BLOOD IN THE SNOW

5 The Things We Don't Know

Sunlight slipped through the narrow window, stretching across the fur blankets in golden bands. It crept over my face, warm and gentle—like summer trying to exist in the middle of winter. The weight of sleep still clung to my limbs, heavy and comfortable in a way I hadn't felt in... I couldn't remember how long.

Somewhere outside, a raven called—its voice sharp and distant.

"Marielle."

Erik's voice.

Close.

Too close.

I didn't move. Some irrational part of me was terrified that if I opened my eyes fully, his face would be right there, inches from mine, and I wouldn't know what to do with that.

I peeked one eye open.

He was very close.

We both froze.

Erik was crouched beside the bed, his face level with mine, one hand braced on the furs near my shoulder. He'd clearly been checking my bandage—his other hand hovered just above my leg where the linen was wrapped. But now, caught in this moment, he looked... trapped. Like he hadn't expected me to wake and find him there.

My breath caught in my throat.

"You're awake," he said finally, voice low and rough with the early morning.

I glanced down at my leg—at the fresh bandage he'd just been inspecting—then back up at him. The air between us felt impossibly thin, like there wasn't enough of it to breathe properly.

His fingers still lingered near my thigh, just above the linen. His eyes flicked up—blue like winter dawn breaking over ice.

"...Better?" he asked quietly. "The bandage."

I nodded, my hands instinctively coming up to clutch at the furs, fingers twisting in the soft material as if I needed something to anchor myself.

His gaze held mine a moment longer—searching for something I couldn't name—before he finally sat back on his heels.

A beat of silence.

We both exhaled.

Then he rose to his feet in one smooth motion, turning away as if nothing had happened at all. As if he hadn't just been crouched beside me in the early morning light, close enough that I could see the faint scar through his eyebrow, close enough to—

"You should—" he started, voice still quiet as he moved toward the door. "—get some more rest."

"I'm rested," I said quickly, pushing myself up slightly on my elbows.

He looked back over his shoulder, and for a moment I thought he might argue. But instead, he just shook his head and mumbled something under his breath.

He walked to the door, one hand on the frame.

"I'm going hunting," he said without looking back. "You can go back to sleep if you want."

He paused, glancing over his shoulder one last time.

"Just don't make it worse."

And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

I lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling beams, my heart still beating faster than it should have been. Then I sat up fully, pushing the furs aside.

I climbed out of bed carefully, testing my injured leg. It was still sore but manageable—Erik's handiwork had been thorough. I spotted a heavy fur-lined coat hanging near the door, clearly Erik's, based on the size. I hesitated only a moment before sliding it on. It swallowed me whole, the sleeves hanging well past my hands, the hem nearly reaching my knees. But it was blissfully warm.I'd put it back before he returned. He wouldn't even know.

I found the boots he'd given me the day before and pulled them on, lacing them quickly. Then I pushed open the door and stepped outside.

The cold slapped me first—sharp and biting, stealing my breath. Then came the sun.

I stepped fully into a silent world transformed by winter. Snow blanketed everything—the trees, the ground, the distant hills—broken only by the dark green of pine branches heavy with white. The sky was a brilliant, crystalline blue, so clear it almost hurt to look at. The air tasted clean like iron and ice.

It was beautiful.

I took a breath—then two—filling my lungs with the freezing air that bit at my throat and stung my chest. The cold was sharp, almost painful, but in a way that made me feel alive and present in the moment. This felt almost like freedom, a brief escape from the weight of everything pressing down on me.

A noise came from somewhere to my left.

I turned—and froze.

A snow fox stood at the edge of the clearing, watching me.

It was pure white; its coat was so perfect that it nearly disappeared against the snow. Only its bright black eyes and glossy nose gave it away. It regarded me with cautious curiosity, head tilted slightly.

I'd never seen anything like it. In all my years confined to the palace gardens and marble halls, I'd never encountered a creature so wild, so perfectly suited to its world.

I couldn't help myself. I took a step closer.

The fox didn't move. Just watched me with those intelligent, liquid eyes.

