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Winter glares outside the window, eyes fixed firmly on the line where the grounds of the Ice Palace end, the glittering tall walls pushing back the reaching tendrils of the nearby forest. His sister, Princess Icicle, makes a sound halfway between a sneer and a sigh, before her reflection appears in the window beside him.
“Brother,” she says haughtily. “It is time.”
“I see,” Winter answers, wishing he could say dammit, no. “I will be down shortly.”
“See to it that you are,” Icicle sniffs, and exits the room with what would be called flouncing if she were anyone but an IceWing, but IceWings do not flounce, and so it is merely an enthusiastic walk.
Winter keeps his irritated expression firmly in place as he glances at his reflection one last time, smooths down the long ponytail he wrapped his hair up in, and sweeps out of his room in the same direction that his sister left. He joins his family at their table, barely registering the announcement of 'His Highness the Second Prince’, and watches the guests trickle in, slowly at first and increasing with every second, much to his displeasure.
He can see several royal heirs that he knows already—some of which are already in relationships, although that never stopped their parents from bringing them along to parties like this. Princess Hazel is there too. He remembers her, somewhat tolerable company, and thoroughly uninterested in getting engaged to him, which was perfectly fine with Winter. Several of the lower-ranked IceWings are with the guests as well, although most of them just look down their noses at everyone else.
Winter suppresses a sigh and counts the seconds until it’s socially acceptable for him to leave.
His older brother—the First Prince, Hailstorm—gives him a look that says he knows exactly what Winter is thinking. Winter stares pointedly at a chandelier and doesn’t react, reciting the rankings in his head for nothing better to do.
This is stupid—first place, Prince Hailstorm—why does everyone keep looking at me—second place, Princess Snowfall—I just want to leave—third place, Lady Lynx—I need to stay for introductions at least—fourth place, Lord Carmine—my family will kill me if I don’t stay until after the meal—fifth place, Princess Icicle—I am going to die of stupidity and boredom—
Winter gives up and glares at the chandelier a bit harder. He’s not quite sure if he imagines the quiet tinkling of broken glass, and doesn’t know whether to be proud or offended. Qibli always does say he has a glare that could shatter glass.
Argh, not helping.
It’s near midnight when Winter manages to make a graceful exit from the ballroom. Graceful exit, because IceWings do not squirm out of politics and small talk and not-so-subtle ‘have you met my daughter’s.
The sky is dark grey, heavier and wetter than it would be on a clear day, and Winter knows that a storm is blowing in from the Kingdom of the Sea. It should be here in two days, if he remembers his studies on wind patterns correctly.
Warm, calloused hands cover his eyes, and he smells something like hot sand and palm trees as arms settle on his shoulders.
“Guess who!” says an obnoxiously bright voice, one that makes Winter’s heart beat faster than it should every time he hears it.
“Get off, before I make you,” Winter snaps.
Qibli laughs brightly, and the hands vanish as a freckled face pops into his vision, lit dimly in the night but smiling no less brighter for it.
“You know you love me,” Qibli says, tugging on his hair once before skipping like a little kid ahead on the path.
Unfortunately, Winter very much does.
He’s not going to admit that though, so he rolls his eyes and makes a sarcastic, “Uh huh, totally.”
It still makes Qibli smile though, bright and happy and like a second sun, shining in the dark gloom of the IceWing gardens. He falls into place beside Winter, completely disregarding any and all rules of IceWing propriety, as he often does.
Winter would be lying if he said it wasn’t a relief. Hours of carefully navigating politics, manipulation, and expectations gets exhausting, and it was one of the first reasons Winter even came back to talk to Qibli. Then, well, he had to go and fall in love like an idiot, so he still comes back.
“Have you found anyone yet?” Qibli asks teasingly, breaking him from his thoughts. “Any lovely princesses that are perfect enough for you, Your Highness?”
“No,” Winter says, frowning. “They’re all horrible and I have a headache.”
Qibli throws back his head and laughs, and something flips in Winter’s chest. He pointedly ignores it, and just barely manages to stop Qibli from tripping over a loose tile and falling into a pond nearby.
“Whoops,” Qibli says, far too cheerfully.
“You’re an idiot,” Winter informs him, longsuffering and disgustingly fond, as Qibli drapes an arm across his shoulders.
Qibli’s smile softens as he meets Winter’s eyes. “Sure, but I’m your idiot.”
Winter desperately hopes the dark hides his blush as he sputters and tries to push Qibli off, to little success.
“You can’t just say that!” Winter hisses, flailing in a very undignified way. “Qibli!”
“Ah, the sweet sound of my name,” Qibli says, smirking, and catches Winter’s halfhearted swat to his arm. “So that’s a no then?”
