That first bite of the second apple almost stops him, but he keeps going so he can find out what happens.

And what happens is -

He laughs with delight, drags a handful of long curly hair in front of his face; the morning light ripples through it, glinting blue and white and green from the ice-black strands. He stretches out his arms and watches them shine with all the colours of frost.

"I'm Winter," he says gleefully, spinning around with his arms flung out, whirling and whirling until he sits dizzily at the base of the tree. He hugs it. It is a good tree and he loves it very much. He's not hungry anymore, not even a little bit, except for the familiar squirming ache when he thinks about jelly beans.

He doesn't get hungry again the whole way back to the castle.

He eats anyway, once or twice, and the rest of the time he doesn't; it doesn't seem to hurt him either way. He does get thirsty, but eating ice and snow solves that. He's stronger and faster, though not as strong as his queen; he tires more slowly, but he still needs to sleep.

He can curl up in a snowbank and it won't melt. Snow makes a nice blanket, when it's light and fluffy. He does that a lot.

A month and a half after he left, he arrives at the castle gate with snow in his hair and a bright beaming smile.