I took another step.

The wind whispered through the trees, and snow shivered off the branches in a cascade of white, dancing around us both like falling stars.

Another step.

And another.

Until I was close enough to touch.

I held out one hand slowly, palm up, the too-long sleeve of Erik's coat falling back to reveal my fingers.

The fox sniffed the air, considering. Then, with delicate precision, it stepped forward and pressed its cold nose against my palm.

I couldn't suppress my smile. For the next several minutes, I knelt in the snow, speaking softly to the creature as it circled me with growing confidence. It was friendly—surprisingly so—nuzzling my hands and allowing me to stroke its soft fur.

Then I heard it.

The crunch of snow. Footsteps.

My head snapped up, scanning frantically. Erik shouldn't be back from hunting this quickly. I looked left, then right, heart picking up speed as I tried to locate the source.

A figure emerged from the tree line.

Not Erik.

Axel.

The fox's ears perked, its tail flicking as it turned toward the newcomer.

"Oh," I said, standing quickly and brushing snow from Erik's coat. "You're Livi's friend. Good morning."

Axel stopped a few feet away, hands shoved casually in his pockets. He was tall, nearly a foot above me. His shoulders were broad beneath his cloak, his hair a striking golden blonde that caught the sunlight. His eyes were an unusual shade of green, like bright sage.

"Góðan daginn," he replied, his voice low and rough with a hint of accent.

The fox, apparently unbothered by the interruption, crept closer to him and began sniffing at his boots.

Axel knelt smoothly, offering one large hand for inspection. The fox considered it, then gave a tentative lick to his gloved fingers.

Axel chuckled—a warm, genuine sound. "Friendly little thing," he murmured, stroking its neck.

Axel glanced up suddenly, catching me watching. Amusement flickered across his face—like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

The fox nuzzled into his palm, both ears lifting contentedly.

"Animals like me," Axel said, still stroking the creature's white fur. "I'm not sure why."

I smiled before I could stop myself, the expression coming unbidden.

Axel's grey eyes caught the sun as he looked at me fully. For just a moment, something like surprise crossed his features.

Then he smiled back.

"Ah. There it is."

He straightened slightly, though he remained kneeling. "You smile like you don't know how pretty it is," he said, his voice softer now. "Dangerous thing, that."

Heat flooded my cheeks, and I looked away quickly, my fingers clenching the too-long sleeves of Erik's coat.

"Why, I'm flattered," I said, keeping my voice light and polite. "Is this how you charm all the girls around here? I imagine it works quite well for you."

The subtext was clear: I'm not impressed.

Axel seemed to catch it. He stood, brushing snow from his knees, and leaned against a nearby pine tree.

"I'm not charming," he said, meeting my eyes with surprising directness. "I'm being honest."

I let out a soft laugh—not quite mocking, but close. "Livi is a lovely girl, isn't she? You two looked very... compatible together yesterday." We weren't talking about Olivia at all, but I felt like I had to bring it up to steer the conversation in a different direction.

My voice was sickly sweet, deliberately so. I wasn't amused by whatever game he thought he was playing.

Axel coughed, looking away as he scratched the back of his neck. For the first time since he'd arrived, he looked uncomfortable.

"Ah... I appreciate the compliment," he said after a moment, still not quite meeting my eyes. "Livi is—she means a great deal to me."

I sensed the unspoken "but" hanging in the air.

He continued, his voice dropping lower. "I would do anything for Liv. But we are friends. Nothing more." He finally looked at me again. "I'm just not the right man for her. Not anymore."

My chest tightened. Poor Livi. She had it so bad for him, and he was about to break her heart—if he hadn't already.

"May I ask what happened?" I said quietly.

Axel ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

"Liv and I... we grew up together. She's known me longer than almost anyone. And for a time, I thought maybe..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "But people change. What we want changes. I realized I was holding onto something that wasn't fair to either of us."

He looked out across the snow-covered landscape, his expression distant.

