"Over here."

Elodie turned to see Ann pointing at the knotted roots of an old tree frosted with white, powdery snow blocks. The snow up against the tree's base had a downward divot made by a shovel. Elodie smiled and paced over, reaching into her basket for one of many bundles of plant sprigs. Each bundle carefully packaged lamb's ear leaves with sprigs of mistletoe and vibrant berries on viburnum twigs. She gently cupped the herbs and set them in the hole, snow tickling the edges of her knuckles. "I'm glad they came before us and dug out the hollows. That's always-"

She felt confidence bleed out of her when she rose and saw that Ann only nodded and turned to find the next tree. Elodie sighed and mumbled, "The hardest part." Since arriving at the castle, Ann had been diligent in her duties as Elodie's aide, never wavering from her side. Ann was too familiar, though, for Elodie not to notice her aide was distant and flighty, eager to avoid any lengthy conversations. Days where they sat by a fire and widdled the hours away in conversation seemed to have vanished.

It didn't help that even days later, her encounter with the Pedersons and Lord Alden was still hanging over her head like a dark rain cloud.

Elodie's grip on her basket tightened, and she followed behind, setting down yule bundles in each dug-out hole they found. Sometimes, they came across little bundles that other nobles had left from their houses, made with beautiful flowers like witch hazel and camellias. Others from the town's village were made with more straightforward herbs like twisted mint leaves and snowdrops. Elodie was particularly charmed by one that contained nothing but blueish grasses tied in an intricate braided pattern.

As she was squatting on the ground inspecting one such hole, a dark shadow formed at her side, and Prince Braum said, "Do you like that one, Lady Elodie?"

Elodie startled and nearly tipped over. Braum smiled at the reaction and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. His elbow leaned against his bent knees. Again, he looked like a hunched bird, inquisitive and amused.

"I was admiring the plaits," Elodie managed to recover. "Whoever made this must have spent a long time on it." She brushed her skirt back underneath her legs and stood up with one motion. "It's beautiful."

Braum seemed pleased with her response and hefted himself to his full height. "That's an offering from the Abjorn family. Their matriarch makes Ostara crowns each year with similar braiding."

As Elodie looked at it, she thought of the Abjorn family and realized that Braum was right. She'd seen a similar patterning on their family's youngest last year, little white flowers woven between straw plaits. "I'm impressed," Elodie admitted to his observation, "I'll have to pass along my regards for their craftsmanship."

Braum's mouth curled up in a smile, and he said, "My mother, father, and brother are taking care of our house's yule tithes. I saw you leaving this morning and thought I would offer my escort as a gentleman." He gave a small wave to Ann, who withdrew from her bow with the dismissal. A tense look was shared between them, and then Ann turned to continue scouting ahead to spot collection holes.

"I don't mind, your Highness." Elodie stiffened slightly as he reached forward to take her basket. It seemed wrong to her to have a prince carry her things, and Elodie didn't want to embarrass him. He withdrew his hand and, with a knowing glance, continued walking.

"Tell me," he said, leaning over to speak to her more quietly as they walked. "Have I done something to offend your aide?"

"Ann? No, I don't think so."

"Surely I must have. She looks at me so ..." He made a motion near his head like curled claws. "Darkly." Elodie shook her head in response, and Braum laughed, acquiescing, "Maybe it is just for the love of you then. I imagine a prince is something every aide wants to protect their lady from."

Elodie smiled secretively and replied, "She is a very good friend. I am trying to give her space after-" Elodie's voice trailed off. "But what about your attendants?" The forest around them was silent, except for the occasional snow crunch under their boots. Elodie expected Braum to be followed by a gaggling assemblage of people, but there were none.

"I've sent most of them away for the afternoon. I wanted to give them time for their offerings." He leaned over conspiratorially, and Elodie could smell the fireplace smoke and cedar still hanging on his cloak, feel the tickle of its furred edges. "I wanted a little breathing room."

"But ... you're here. Walking with me."

"So I am."

Elodie's expression must have had too much bewilderment and fear because Braum said, "Ah, but I'm sensing now that I should go. I've interrupted you two."

Elodie's cheeks burned from the attention, and she became fixated on the herbs in her basket. "Not at all." She looked at Ann up ahead, who was still icily distant. Elodie spoke somewhat more softly, equally conspiratorial now. "The opposite. I wish she'd talk to me."

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Braum made a soft, sympathetic noise. Elodie found the sound comforting.

Ann stopped up ahead, waving her blackened hand to signal another divot. Elodie quieted for the moment and joined her. Her mind went numb as she bent over to place another tithe in the given spot. Talk of Ann and oration made her stomach churn, so instead, she turned to Braum and said, "Do you think you'd recognize all of the bundles out here?"

Braum laughed an echoing, full sound, and as the last chuckle left him, he covered his mouth again with a hand. "There are some I recognize since they do the same each year, a few I've learned out of courtesy. I'd say I know more than most, but not a master of all, no."

"I should like to learn them. I'm... not very good at recognizing all of the families in court."

"And why would you be? You haven't had any reason to."

She felt her shoulders relax some. It was easier now to walk some ways with Braum carving out giant steps for her to follow. "I would think a prince would spend time memorizing that sort of thing. Each name, each tithe. Settling disputes about who has buried whose bundle in the snow to curse their house with a fey visitor during Yule..."

