Prince Ice wanted one thing that all his crowns could not buy: someone who saw the warmth under his cold face. He stood alone in the great hall of his ice palace and did not know how anyone ever could. The walls were carved frost. The floor threw back his white hair and blue eyes like a mirror. Servants bowed and hurried past. None of them looked long. His mask never cracked, and no one tried to find what lay behind it. So he stayed. Day after day, he stayed. Why leave? Out there, people saw a rich prince and nothing more. In here, at least the cold was honest. His white arctic fox lay at his feet, teeth bared at every shadow, loyal and fierce. His baby polar bear cub batted at the fox's tail. They were his only company. They did not need him to smile. Ice had decided long ago the right person would find him. He was wrong. No one came to a palace wrapped in dark spires. No one climbed those steps to knock. His comfort had become his cage, and he finally saw the bars. The cub tugged his sleeve toward the tall doors. It whined and pawed the ice. Ice looked down at the small blue eyes and understood. The animals were bored. Trapped, like him. He could not fix his own heart standing still. "Fine," he said. His voice broke the silence. "We go out." He pushed the doors open himself. Cold wind rushed in. Beyond the steps, snow stretched to a frozen river, and beside it grew a tree of blue ice. Its snowflake leaves caught the northern lights and threw color across the drifts. Ice had seen it a thousand times from his window. He had never once walked to it. He walked now. The fox ran ahead. The cub stumbled after in the deep snow. And there, kneeling by the ice tree, was a woman he did not know. She had a crown of snowflakes and long blonde hair. Her ears came to soft points. One eye was blue, one was pale white. She held a frosted bloom in her hands, turning it to the light. When the cub tumbled into her lap, she laughed and caught it without fear. Then she looked up at Ice. Not at his crown. Not at his fine coat. She looked straight at his eyes, and her smile did not shrink. "You look lonely," she said. "Even out here." No one had ever said that to his face. His mask meant nothing to her. Ice opened his mouth and found no cold answer ready. "I'm Sparkle," she said, and held the flower out to him. He took it. His fingers shook, and not from the cold. He had left his palace at last, and the one person who could see him was already here, waiting by the tree he never dared to reach.