"She deserves someone who can give her everything. Someone who looks at her the way she deserves to be looked at." His jaw tightened. "That's not me. Not because she isn't incredible—she is. But because my heart..." He stopped himself.

"Because your heart belongs to someone else," I finished quietly. I was only assuming because of what Olivia had told me at lunch the other day.

Axel's eyes snapped to mine, surprise flickering across his face. Then he nodded slowly.

"Lately, I've found someone else," he admitted carefully. "Or at least, someone who's caught my attention. Someone I can't quite shake from my mind, no matter how much I've tried."

He glanced away again.

"But it's... complicated."

Relief flooded through me. So Livi had been wrong—Axel hadn't been looking at me. He was thinking about someone else entirely. It still wasn't good news for Livi, but at least it meant I wasn't the cause of her heartbreak. That would have been unbearable.

Axel sighed again, still gazing out at the frozen wilderness.

"And if I had any sense," he said quietly, almost to himself, "I would forget about her. Because she's not for me. She's too innocent. Too... good. And I'm not the kind of man a woman like that should even look at, much less—"

He stopped abruptly.

His head turned slightly, like an animal sensing danger before it appeared.

Then I heard it too.

Footsteps.

Erik emerged from the tree line like a shadow given form, silhouetted against the low winter sun. His cloak was dusted with fresh snow, his bow slung over one broad shoulder, two hares dangling from his belt. He looked every inch the hunter—dangerous, efficient, absolutely in his element.

His eyes found me first.

Then Axel.

And just like that—the air changed.

The cold got colder.

Axel straightened immediately, nodding in greeting. "Erik."

Erik didn't return the gesture. His gaze lingered too long on the space between Axel and me, then dropped to my hands wrapped in his coat sleeves, then slowly traveled back to my face.

I noticed the shift immediately. My fingers clenched the oversized sleeves tighter.

Axel glanced between us, his brow furrowing. "...Something I should know?" he asked carefully, watching Erik with obvious wariness. It must have looked suspicious—me wearing his coat, standing near his cabin. To anyone else, I had no business being here at all. I was just a stranger after all.

Instead of answering Axel's question, Erik asked his own.

"Just what in Odin's name are you doing out here?"

The question was directed at me, but his eyes hadn't left Axel.

"I needed fresh air," I said, looking up at Erik. His expression was unreadable.

Erik's jaw tightened visibly. He turned to me, his iced eyes locked on mine.

"Fresh air," he repeated, voice low and edged. "With him?"

Axel stepped forward slightly. "She was fine, Erik. We were just talking."

Erik finally looked at him—slow, deliberate, with the kind of attention a predator gives its prey.

"I see that."

I fidgeted nervously with the too-long sleeves of my borrowed coat, pulling them down over my freezing fingers and then pushing them back up again, acutely aware of the thick tension crackling between them. The wind picked up suddenly, swirling snow between the three of us

"You done?" Erik asked Axel, his voice edged with something sharp beneath the forced calm.

Axel didn't flinch. But he knew better than to push.

"Yeah," he said, stepping back. "I'll see you both later."

He gave me one last glance—soft, unreadable—then turned and walked off into the trees, his footsteps fading into silence.

The second he was gone, Erik exhaled sharply through his nose.

He looked down at me, and when he spoke, his voice was flat and final.

"Inside."

We walked back to the cabin in tense silence. Erik's strides were long and purposeful, and I had to hurry to keep up despite my injured leg. The moment we were through the door, he shut it behind us with more force than necessary.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

I blinked at him. Killed? For what—having a conversation? Yes, I was supposed to keep my head down, but surely a simple conversation wasn't dangerous. Erik had to be overreacting.

"He was just passing by," I said quickly. "I was outside first. He happened upon me, not the other way around."

"And you just... stayed there? Talking to him? Alone?"

"We were hardly alone. We were in full view of anyone who might pass—"

"That's not the point."

His voice was harder now, and I fell silent. He'd never been truly angry with me before—stern, yes, but not this. This was different.

He watched me for another long moment, jaw working like he was physically restraining words he wanted to say.

