The first thing she noticed was the silence. The land she had just left was tainted and scorched but still there was the subtle hum of life. This place was deafening in its quiet. Not even nature would choose to speak. Still more unsettling were the plants that grew. The rest of the Divide was a wasteland, a desert that sat as the barrier between the Summer and Winter courts. But here, in the heart of the Divide, trees grew gnarled and weather worn, ancient sentinels to guard the ground before her. And there, in the center of it all, stood a palace. Or the remains of one. The grand arches and domes must have once stood proudly but now even they bowed to gravity and time.

Something drew her towards the weathered walls. The stones were bleached bone white by the Second Sun that hung in the sky above. There it had stayed, never-moving, above the center of the Divide for as long as collective memory could recall. Vines wended their way up and over the stone and forced themselves through cracks. The girl walked towards one of the larger breaks in the stone and stepped through to the other side. Here thorned plants grew unchecked; they twisted over and around one another, devouring marble statues and stone benches in their wake. The girl picked her way across the courtyard, stepping between vines and thorns that snatched and bit at her clothes. Alabaster pillars rose up before her forming a grand entrance into the forgotten palace. The plants suddenly halted their chaotic advance as if choked out by some taint in the soil, conquering all that surrounded the palace yet refusing to sully the monument itself.

The girl stepped between the pillars and a chill shuddered out of the bowels of the structure. As she moved toward the presence, she noted the pristine state of the interior; save a thick coat of dust, it was as though the inhabitants had simply vanished. At the end of the grand corridor laid a dais upon which sat two magnificent thrones, and to their right an identical smaller one.

A flash of movement in the corner of her vision drew her attention from the dais to a hallway adjacent to the thrones. She hastened down the hall, rounding a corner, and found herself in a grand ballroom. She stood upon a balcony at the top of the room where dual staircases swept down to the marble floor. As she descended, she gazed up at the vaulted ceilings. Immense, gilded chandeliers hung suspended from ornate arches. Windows lined both walls stretching from the floor to near the ceiling. Light filtered in through the stale, dusty air and played tricks across the floor. The room looked untouched from its original splendor save one chandelier that lay shattered on the floor.

The girl could see large paintings above the windows close to the ceiling. They depicted couples dancing in fine clothes and revelers laughing and drinking together. As she continued across the floor observing the many portraits, she drew closer to the opposite wall from which she came. Here a single, vast staircase ascended to a veranda flanked by two more staircases that led to doorways exiting the ballroom. And in the center of it all stood the most striking composition in the room. Affixed to the wall was a breathtaking mural illustrating three figures. The first was a male; he held a golden scepter and a crown sat proudly upon his head. Beside him stood a female; an adorned golden laurel graced her brow and a royal seal lay upon a ring encircling her finger. In her hand, she held the hand of a young girl, the third figure colored across the canvas. A delicate tiara rested upon the small child's gossamer hair. Her piercing eyes seemed to see beyond the cracked paint and wood she stood framed in.

The air in front of the painting shimmered suddenly and a phantom wind swept through the hall. The girl tore her gaze from the portrait as she spun towards the paintings above the windows. One by one the couples waltzed out of their frames in the form of near corporeal apparitions. They spun and dipped their way to the ballroom floor until the space was filled with dancers. The girl turned back to the center portrait.

The King and Queen descended the staircase together, arm in arm. They gazed adoringly upon one another before looking out upon their subjects and friends. Music lilted softly through the room. Three handmaidens surrounded the girl bestowing pearls around her neck and flowers upon her head. One took her hand and spun and suddenly she was swathed in burgundy, a flowing gown pooling around her legs. And then she was lost to the revelers. She stepped and twirled, curtsying between couples dancing. Then she turned and she was in the arms of the Prince. One of them. He inclined his head as he led her across the floor. His feet were sure and his face solemn. Each step fell perfectly with the music, each movement he made precise. He twirled her swiftly and she was in the arms of the second Prince. He grinned at her and set off spinning and whirling her across the room. Every step was wild and seemed to push the music to go faster. He dipped her low and then swept her back up. He smiled wickedly and let go of her hand as he spun her away from him. She landed in the arms of the King and he steadied her as the music slowed. He waltzed with her and as the song ended, he smiled at her sadly. The King took the girl's hands and kissed her brow, then he stepped away until their hands slowly fell apart. As his hands slipped from her grasp the girl remembered the third Prince. She turned to search for him, but he was already there. He extended a hand as the music began to play anew. This song rang through the palace haunting and dissonant, like a memory from a dream. She took the Prince's hand and he held her close as the music ebbed and flowed. They swayed differently to this music and there was something almost familiar about him. As the song ended, he spun her outward and kissed her hand as she curtsied. Then he let go. She sank to the floor and bowed her head as the mirage faded, dissolving as quickly as it had formed.