"You and Emerys would be of one mind then," Braum commented idly.

"I meant no offense, your highness."

Kindness entered his eyes. "Just Braum is fine when we're out of sight from the court. The other advisors do the same." His fingers laced together behind his head as he spoke, elbows up to the sky. The same cavalier attitude he'd had when he leaned over the sitting couch overtook him in the woods. Elodie would have called it carefree if there wasn't something tensed in his shoulders and tight in his chest.

Elodie "Yes, your-" She paused. "Prince Braum." A noise snapped through the air like a breaking twig, and her eyes fixated on it.

"Close, but-"

Elodie ran past him, pale blue hair trailing behind her. Up ahead, Ann was waving over a small, whiteish fox caught in a hunter's snare. It writhed and lashed with violence impossible for such a small creature. A lump rose in Elodie's throat as she got closer. Her gloved hand went to her lips, and she frowned. "Oh no."

"It's injured," Ann said quietly, pointing to a sickening bend in one of the creature's legs where it had tried to pull itself free from the snare. As if responding to her words, it lashed again, pulling the snare tighter around its leg. Rivulets of blood formed at its side beneath mats of thick white fur, and the sight made her dizzy.

Braum caught up shortly after that and said, "Are you both alright?"

Elodie gripped Ann's arm to keep herself steady. It was too similar to that day, red geraniums in a sea of white snow. She felt hot acid in her stomach burning through what little resolve she'd built up. Yet she held her ground and nodded at Braum, anchoring herself to the hatred in the fox's eyes. So unusual in a beast to feel an emotion that strong, that clear, that precise. It sang to her for release, like a siren calling a sailor to his doom on the rocks.

"I want to help it." Despite the knot twisting in the sea of acid in her stomach, she gave in to that sorrowful song. Her mouth ran dry, and if they asked her to explain why she felt such a connection with the creature, she wouldn't be able to explain it. Empathy, maybe.

The prince reached up to a tree and snapped off a branch, stepping forward and ushering both ladies back. The fox went unnaturally still, though a hiss came from behind two jagged rows of teeth. Its eyes glared a challenge to Braum, daring him closer. Steam puffed around it, and its hair stood on end. The fox snapped when the stick was within range, biting down on the wood so hard it split cleanly. Strength that shouldn't have belonged to a fox.

Elodie felt her breath hitch as the fox lurched with an unnatural movement and bit into the flesh of Braum's palm. It was a motion and bending of limbs too fast, and Elodie's spine tingled with a preternatural instinct that told her this creature was not safe to tamper with; this was some old magic, some precursor to the art of oration. The same feeling arose when an elder cleared their throat in a silent room or when dizziness occurred from standing atop a hillock overlooking a moor.

It was the feeling that something deeply fated was about to occur.

Yet that emotion was blocked by a more substantial worry for Braum as he yelped and moved back. She spotted blood dripping from a small set of puncture wounds.

As he nursed the injury, her muse had a thought: It can be freed.

"I can help it," she translated, although the others couldn't hear her muse.

"No," Ann said, stepping in front of her with the protective stance of a mother bear. "You can't, miss. It's too dangerous. Leave this creature to whatever hunter laid this trap."

Elodie stepped beside her and put a hand on Ann's good forearm, a gentle but assertive motion. "I can't explain why," she admitted, "But … this isn't normal prey." Powder blue hair was already extending slightly off of Elodie's form, and the irises of her eyes ringed in a frosty cerulean. At this moment, Elodie looked more like she fit her noble title, that perhaps she could be an orator. She spoke now to her muse, eyes centered on the fox. "Help me still this creature so that I might free it."

Braum stepped forward, and Elodie shook her head lightly at him. His expression changed from one of determination to one of awe as leylines of magic now ran from her boots, stretching like pale blue spiderwebs tangled in the roots of the trees around them. The only moment Elodie hesitated was when Ann flung herself back, chest heaving with adrenaline.

As you command.

Snow from the ground spiked upwards in jagged teeth, but Elodie was learning to have a reflex for her muse's twisted chicanery after weeks of tempered practice. "Without harming it, please."

She heard what she thought was a grumble from the muse, but the snow crystallized into a delicate latticework of ice that held the fox still. It was posed like a doll. Calm, even. Though blood still poured off its side, and she felt its fury at the leg snare, it seemed comfortable in the magical restraint, curious about its creator.

This is no fox. Release this seal and live with the consequences.

Black, beady eyes stared back at her, filled with inevitability. Elodie stooped low and spoke as one would to a lost child. "I'm sorry this has happened to you. I'm going to open this trap now. Please be still." It took her a moment to find the end of the snare in its thick, fluffy fur. Her fingers pressed against the snare knot and down on the slide lock that held it in place. She felt herself let out a breath.

As the snare loosed, the fox shattered through its icy restraint. In the same motion, it kicked Elodie's chest and knocked the wind out of her, filling her lungs with an icy rush of air as she gasped.

Then the fox's mouth opened, unhinged and wide like it was panting for breath. Words came out that they could understand, though no human's vocal cords moved them.

"A debt is weighted. We are bound."