"Gods above," he muttered, raking both hands down his face. "How you still have two brain cells to rub together after that conversation is a mystery."

He pushed off from the door, walking past me with strides too brisk to be calm.

"Sit."

He nodded toward the couch.

I walked carefully to the couch and lowered myself onto it, my hands still twisted in his coat sleeves.

Erik knelt by the hearth, striking flint with a sharp, angry twist of his wrist. Sparks flew, and the fire caught immediately, flames licking up the kindling.

He didn't look at me.

"Never," he said, voice low and edged like a blade, "let Axel get that close to you again. Not unless I'm there. Not unless I say so."

I stared at his back, confusion blooming in my chest alongside something that felt uncomfortable. The command was so absolute, so possessive—like I was something to be guarded rather than a person making my own choices.

But more than that, I didn't understand the intensity of his reaction. Axel had been perfectly polite. Kind, even. Yes, perhaps a bit too charming, but nothing that warranted this level of... whatever this was. Anger? Fear?

"Do you two have history?" I asked quietly, needing to understand. "You and Axel?"

Erik stilled completely. Then slowly, he stood, brushing ash from his hands.

"History?" He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Axel was my brother-in-arms. Fought beside me. Saved my life more times than I care to admit." Erik sighed.

"And he broke an oath sworn before the gods to protect the last woman I ever trusted."

My breath caught. "Livi mentioned you had a sister...?"

Erik froze mid-step, turned slowly, and his expression shuttered completely.

"...Yes." One word. Heavy as a tombstone. "I had a sister."

He walked to the shelf, his fingers brushing an old carved raven that sat among the jars and tools—its wings chipped, its body weathered by time.

"Hilde," he said quietly, almost reverently. "My father's heir... until she wasn't."

A pause. Long and dark and suffocating.

"She loved him," Erik continued, his voice colder now. "Axel. And he swore to protect her with his life. Swore it before the entire village, before the gods themselves."

He turned back to me, and his eyes were like ice over fire—beautiful and terrible.

"He kept that oath... until he didn't."

"Oh, Erik..." My voice came out barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

Erik exhaled sharply through his nose.

"It's not a story for pity," he said flatly. "It's a lesson."

He turned away again, reaching for the shelf where small bundles of herbs sat drying.

"My sister Hilde is gone. Buried in the ice where her heart broke." He paused, his hand stilling on one of the jars. "And my other sister—Regina—is six years old and burning up with some illness that no one knows the name of."

His voice dropped even lower.

"I don't care if Axel's charming or kind—I won't have him near anyone I'm sworn to protect again."

He really looked, his gaze burning into mine with an intensity that made my chest ache.

"And right now? That's you."

The words settled over me like a weight I hadn't asked to carry.

Sworn to protect.

I turned the phrase over in my mind, trying to make sense of it. What did he mean by that? Sworn to whom? For what reason? I thought I was just some girl who'd gotten lucky in the woods—a stranger he'd stumbled upon who would have died the same day she'd escaped death. A burden he'd taken on out of... what? Pity? Then again, why had he spared me in the first place? He'd found me half-dead in the snow, a trespasser in forbidden lands. His sword had hovered at my throat—close enough that I'd felt the cold kiss of steel against my skin. He could have ended it right there. One swift motion, and I would have been just another body left for the wolves.

He'd even threatened as much. Told me he was deciding whether to "patch me up or peel my skin off for fur lining."

So why hadn't he?

What had made him lower that blade? What had compelled him to carry me to the stronghold, tend my wounds, teach me to survive here?

And now—sworn to protect me?

The pieces didn't fit together. There was something I was missing, some thread connecting his initial mercy to this protectiveness.

I needed answers. To all of it.

It was almost like he sensed my conflicted mind because just when I opened my mouth, he spoke first.

"That's not a conversation for today," he said quietly, turning away from me to stoke the fire. His movements were stiff, controlled—like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will. I didn't push anymore. Whatever Erik was holding back, had its reasons. I could tell no amount of convincing would've gotten him to reveal whatever it was he wouldn't tell me.