Mother Winter.

All the air had been sucked out of Faryn at what had to be an awful joke. Winter couldn't really expect that shecould handle such a role, such a title. A title she had never even heard of until Moroz had said it.

Beside her, Cassian let out a soft hiss, and Faryn jerked her hand away from his. Where her fingers had been, his skin was now a bright red, particles of ice dusting his skin. She couldn't control her powers, and she was supposed to replace her grandfather who had over seven centuries of experience?

Despite the burn and the pain she knew she had caused him, Cassian didn't pull away from her. Rather he drew closer, sliding his hand along her back. The firm pressure his touch brought kept her grounded to the icy floor, to the spot where she stood surrounded by Winter's court.

Moroz, known as Father Frost, stared at her as if waiting for her to throw a fit, to cry, to scream. To do anything other than just stand there.

The air that would have chilled most Acurials left sweat forming in the places where her dress was tightest. The grand chamber full of Winter's Court seemed to shrink around her until she couldn't breathe. And yet at the same time it felt as if the columns stretched higher until she was nothing but an insignificant speck of snow. The court surrounded her and Cassian, Clíodhna, and Peter, her new friends who felt more like family than those she shared blood with. How dare any of Winter ask anything of her after they'd had her hunted across the globe; Nick and Klaus who she knew despised her; Jack, her cousin, who was the one who'd done the hunting; Moroz and his daughter, The Snow Maiden; Befana who'd attacked her in Eiraacia when she'd met Cassian; Perchta, who Faryn had been warned did not take kindly to her existence as a living symbol of Clora Claus's unfaithfulness to ol' Saint Nick; Gryla, Leppaludi, and their thirteen sons, none of whom had bothered to interfere either for or against Faryn; and lastly Aurelius—Krampus—who had turned his back on her and all their years of friendship.

Through the tightening in her chest, the strangling of her heart and lungs, she finally forced her answer out. "No. I can't."

Moroz crossed his arms, his gray eyes as hard as ice. "It is your duty."

A laugh slipped out of her. "Duty? I have no duty."

Befana frowned and no wrinkles appeared against her white skin. Only days ago on the eve of Epiphany, her body would have transformed into that of an old woman. Now she appeared no older than thirty. Behind her, the end of her broom stretched past her head. The wood of the handle was not straight like most brooms, instead it zigzagged like a bolt of lightning. At her feet, the straw bristles that were bound in brown leather brushed the frosty gray floor. "To your magic."

Faryn narrowed her eyes at the Laihr. "My magic? I can't even control it." She'd only ever been able to create ice and sleet. "I don't have all five powers that Father Winter has." Wind, snow, ice, sleet, and frost. Those were the powers the line of Jack Frost to Father Winter held. She could not fulfill a role that wasn't meant for her. A role magic had not chosen for her.

It was a role meant to be her cousin's one day.

"For once I actually agree with Faryn." Jack curled his hands into fists. "She cannot take my grandfather's place."

Befana slid her brown eyes toward him. "You will help her do just that."

Heat surged up her throat, and out of habit, she sought out Aurelius's face, but when his dark eyes met hers, she found no emotion in them.

She quickly tore her eyes from his, casting them to the ground, only to find a blurred image of herself. In this version of herself, her hair was entirely black, none of the streaks of white that'd been taunting her all her life to be seen.

"No." Jack snarled at Befana. "I won't."

"It is an order from your court."

"And I refuse it." Frost crept outward from where Jack stood in a ripple. Those around him—Klaus, Gryla, and Leppaludi—moved back. They may not feel the cold's bite, but they were not immune to being impaled on an icicle.

"That's not how this is going to work," Moroz sneered at her cousin, the white streak in his brown hair falling across his eyes that were no longer their usual gray, but instead glowed florescent blue. Frost swirled around his boots as he took a step toward Faryn. "The season relies on us, Faryn. This is not something that your cousin and I can do by ourselves—as much as he might want to believe so. Would the both of you truly send winter into chaos?" That wasn't fair. Of course, she wasn't willing to doom the world, but how could they not understand that she couldn't help? Her powers were nothing compared to theirs.

"This is not an offer, Faryn." Befana faced her yet moved in Jack's direction as if sensing she may need to stand between the two cousins. "We're telling you what will happen. You will return to Ruhnerium with Nick, Klaus, and Jack, who will help you develop your powers."

It was abundantly clear Jack had not known about this plan; however, neither Nick nor Klaus seemed surprised. They both had been silent since Moroz had thrust the title of Mother Winter upon Faryn. It was expected that Nick would protest taking in his wife's bastard daughter. But he hadn't, which led her to believe he had known and would somehow profit from the whole ordeal.