“What?” Winter asks, and then remembers their original conversation. “Oh, no. Hopefully I can stall another year, before they give up and arrange the marriage themselves. God, I hope not.”
Qibli makes a face. “Who marries for anything other than love?”
Winter opens his mouth to explain—royalty, nobility, people who want a better life or people who can’t have a better life—but Qibli cuts him off with a wave of his hand.
“Yeah, I know,” he says. “Logically, I know. It just seems pointless in the end.”
Winter doesn’t really have a response to that.
Tradition was the biggest reason his parents kept pushing for him to get married. Hailstorm was engaged to some high-ranking IceWing near the SkyWing border, Icicle was set to get married in less than a year to another noble. Winter was the last one left, as always.
“I can’t change anything about it, anyway,” Winter sighs, settling onto the cool grass by the path. He tips his head up to stare at the distant stars, feeling suddenly very alone. “I’ll get married, and be expected to have kids and continue the royal line, and then… that’s it.”
“Why do you let them plan your life like that?” Qibli asks, sitting beside him and resting his head on Winter’s shoulder. He doesn’t bother to push him off this time. “Couldn’t you just say no?”
“Then I’d get a lecture on tradition and loyalty to my kingdom and family,” Winter scoffs. “No, I really can’t. Hailstorm could, maybe, because he’s the perfect IceWing to them, but me? Not a chance.”
“I think you’re perfect just the way you are,” Qibli says, tipping his head up just the littlest bit to meet Winter’s eyes with a cheeky grin.
“Shut up,” Winter mutters, slapping a hand over Qibli’s mouth and looking away. Why does he put up with this idiot?
“Why do I put up with you?” he asks the idiot in question.
“Well,” Qibli says brightly, pushing the hand off, and Winter already regrets asking, “because I’m magnificent company, with a wonderful brain and fantastic personality.”
Winter means to roll his eyes and say something like ‘better than the IceWing nobles at least, not that that’s a very high bar ’, but he must be really tired, because what comes out is, “Yeah. You are.”
At least it’s extremely satisfying to see Qibli’s eyes go wide as he squeaks and falls off Winter’s shoulder into the grass. Winter squints at him and yep—he’s blushing. It almost makes up for Winter’s own embarrassment.
“Ha!” Qibli crows, recovering disappointingly quickly as he sits upright. “I knew it, you do love me!”
“I absolutely do not!” Winter hisses. “And shut up, we’re not that far from the palace!”
Qibli ignores him gleefully. “I know, I’m charming and irresistible. I mean, you are too, but that’s not important.”
For lack of a response to that particular statement, Winter pushes him back into the grass and ignores Qibli’s complaints about grass stains.
“What?” Qibli protests, laughing. “It’s true!”
Winter is going to die, and it will be from this stupid SandWing and his inability to stop saying ridiculous things. He will die, and he won’t even care because he’s stupidly in love with an utter idiot.
“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” Winter says pointedly.
“You don’t have any dignity,” Qibli argues.
“You’re confusing us,” Winter deadpans. “I might remind you that you were the one who ran into an IceWing prince and the first thing you said was ‘you’re cute, can you pretend you never saw me?’”
“But it worked!” Qibli protests. “You did pretend you never saw me.”
“Clearly not, since I’m talking to you right now.”
Qibli throws his hands up above his head. “I don’t even know why I bother.”
“That makes two of us,” Winter says dryly.
Qibli squints up at Winter with—is that a pout? Is the idiot actually pouting?
“What is your face doing?” Winter demands.
“Asking for attention?” Qibli says hopefully.
“No,” Winter splutters. “Right, that’s it, I’m leaving, good night.”
“Hey, wait!” Qibli snags Winter’s sleeve with one hand. “You’re so mean.”
“And you are a leech,” Winter hisses, sitting back down with a glare. After a moment, he reluctantly adds, “I do have to leave soon.”
“Aww,” Qibli frowns, “More fancy IceWing stuff?”
“Rankings,” he answers gloomily. “I’m eleventh. Probably twelfth now.”
“That’s still good though,” Qibli says. “Right?”
Winter shrugs and stands up, brushing off his fancy, itchy coat. “Nothing is ever good enough.”
“That’s not true!” Qibli objects, offended on his behalf in a way that no one else has ever bothered to be. “You’re plenty good enough.”
“You must have very low standards, then,” Winter observes, turning back in the direction of the palace, trusting Qibli will follow.
“Nah, they’re pretty high,” Qibli argues, catching up to him in a couple of swift steps. “I mean, let’s take a look at the list. Royalty? Check. Rich? Also check. Handsome? Definitely. Smart? Arguable, but probably yes. Emotionally stunted? Also ch—hey!”
Qibli sputters with exaggerated offense as Winter trips him, despite the fact that he knows the other boy could have avoided it as easily as breathing. Winter heaves a sigh and holds out a hand to help him up, muttering about idiots and manners, or lack thereof.
