Page 12

Everly

T he temperature plummeted only seconds before the doors swept open.

Cold poured into the dining hall in a slow, creeping wave. The silence deepened the moment the Frostgrave King stepped into the room.

The Lord General didn’t return.

Whatever had called them away was serious enough to keep the head of Winter’s Military, and to send molten fury surging through King Draven’s mana. The potency of the rage in his power had me tightening my hold on the skathryn, relying on her warmth to stave off a shiver.

The king swept a glance around the room, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“It would seem I missed a riveting conversation.” His tone was all casual lethality as he examined the courtiers one by one.

Some kept their composure admirably while others squirmed in their seats. The male who had taunted me paled to the point of translucence.

“Lord Floren?” the King inquired, for all the world as though he was asking a polite question rather than lobbing an accusation.

Though he addressed the male, his gaze darted to Nevara. She took a casual sip of her wine, giving a subtle dip of her chin.

“We were only…telling jokes, Your Majesty.” Lord Floren made a valiant attempt at confidence, but his voice was pitched an octave higher than it had been a moment ago.

“Such as?” The quiet authority in King Draven’s tone had my own hair standing on end, and it wasn’t even directed at me.

Lord Floren shook his head mutely, so the king turned his attention to the lady seated on the courtier’s other side, opposite his ashen twin.

The lady swallowed. “He…remarked on the queen’s parentage, Your Majesty.”

The king’s aurora eyes darkened to something closer to emerald. It was the only warning before frost laced across the table, making its way directly toward Lord Floren.

The male let out a pained groan, wincing as he clutched his arm. Beneath his grip, blackened veins spread along his skin like inky fractures spiderwebbing across a glass.

His breath fogged the air, his ragged exhales puncturing the uneasy silence. Crystals formed along his lashes and the smooth strands of his midnight hair. He curled his fingers tight against his chest, nails a sickly shade of blue.

My stomach twisted. The last thing I wanted was to witness another fae turning into one of the king’s macabre ice statues. I had more than enough nightmare fodder for one lifetime.

“As he said, it was only a jest,” I said quietly. Pointedly.

The king tilted his head to face me, slow and deliberate.

“An insult to their queen is an insult to me.” His voice was low, but it echoed through the room like a clap of thunder.

It shouldn’t have bothered me that everything came down to his power, his pride, but something curiously close to disappointment snaked through my chest. Not that I wanted him executing people at the dining hall table on my behalf, either.

It was just one more drop of madness in an ocean of insanity.

No one dared to move or speak, let alone speak out in the courtier’s defense. Even the emissary was unnaturally still. King Draven raised his glass to drink as if nothing had happened.

Slowly, the frost began to withdraw. The courtier wouldn’t become another statue to shatter across the Winter King’s floor, but the damage was done, all the same.

His skin remained cracked with frostbite, his breath shallow, face paler than death, but he would live. Because I had asked the king to stop? Or would that have always been the extent of the punishment?

The room remained frozen until the servants returned to the dining hall with silver trays laden with the first course for tonight’s meal.

Whatever appetite I’d had before completely disappeared after that raw display of power.

I sat rigid in my chair, doing my best not to clench my fists too tightly around my shivering stowaway. The skathryn was trembling. She hadn’t seen the king use his mana, but I had no doubt she felt it.

This time it was the Autumn emissary who braved the silence first, all lazy grace and calculated charm.

“Queen Everly, I realize I have failed to introduce myself properly. My name is Soren Redthorne, emissary to the Autumn Crown, but please, call me Soren.”

The king didn’t outwardly react, but his mana pulled taut.

I gave him a nod that was equal parts grace and gratitude. “I’m pleased to make your official acquaintance.”

The silence at my opposite side was abruptly potent, curling around my spine like a leash. I pretended not to notice, and Lord Redthorne—Soren, joined me in our feigned ignorance.

There was no way a male as cunning as he was had actually failed to notice the tension seeping from the head of the table like poison, but he nodded easily in return, taking a sip from his goblet.

“I haven’t noticed you on the palace grounds much, but I’m sure your duties have kept you quite busy.” It was more than idle chatter, it was a direct retort to the speculations about where I had been.

I finally gave him the smile he had more than earned. “Indeed, they have.”

“Well.” He casually swirled the wine in his glass. “If that should change in the coming days, I would be more than happy to serve as a guide. The palace can be...unforgiving to those of us still learning its moods. But the gardens alone are worth the frostbite.”

He stressed the words the palace . Was he referring to the court, the semi-sentient structure itself, or was he bold enough to be referring to the tempestuous brute at my side? The same one who had just nearly taken a male’s life for the sin of second-hand insulting him.

My lips parted, then closed again. The emissary was more than brave, he had a death wish.

Apparently, he had finally pushed the king too far. “Unfortunately, Lord Redthorne, my wife will have to decline your generous offer, as her duties will continue to keep her occupied for the foreseeable future.”

I would have happily informed the king what I thought of him speaking on my behalf, if I could think at all past the words my wife echoing in my head.

It was technically accurate, but it still thrummed through me like an unexpected chord in a symphony I should have known by heart.

Rather than look offended, Soren smiled like a mischievous child who had just successfully pilfered a cookie.

“Indeed.” He straightened in his chair. “Well, the offer stands.”

I spoke before the king could do it for me again. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, when my schedule clears.”

Just because my entire existence hinged on the king’s whims didn’t mean I would spend what was left of it being cowed by him.

I felt the frost-twat in question stiffen at my side.

Soren gave another gracious nod like he didn’t notice, and conversation blessedly picked up again.

The courtiers were noticeably more respectful of me now, something I tried to be grateful for instead of despising their shallow, two-faced natures.