And Klaus? The bruises around her neck from his fingers still ached. As if Cassian sensed what she felt, he dug his fingers into her back. She leaned into that pressure, into him, inhaling his scent of pine and burnt sugar, letting the feel of him at her back distract her from the phantom feeling of her half-brother at her neck.

"Leave me alone with Jack, and there will be no replacement for my grandfather."

The rather homicidal look in Jack's eyes did nothing to dispute her claim.

Leppaludi, a Laihr like Gryla, gestured across the room. He was dressed in a dark green robe, trimmed in gold. His black hair was shaved into a short afro and a shadow of stubble graced his cheeks. Unlike Befana, he had no broom nor any weapon upon him that Faryn could see. "Allow me to offer one of my sons as a chaperone. He can act as a neutral party." He inclined his head. "Dagur."

One of the Yule Lads stepped forward. He was taller than Faryn, perhaps Cassian's height, though from where she stood it was hard to tell. His skin was a light russet brown, and his black hair was styled similarly to his father's. His pants and shirt were white, and he wore a yellow coat trimmed in white thread. To call any of the Yule Lads a neutral party was amusing. Throughout Acurial history the Yule Lads were usually known for wreaking havoc.

Leppaludi looked at Faryn with eyes that weren't sharp or cut into her but instead were soft. Kind. "My son will help you train."

Dagur came to stand at his father's side and bent in a bow to Faryn. "It would be an honor to assist Mother Winter." There was no trace of mischief on his face, only sincerity—his brown eyes warm.

Faryn didn't trust that it wasn't all an act.

Moroz placed his hand on Dagur's shoulder. "Then it's settled. Are we good now, Faryn?"

"I have a life outside this world."

His jaw tightened. "Oxford has been around for hundreds of years. You needn't worry about it going anywhere, Mother Winter."

The sound of ice cracking rang in her ears, and she twisted toward Jack.

"It doesn't matter who trains her." Her cousin's frost had spread farther. It nipped at the tips of her shoes. These heels she'd been dressed in left her toes exposed, and she didn't want to test how immune she was to frostbite. She took a step back only to find Cassian's arms looping around her. "She will not be Mother Winter." The frost thickened into ice that lengthened into sharp points like razors.

"Ton," Moroz's voice was like the bite of winter. "Get Faryn out of here."

But it was Cassian who whisked her from the room. The icy hallway that awaited them gleamed too brightly. The pulse of the light seemed to echo behind her eyes. She wasn't really Mother Winter. They couldn't just drop a title like that onto her, right?

Peter pushed open a door that led into a sitting room that looked just as ice and frost covered as the rest of the palace.

Her friends placed her into a chair whose cushion was blessedly soft and not stiff, and Peter dropped into a crouch before her. No fire burned in the hearth behind him, and his breath curled in the air before him.

It was barely even two days ago that Winter Court had been hunting her. Now they were demanding she be one of them?

"I can't take my grandfather's place." Her hands trembled, and she tucked them under her legs in an attempt to hide it.

Peter placed a hand flat on her arm as if to steady her. "Clíodhna and I will come with you." Beside him the Leprechaun nodded. "We'll make sure you're settled."

Cassian came around to Peter's other side. "You said you had to get back." The Fata's voice was tight.

"Given the turn of events, I can spare a few more days. My nymphs can handle preparations while I'm away."

Someone knocked on the door.

Cassian twisted toward the sound. "Who is it?" The words came out in a growl as if he really expected Jack to have knocked.

"Forgive me, Cassian," a male voice said through the door. "But it's time."

No. Faryn took hold of Cassian's hand, relishing its warmth. She wasn't prideful enough that she was opposed to begging him to stay. What kept her from doing so was that she knew he had no choice but to leave. Still, she couldn't keep the silent plead from her eyes, the hope that maybe it would be enough to somehow make him stay.

I'm sorry, he mouthed, and slipped his fingers from hers. "I'll do everything I can to come to you as soon as possible." He took a step back, moving toward the door.

"I . . . It's okay." At the end of the day, he had no responsibility to her. His power, his future title had to come first. "Do what you need to do."

Something hardened in Cassian's gray eyes, and his throat bobbed. And then he slipped out the door.

Once the door was shut, Clíodhna flipped the lock. "No one will hurt you."

Faryn let out a shaky breath.

"He wanted to stay, Faryn," Peter said.

"I know." She flexed her hands. "I know." A heaviness descended on her. "I was supposed to be at Oxford. I was supposed to get a degree so I could separate myself from this world." She couldn't very well put Mother Nature on her CV.