“I absolutely have manners,” Qibli says indignantly as he gets up. “I just don’t use them.”
“That’s exactly what I—let go of my hand please.”
“Nooo,” Qibli says, giving him a cheeky grin and swinging their joined hands. “We’re stuck together now!”
“Are you five?” Winter demands, even as his mouth ticks up in the corners.
“Five stars, absolutely,” Qibli answers, still swinging their hands. “And five years old, in spirit.”
Winter rolls his eyes, and makes no effort whatsoever to extract his hand because he’s going soft and Qibli is a horrible influence. That’s totally the only reason.
Qibli slows his pace until he drops back to Winter’s side, and they walk back to the palace slowly, winding through the gloom of the gardens at a lingering pace that normally Winter would hate. But, as always, he doesn’t find that he minds much when he’s with Qibli. He is well aware that he’s being terribly sappy, and acting like an idiot, but he’s too exhausted to actually care.
All too soon, they’re standing in the shadow of the palace wall, where music and chatter is drifting through the windows and doors from the ballroom. Winter suddenly wants to keep holding onto Qibli’s hand, turn around, and never look back at the glowing lights of the party.
“Here you are, your highness,” Qibli says softly, and Winter is pretty sure he imagines the look of regret that crosses the other boy’s face.
Winter rolls his eyes and forces himself to pull his hand back. “Stop that. You ignore any formalities anyway, don’t become a decent person now.”
Qibli laughs at that, still keeping his voice low enough that Winter can barely hear it. His face is shadowed by the wall, but Winter can still imagine his smile, and has seen it enough times that he could remember it perfectly if he never saw Qibli ever again. He shuts down that thought immediately though, because he really, really doesn’t want to think of never seeing Qibli again.
A soft touch catches his attention, and he blinks, startled, as Qibli carefully tucks a strand of loose hair behind his ear, fingers lingering on the edge of his cheek for a heartbeat, feather-light, before Qibli steps back, taking his hand with him.
“See you around,” Qibli says lightly, eyes bright, and then he’s gone, running off into the shadows.
Winter tries not to miss him already.
“So, cousin,” Snowfall says, suspiciously innocent as she sits down next to him in the palace library. “There’s news.”
“On what?” Winter asks warily, eyeing her outfit—a soft white gown brushed in orange, covered in far more diamonds and gems than usual. That means it’s something important, although whether it concerns both of them or only her isn’t clear.
“Marriage,” Snowfall says dryly, her tone conveying the haughty ‘what else?’ she would voice if she were feeling less nice. “I’m alright, in case you were wondering. My fiancé and I have agreed that as long as the parents don’t know, we can have our own relationships for ourselves.”
“Good for you,” Winter grumbles. “Is there anything actually important?”
“There’s a girl for you,” Snowfall answers, her gaze sharp on the side of his head. “You don’t like girls.”
“Yes, as you already know,” Winter says icily. “Why did you feel the urgent need to see me and tell me things with no apparent purpose?”
“It'll be difficult for you,” Snowfall replies, light, as if she’s commenting on the weather.
“Get to the point,” Winter hisses, irritated.
“You can’t meet your friend anymore,” Snowfall tells him, arching one eyebrow. Her uncaring look slips into something serious as she turns to face him completely. “Winter. I want you to be happy, no matter how annoying you might be. Make your choice, and fast.”
“I don’t have a choice,” Winter snaps as she rises and turns to leave.
Snowfall pauses with her back towards him, then she turns and tosses him a grin, encouragement and amusement all wrapped up into one smug expression. Even as he scowls, he thinks that Lynx has been good for her.
“Then create one.”
Winter’s pen taps against his desk, tap-tap, tap-tap, in a quick, agitated rhythm. His eyes are narrowed at a piece of thick, creamy paper, unblemished except for the crest of the IceWing royal family in the bottom right corner. Snowfall’s words are echoing in his mind, along with a freckled smile and a hand brushing the hair away from his face, and the reminder that he’s due to meet Qibli in just under half an hour.
I don’t have a choice.
Then create one.
“Create one,” Winter mutters to himself.
His pen hovers over the paper, letting a drop of dark blue ink splatter to the pristine surface, and then he sets it down, uncaring that the ink will seep into the wood of his desk. In the back of his drawer, he has a stack of thin, almost translucent sheets of rice paper, used only a few times.
Winter picks up a pencil, and carefully writes his message, short and to the point, signed with his name and without the royal title. He folds it twice, sketches the rough outline of a snowflake on one side, and knows that Snowfall will know it’s for her.