"What are you doing in here?"

The girl's head jerked up and she scrambled back. A pale stranger stood where the third Prince had been moments ago. His cold stare froze her and deadened his charcoal eyes, his countenance made more severe by the silver hair crowning his head. He wore fine riding clothes and an engraved sheath of daggers was belted across his chest. From near the portrait behind her, she heard a distinctive click. A sound she knew instinctively as that of a bolt being nocked in a crossbow. The next sound would mean death for the fair stranger. She leapt toward him as she heard the snick of the bolt being released. She blurred across the space between them, knocking him to the ground as the bolt whizzed over their heads. Before the assailant could reload and try again, she ripped a dagger free from the stranger's sash and launched it at the attacker. Her aim was true, and the attacker tumbled over the bannister, crashing to the cold floor. As his crossbow hit the ground, the second bolt fired and hit the chain of a chandelier above them. It swung and as the link snapped the stranger grabbed the girl's shoulders and rolled. The chandelier fractured across the space they had just occupied. Pieces of crystal scattered across the floor and suddenly the ballroom changed again.

Strangers fill the room, dancing, drinking. A cold gust of air, lights extinguished. Footsteps ring out, demanding. A threat. A promise. Screams. Glass tumbling, shattering. A hand flung out, condemning. A bellowed banishment. A flash of light. And then a chandelier falling—

Firm hands shook her shoulders and grey eyes came into view as the images disappeared.

"Are you listening?" the stranger said, eyes searching hers, "I asked you your name."

She shook him off and stood, "It doesn't matter," she said, brushing herself off.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, repeating his earlier question.

"I just saved your life. A simple thank you would suffice." The girl turned away to walk toward the fallen assailant.

The stranger was taken aback but quickly recovered, assuming a more formal demeanor, "You're right, forgive me. Thank you for your swift action in dispatching our attacker. I believe introductions are in order. I am—"

"I know who you are. Prince Ash, youngest of Queen Mab's three sons." She turned to him then, "You're the favorite," she deadpanned.

The Prince is surprised for the second time, a sensation he doesn't experience often. "Alright, then what's your name?"

"I told you, it doesn't matter."

"But you just saved my life. I owe you a life debt," he said, stepping closer.

The girl crouched before the dropped crossbow, inspecting. "No, trust me, you don't."

"The Old Ways would say otherwise."

"You saved me from a falling chandelier," she said with finality, "Your debt is repaid."

"Can you tell me anything about yourself? What were you doing here? How did you manage to push me out of the way in time? And why is a human in the realm of Fae, in the heart of the Divide?" He peered at her rounded ears hidden behind moon white hair.

"What is a Prince of Winter doing so far this side of the Unseelie Court's border?" she countered, silver eyes narrowing.

He was taken aback that she would suggest he not belong here, "This is the Divide. Its neutral territory."

"Neutral is such a nice word, so tame. The Divide is hardly neutral. Its feral, so scorched and uninhabitable that neither court will touch it. The Divide is synonymous with death."

"And yet here you are."

"As are you," she said, cocking her head.

The Prince blinked at her, then stated flatly, "You're human. There are no humans in this world."

The girl's eyes shuttered and she looked away before answering. "I don't belong in the human world." She gave no more explanation, then toed the dead attacker, "You should probably be more alert in the future. You never know where enemies may be lurking." The girl turned away and began to walk back toward the entrance of the ballroom.

The Prince followed after her, "What was that thing?"

"It was a fardarrig, a goblin. Nasty things. Don't you know your lesser fae?"

"Of course, but the fardarrig of Winter look different. And I thought they were a solitary creature, tricksters who performed gruesome pranks. Not assassins," the Prince declared, "Where are you going?" he asked, but she only continued walking.

"You forgot your dagger." The Prince looked down at the empty space in his sheath. "It's lodged in the skull of the fardarrig that tried to kill you."

The Prince turned back to retrieve his dagger. It protruded neatly from the left eye of the goblin. As he pulled it free, he considered the force it must have taken to embed it so deeply into its target. The tip of the dagger was planted thoroughly into the bone. He turned and walked briskly across the ballroom and out through the corridor the girl had navigated moments before. As he exited the palace and stepped back into the sunlight he looked for the girl, but she was already gone.