lot to learn before your Debut.”