The Thaw

The fever passed, but the warmth remained.

Weeks five and six were... domestic. Dangerously domestic.

Bram stopped scowling. He started humming—a low, baritone rumble—while he helped Elsie fold laundry. They sat by the fire in the evenings, Bram reading, Elsie knitting.

They didn't talk about the contract. They didn't talk about the annulment. It became a taboo subject, a monster lurking in the corner that was scarier than Bram ever was.

Elsie found herself looking at his horns and thinking they gave him a regal profile. She found herself missing the weight of his presence when he went to the tower.

She realized, with a terrifying jolt of pragmatism, that she had fallen in love with her husband.

Then, the sun came out.

On the first day of the seventh week, a drip... drip... drip... echoed through the Great Hall.

The icicles on the eaves were melting. The white wall of snow outside the window was receding.

And then, the bell rang.

Not a hero’s battering ram. A polite, tinkling bell.

Elsie and Bram stood in the Great Hall. They looked at the door. They looked at each other.

"The courier," Bram said. His voice was flat. Cold.

"Yes," Elsie said. Her heart felt like a stone in her chest.

Bram walked to the door. He opened it.

A small goblin in a uniform stood there. "Delivery for Lord Thorne! Expedited Annulment Papers from the High Council!"

The goblin shoved a thick envelope into Bram’s hand and scurried off.

Bram stared at the envelope. He turned to Elsie. The warmth was gone from his face. The walls were back up.

"Here," Bram said, holding it out. "You are free."

Elsie looked at the envelope. "Bram..."

"Sign it," Bram said harshly. "The snow is clear. You can go back to the village. You can get a real job. You can find a human husband who doesn't shed on the furniture."

"Is that what you want?" Elsie asked, searching his face for a sign of the man who held her hand in the conservatory.

Bram looked away. He couldn't bear to look at her because if he did, he would beg her to stay, and he knew—he *knew*—that eventually, she would grow to hate his beastliness. He had to set her free before she realized she was trapped.

"Yes," Bram lied. "It was... amusing, Elsie. Tolerating you. But I am ready for my silence back."

Elsie felt the words like a physical slap. *Tolerating.*

She straightened her spine. She adjusted her glasses. She summoned every ounce of her ordinary dignity.

"Very well," she said quietly. "I will pack my things."

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