"It's a detour, not the end of your trip."

"Unless my family kills me."

"You don't need to fear Klaus." Clíodhna's eyes dipped to her neck. "Cassian handled him. And you're not powerless, Faryn. You've only just started figuring out your magic. You have no idea how strong you might really be."

"Strong enough to give enough magic to sustain winter?"

Peter sighed. "I don't know how Winter does it, only that it's up to Father Winter, your cousin, and Moroz to supply the magic."

"What do you know about Dagur?"

"I've only heard that the Yule Lads have been quiet the last couple centuries," Clíodhna said. "Whether that means they're planning something, are good at hiding their shit, or are actually angels, I don't know."

"What do they do? What are their powers?"

"I've never seen them use magic," Peter said slowly. "But they must if Dagur can help you train."

Faryn looked at the door, half expecting Cassian to walk back inside. "You don't have to come with me, Peter. I know you're busy."

He shrugged. "We could very well still be hiding, looking for Nick, and trying to clear our names. It's not as if I expected to return to my work soon."

"But Easter—"

He shook his head. "Will be fine. You're Mother—"

Clíodhna jerked a finger to her lips, and Peter and Faryn stilled, the latter holding her breath. As the Leprechaun's green eyes tracked something behind Faryn, her hand reached into a slit in her dress and withdrew a knife.

In the silence, Faryn heard it—the noise Clíodhna must have heard over their conversation. Small taps, almost like footsteps.

Clíodhna's eyes narrowed, and the next second her knife whizzed over Faryn's head and through the air. There was a soft slick sound of the dagger sliding into flesh, and Faryn jumped to her feet, whirling around.

There on one of the bookshelves keeled on its side between sculptures of crystal snowflakes laid a dying rat. It wasn't so much the rat's presence that surprised Faryn, but that it hadn't even squealed when the knife had struck it.

Clíodhna made her way over to the creature first, Faryn and Peter following behind. "I swear it was listening to us."

"You think it's Thorine?" Peter leaned forward before rearing back. Tendrils of black smoke began curling around the rat. The creature no longer breathed.

"I don't know of any Thorine that does that when it dies."

Faryn stepped between her two friends to get a better view. The rat's black beady eye stared lifelessly at the shelf above. But what was odd was "There's no blood."

"That's . . ." Peter's voice trailed off as he saw with his own eyes what Faryn had noticed. Where the knife pierced its stomach, no blood matted the gray fur or coated the silver of the blade. The knife had gone clean through the rat and yet there was no blood on the shelf either.

The smoke curled upwards and out, snaking toward Faryn slowly. She felt her fingers twitch and frost grew over her fingertips, coating her nails, and her hand moved to meet the smoke. The magic smelled of balsam and pine and something that reminded her of ash.

Peter's hand slammed into her chest and pushed her back, sending her crashing into the back of the chair she'd been sitting upon. The shock of its sharp edges pressing into her body snapped her out of whatever trance the magic had held over her mind, and the frost disappeared from her fingers.

The smoke curled back toward the rat, swarming around its body into a cloud so thick she could no longer see the creature. When it dissipated, the rat was gone and only Clíodhna's clean dagger remained. There was no sign that it had just killed. No blood, no fur. As Clíodhna picked up the knife, Faryn could even see her own distorted reflection in the blade.

Peter dragged a hand through his hair. "I didn't think I'd have to say this, Faryn, but we don't go around touching dead rats or any magic that comes from them."

Her gaze shot to his, her mouth opened and ready to defend herself but all that came out was "I . . ." Had she been under its control or merely the power of her own curiosity?

"Have you ever seen anything like that?" Clíodhna asked Peter, sliding the knife back into her dress.

"No. The magic seemed like something you'd be more likely to find in the Spirit Court, but I didn't recognize it. You're certain that it was watching us?"

She nodded.

Peter crossed to the drink cart by the fire and poured himself a glass of amber liquid. "Could Aurelius have done this?"

"I didn't recognize the scent." Faryn looked down at her hand where the frost had been only a minute ago. That at least had felt like her power, but she hadn't been trying to call it forth.

"We weren't going to leave you before." Peter shot back his drink and set the glass on the ledge above the fireplace. "But there's no way in the four courts we're leaving you after this."

Hello, loves! I'm so excited to finally be posting book 2 of Claus! It's hard for me not to feel inspired for this story when it's the holiday season. I'm very excited to see where Frost will go, and I hope you'll join me for this sleigh ride. (I promise our reindeers won't be dicks.)