It is not as though he does not hear the whispers, how his own people call him Qualmëa Ingaran whenever he broods. While the moniker pricks at his nerves, but Zaos is too level-headed to lash out in retaliation. It is useless to strike so brutally against a bittersweet title when the energy is better saved for when he must act with swift, brutal justice to ensure the survival of his people.

At least, that is what he tells himself as his long fingers tap rhythmically against one of the sharp spines at the edge of the armrest that resembles a sharp icicle. A seat that embodies the appearance of a literal throne of ice for Zaos the Icebound–how poetic. He caresses the long spine, admiring the craftsmanship idly as a distraction from his thoughts. He does not brood today because of his own misfortunes; he simply does not like the extended stay of visitors within his Court, even if they are trusted alliances he hosts. Why the summit between the four Courts has to be held within his palace walls when the Oceanic Court’s seaside castle would have sufficed with providing the same amount of privacy, he does not comprehend. But when overruled by the other three leaders, he must concede.

With a great sigh, the tall snow elf rises from his throne, his armor silent from the care he paid to oiling and shining it the previous night. Even if this summit primarily consists of elves from the other three Courts, he still wears his proper battle-ready armor, and will continue to do so during the entire week-long summit. The Summer Court may trust the shifter communities they have welcomed into their lands, but Zaos is always suspicious of outsiders, even if the form she took over six hundred years ago was that of–

He immediately cuts himself off from that line of thought; today he must not linger on thoughts of her. He must devote his full attention to his duty as the king. But she would have loved the summit. With it comes more than just meetings and debates and negotiations. Colorful traveling merchants will peddle their wares, wandering minstrel troupes will take turns performing in the center of the markets and in the taverns, and there will be such a variety of elves in all shapes and sizes of all ages mingling with one another. It is a grandiose affair–despite even the frigid temperatures of his lands. She would have loved how bustling the kingdom will be for the next week, compared to the more quiet daily existence of the snow elves under his rule. He clears his throat softly as if it will also clear the thought from his mind. He must not dwell on such affairs.

Though only one vampire delegate will be in attendance, he must remain vigilant and be stalwart when it comes to selecting how he believes the ambitions of the vampire coven to extend into the Summer Court’s ancestral homelands. It is his people and the tide elves who will be summoned should something go awry, after all. The bloom elves and oak elves only take up arms if absolutely necessary–instead they focus on keeping a steady supply of goods flowing to the militaristic snow elves and tide elves. The Summer Court’s lands might be those physically in question, but the movement of vampires into Aetheyru will ripple through every Court.

But how should one negotiate peacefully with those blood-drinking mosquitoes? The question has plagued him for days. Zaos does not want them to exceed the boundaries of elven territory, but rarely is he of the opinion that any large group should. If it were only a family or two, then it would be none of his business. More than just snow elves are under his rule–though not many, simply because of the harsh living conditions. Icy mountains are far less welcoming homes than the rich forests and lush grasslands of the Earth and Summer Courts. Even the seaside coves of the Oceanic Court are more appealing.

But those outsiders he does welcome into his Court’s lands are supervised for a stint of time before left to live in peace. He does not gamble with the lives of his people. Welcoming vampires into the realm is not an ideal situation for any of the Courts.

As he continues to stew in his thoughts concerning the negotiations that will begin properly tomorrow once all the guests are settled and extracurricular celebrations have begun, Zaos leaves the confines of his icy palace to observe the first colorful banners and strings of lights draped between temporary stalls in the pop-up marketplace. He formally welcomed all three queens earlier in front of the travelers and extended his hospitality to those who made the trip, even if his words were crisp and formal and a touch dismissive of the notion. He had not expected quite this many visitors.

At least the taverns will be full, the inns prospering, and even his own palace will be fit to burst with those who have come to the summit. Perhaps it is not having guests within his walls itself that makes him uncomfortable so much as the sheer number.

His musings leave him uncharacteristically unaware of his surroundings as he takes his stroll down the more quiet walkways that skirt around the city–a reason he should be doing so within the castle–and that is how the normally so alert, so careful-mannered King Fellmoon brushes shoulders with an elven woman for another kingdom, and instinctively reaches out to steady her, an apology already on the tip of his tongue–when a familiar spark races through him. The eyes he meets are not the same eyes he met over six centuries ago, but it is undoubtedly the same soul within them. It is her.

His soulmate, his soulbound–her, again, given form, walking among the living and here in his lands, though not one of his own people. A visitor from another Court, undoubtedly, right? But which? And more importantly, what is her name in this cycle?

His mouth is dry, a rarity for Zaos. Words are not coming to him easily. Not only that, but the initial rush of warmth he felt is fading. Undoubtedly beneath his gauntlet is a new mark, and yet...

And yet trepidation stirs in him. He has lost her twice. Would fate be so cruel again as to rip her from his arms after all these years spent without her? His hesitation makes him slow to speak, makes his disposition shift a little. While he is undoubtedly softer in this moment, he removes his hands a little too quickly from her shoulders after lingering overlong, and he takes one measured step to the side to put more distance between them.

“My apologies,” he rumbles, his rich voice pitched softer and lower than usual. The words are not as crisp as he would like them to be–he has never been able to maintain distance from her well. Not like he can any other, not when she invades every part of him, consumes his thoughts and soul after just a touch and a look. His eyes, averted, flicker back to her. He cannot stand to look away for long.

He offers a slow, graceful dip at the waist–a bow from a king known for his icy disposition to... his soulmate. This is her third reincarnation, but he can tell that no memories of their past plague her as they do him from just a glance. Is there any recognition in the shine in their eyes that their bond even ignited? He cannot tell–he does not know this face or body yet. He does not know her like memorized poetry as he did in years past.

Undeniably, this is her. But she has surprised him both times–what aspects of her will be the same and what differences will be present in her demeanor? He craves to know despite his hesitancy to engage.

Instead he is left awkwardly lingering a few paces from her, his stare expectant–a name. He needs a name.

“I am... King Zaos. Again, I formally apologize for the indiscretion. And you are?” There, he extended the invitation to speak. Now, will she take it? Will she introduce herself and touch on the spark between them?

Relinquishing control of the situation is not his usual methodology, but in this instance, he must. He must. And yet, he will never forgive himself if he does not at least learn her new name.

((Blank))