Brynn Revel wanted one thing before the snow melted: to slide her hidden blade between the ribs of the man who ordered her family killed. Tonight he would be inside the winter court, laughing over wine. She stood outside the palace gates and had no way in. Only nobles with an invitation could pass. She had a silk gown, a diamond choker, and no invitation at all. Guards checked names at the palace doors. The building rose above her, all bright stone and slender towers, its windows glowing gold. Servants carried crates up the side path. She watched a cart driver stop near the kitchen entrance. He unloaded pale flowers packed in ice, each petal touched with frost and a soft glow. The winter court wanted them for the tables inside. Brynn slipped behind the cart. She grabbed a crate of the frost-touched blooms and lifted it to her shoulder, hiding her face. Her gown didn't matter now. A servant carrying flowers was invisible. She fell in line behind the delivery boys. At the kitchen door a steward blocked her. "Those go to the great hall," he said. "You know the way?" "Yes," Brynn said. She kept her voice flat and tired, like a girl who had done this a hundred times. The steward waved her through. Her heart pounded, but her hands stayed still. She had trained herself never to shake. Inside, warmth hit her. Music drifted from the great hall. Nobles turned slowly across the floor. She set her crate on a serving table and stepped back. Then she saw him. Her target stood by the far wall, a wine cup in his hand, telling some story to a ring of admirers. The man who had burned her home. He was close now. Fifteen steps, no more. Brynn reached for the blade strapped to her thigh through the slit of her gown. A hand caught her wrist. A woman in a steward's sash held her tight. "Servants don't carry weapons," she whispered. Her eyes moved from Brynn's blade to her fine gown. "And servants don't wear diamonds." Brynn twisted free. The woman opened her mouth to shout. Brynn drove her elbow into her jaw and the woman dropped. A wine tray crashed. Heads turned. Someone screamed. Guards ran toward her. Her target looked straight at Brynn, and his smile faded to cold recognition. He knew her face. He knew the family he had killed. "Take her!" he shouted. Brynn spun and ran. She shoved through the dancers, ducked a grasping arm, and burst out a side door into the snow. Guards poured after her. She had gotten inside the winter court. She had seen her target with her own eyes. But now he knew she was alive, and he knew she was hunting him. The next time, no crate of flowers would get her close.