The hallways are bathed in silver-indigo twilight as he hurries through them, footsteps like a whisper against the cold marble. It's the work of a few minutes to slip the note under his cousin’s door, and then go back to his room, looking for anything he might care about enough to take with him. The tiny porcelain polar bear Lynx bought him a few years ago, his notebook filled with science notes and pressed plants, an embroidered ribbon Snowfall gave him as a joke that he wore anyway to bother her.
All of that goes into the secure inner pockets of Winter’s least-fancy traveling cloak, and he changes into the plainest tunic and trousers he can find. He has a rather large stash of coins, hidden in a dark grey pouch, and he takes that as well. Then he blows out the flame burning in the lamp, and the room is plunged into shades of midnight blue shadows and dull grey light.
Winter doesn’t look back as he leaves the palace, and he allows a smile to lift at the very corners of his mouth.
Overhead, the sky is grey and heavy, clouds blotting out any remnants of the sun’s light. Everything is washed in a cool monotone of grey, unsettlingly calm as if the world is holding its breath and waiting for something to happen.
Qibli is waiting for him, standing in the shadow of a pine tree and leaning against the trunk, sandy hair like a pale ghost against the darkness. He looks up as Winter approaches, grin lighting up the shadows of the twilight.
“Going somewhere?” Qibli teases, pushing himself upright without noticing the pine needles caught in his hair.
Winter rolls his eyes and reaches out to brush them off as he says, “I’m leaving.”
“Yeah, I gathered,” Qibli says dryly, squinting up at him as Winter flicks the last of the pine needles aside. “I meant where? Normally you IceWings get all dressed up and fancy, and you complain endlessly about it.”
“I do not,” Winter hisses indignantly. “And I meant leaving the palace, for good.”
“Wait, what?”
Qibli’s expression is hilariously confused, and Winter doesn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up, still floating on the promise of freedom. He brings one hand up to muffle the sound, missing the longing smile that flashes across Qibli’s face as he watches him.
“That’s good,” Qibli says quietly, after a moment. “You look… lighter. Happier, without this place tying you down.”
Winter blinks, suddenly self conscious. “Huh. I… thanks?”
Qibli snickers at him, and just like that, the moment is gone. The wind picks up, whistling through the trees and shaking more pine needles into Qibli’s hair and onto Winter’s cloak, whirling leaves into tiny tornadoes.
“So?” Qibli prompts. “Where are you going?”
Winter shrugs. “I’ll figure it out. The coast, maybe, where the Sea, Sand, and Ice Kingdoms meet. Dangerous, but no one will look for me there.”
Qibli opens his mouth, then closes it, uncharacteristically hesitant. He nibbles on his lower lip, glancing up at Winter with a searching expression. Winter tries not to fidget under the scrutiny, but whatever Qibli finds, it makes him grin.
“Come with me,” he says, and Winter blinks, caught off guard.
“What?”
“Do you know who Thorn is?” Qibli asks, and his grin is mischievous now, making something in Winter’s chest do uncomfortable flips.
“No…?” Winter answers, carefully, and then stops, incredulous, “Wait a minute, Thorn? As in the Scorpion Den Queen Thorn?”
“Bingo!” Qibli chirps, beaming at him. “My mentor. Or parental figure, or leader, details.”
“I need a moment,” Winter mutters. “So my—whatever you are—knows the most feared criminal leader in the world?”
“Uh… yes?”
“Only you,” Winter sighs. “At least that explains your idiotic reaction to seeing me the first time. Do all Outclaws act like that?”
“No no, that’s just me,” Qibli says shamelessly, and he holds out his hand to Winter. “Coming?”
Winter hesitates, and he takes Qibli’s hand, allowing the other boy to pull him along. The wind is blowing in earnest now, making his cloak and hair flutter like the leaves whirling along. Qibli is smiling softly at him, looking perfectly at ease in the chaos approaching.
“Let’s go,” Winter says, his voice barely distinguishable above the roar of the wind.
Qibli’s smile grows wider, and he points south, to where Winter can see a line of pale yellow. He knows the Kingdom of Sand is just over the horizon, two day’s journey approximately. No one but the Outclaws knows the exact location of the Scorpion Den, but Winter will bet it’s deep in the heart of the desert, at least a four days journey.
Normally, such a long trip would fill him with dread, but, well. He’s always been an idiot when it comes to Qibli, so even if it takes a month, he wouldn’t mind, as long as Qibli was with him.
As if sensing his thoughts, Qibli tugs on his hand to spin Winter around, tracing the steps of a dance in the swaying grass. The wind is too loud to talk, or to really hear anything, but he swears he can hear Qibli’s laughter.
Winter glances over his shoulder only once as they leave, and it’s to watch the clouds blotting out the last of the daylight, as the gloom of twilight slips into the true darkness of nighttime. The wind is wild, the air is clear, and the earth smells like the promise of rain.
There’s a storm on the horizon.