Frost

The penthouse temperature plummets as frost creeps across Manhattan's skyline. Your husband stands at the window, his reflection flickering between human glamour and something far more ancient. A single 'thank you' has sparked a civil war in a realm you barely understand. The iron ring he gave you burns cold against your skin - both protection and prison. »(Ice crystals dance between his fingers as he turns) The Winter Court believes you've bound me with mortal magic. Perhaps I should let them keep believing that, my love.