PROLOGUE

The fey, both Summer and Winter, had gossiped about it. Pixies danced and had smiled devilishly in the wyldwood, tempting Prince Ash into slicing their tiny bodies open and delivering the shells to the Summer court with a brief note: "For my inconvenience." Goblins, although simpleminded and thick, had gathered in groups of two or three to talk about it. The Unseelie Queen laughed as the Summer Mistress raged, imprisoning her court within her kingdom walls for centuries.

Even the Winter princes ventured past their boundaries to see if the rumors were indeed true. They stumbled across the Old Woman in the Woods, withered old along with her forgotten story, and made a deal with her to tell them what she knows.

"It is true," the youngest son declared, kneeling before his mother. She beamed down with all her power and beauty at her son and his two brothers who stood just behind him. "What you hear of the Summer King is true, my Queen, by word of the Witch."

"So it is," she had said, and she threw her head back in laughter. "Foolish Seelie! We should have crushed them when they were weaker!"

A winter storm had been brewing in the distance.

Prince Ash had waved off the silly rumor with a set of mind. A half-fey abomination wandering among the human world as the daughter of the Summer King and female whore. Such a thing doesn't exist, he thought as he rode his horse into the woods. He had searched for the horrible-looking witch of whom he owed a favor, and came across a small hut with chicken legs.

The prince pounded on the straw door. "Old Witch, it is I, Prince Ash of the Winter, coming to fulfill my promise." He waited a long while before he tested the door's strength, and had been surprised when it came open easily. He stepped in—

-and had been thrown against the wall. The youngest prince drew out his sword and slashed at the thing that clutched at his shirt, that which pounded against his armor. The Old Witch recoiled, hissing.

"No! Foolish boy!" it screeched. "It is foreseen, you will come for me! You will come to me for help! You cannot kill me now!"

Prince Ash sliced at the crazed woman again, and she had sprung away, making for the window. "Ugly thing," Ash called. "You are making no sense." He sent ice shards in her direction, but then she was gone.

The Prince stood alone in the Old Witch's cot, knowing that he should have burned it down for the way he was treated. His brothers would have done so, should they have been the one to repay the old hag's favor instead. But there is no use in denying the old thing a home—she has no company, she lives in isolation, essentially a prison that's barred her for hundreds of centuries. Ash needs not do anything to make her suffer more.

"I've come to compensate mine and my brother's favor, Old Witch of the Woods," he had said, knowing that she listened. "Now we owe you nothing. Should you come looking for one, make no resolve, Witch, I will have your heart."

The boy sheathed his sword and left the shabby home. Out of the corner of his eye, a shadow shifted, crouching atop the Old Witch's roof. He hadn't turned around, not twisted his head to see. Not even when he had disappeared into the wyldwoods, a chilling voice in the wind reaching him in the darkness:

"Protect her, prince."