Between the tedium of conversation and the glowering presence next to me, I was more than ready to go back to my rooms, prison or not.

The walk back to our wing was heavy with a silence so thick, it was beginning to suffocate. Even the wolves padded on eerily quiet steps, trailing several feet behind us. I had too many thoughts, too many questions, and no good answers.

And still… my eyes kept drifting to him.

My husband.

In the endless list of colorful words or phrases I could use to describe the male at my side, husband was the last one I would choose, but it felt childish to shy away from it when he didn’t.

The male in question walked beside me without a word, frost blooming along the walls and webbing across the floor with each step. His hands were fisted at his sides, and that muscle kept ticking in his jaw, tightening, releasing, tightening again with every few strides.

Power rolled off him in steady, glacial waves, weaving around my ankles and whispering up my spine, infusing the air with the infuriating scent of juniper and freshly fallen snow.

When the silence was pulled taut to the point of breaking, I lost my war with my self control.

“What happened tonight?” I asked, before I could stop myself.

The courtiers and the emissary might have fanned the flames of his ire, but it had begun the moment he left the room.

He kept walking, footsteps echoing louder with every step like the castle itself was holding its breath.

Suppressing a sigh, I tried again. “With the Lord General, I mean. What was important enough to call you both away in the middle of dinner?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

I blinked, inhaling a slow breath for patience. What the arrogant tyrant had failed to realize was that a threat to the palace or the realm was, in fact, very much my concern, especially when what was left of my family was out there and potentially at risk.

But I didn’t tell him that, or bring up my sister, since I hoped very much he would forget her existence entirely. It was an unreasonable wish since she was a high-ranking lady now, but I avoided the subject of her all the same, trying a different tactic instead.

“So they’re our people when I need to smile for them, but yours when anything important happens?” I infused my tone with righteous indignation that turned more genuine as I went on. “If you didn’t want me to be concerned, perhaps you shouldn’t have forced me to be Queen.”

So much for keeping my temper.

King Draven stiffened as we passed the guards outside of our shared hall. Only when the door shut behind us and the wolves had settled into their positions as sentries did he turn toward me, pinning me under the full weight of his gaze.

“If you want to be a queen in more than title, you might start by displaying a single quality worthy of the position.”

I shouldn’t have cared about censure from a male who had committed the atrocities of the Frostgrave King, but still, I had to wonder what inadequacies he was referring to. Not enough pretense? Not enough ruthlessness?

Not enough .

“Apologies that I object to casual maiming at the dinner table,” I gritted out. “I had thought there were redeeming qualities to be found in diplomacy, but I can see I have it all wrong.”

He stalked forward until I was trapped against the wall, then braced a hand on the stone beside my head, as if that might steady him. A powerful wave of mana tore from him, washing over the stone and coating it with ice.

Snow and juniper assaulted me, sending a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the ice at my back.

“Once again,” his voice was low and dark, “you put your ignorance on display with every word, Wife.” His tone tried for mockery, but something primordial crept into the single word. “There is nothing casual about keeping the kingdom in line.”

I tilted my chin up to face him, ignoring the contradiction of heat emanating from his body to mine along with his insult, even as my nails bit into my palms. “If you’re so opposed to my ignorance, why are you insistent on keeping me in the dark?”

“Because you’ve already proven unequal to the task of ruling,” he shot back, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Of course not. The illustrious king had spoken, and thusly, his judgment was true.

My blood boiled at his dismissal, even as I reminded myself that I had no interest in being Queen. That one way or another, I wouldn’t be here long enough to reign over anything.

“So it’s nothing the Court will find out?

” My tone was thick with sarcasm as I hurled the only thing he gave a damn about back in his face.

His pride. “Surely they won’t mock me for knowing less than they do about my own kingdom.

Or are you secretly hoping for that so you can disfigure more of your citizens over lunch? ”

Another wave of his mana washed over me. This wasn’t the same fury I had seen from him before, the kind that cracked like lightning and burned everything in its path.

No, this was worse.

It was quiet and contained, a precarious rage poised to shatter.

My fingers curled tighter inside the fur muff, brushing against soft, silken warmth where the baby bat shifted sleepily, a tiny reminder that the world hadn’t completely frozen over.

It was an effort not to bow under the crippling weight of his ire, but hadn’t I faced down furious males before? He might never respect me regardless, but he sure as hells wouldn’t if I backed down now.

Especially not when we both knew I was right.

He let out a bitter huff of air, close enough to ghost along my cheeks. His gaze flitted to my lips for a fraction of a heartbeat before he slowly backed away, removing his hand from the wall.

He straightened to his full height, shoulders tense, still standing entirely too close to me. Just when I was certain he was going to turn and walk away without speaking, his lips parted.

“There’s been an attack.” His mouth twisted as if the words tasted like ash. “And yes, word will certainly spread of it soon.”

I stopped short.

“Unseelie?” I asked, the blood draining from my face.

He shook his head.“Frostbeasts.”

Was that better? Worse? The Unseelie were known to take slaves, but the monsters liked to play with their food before consuming it. Both fates were worse than just death.

“Where?” The word came out a whisper.

Not near Wynnie. Anywhere else.

“A village. Up near Icereach Pass,” he answered, his tone losing some of the venom that it had held before.

Wynnie’s estate was to the south, days from Icereach Pass.

Relief washed over me, powerful enough that I felt like a monster myself. Someone’s sister or parent or child had been hurt. Was it wrong to be so grateful that it wasn’t mine?

“How many of them died?” I asked cautiously, not sure I wanted the answer.

Whatever had happened was enough to call the Lord General away from his dinner.

The king hesitated for a moment, long enough to fill me with dread.

“All of them.” He forced the words between clenched teeth.

The air fled from my lungs. All?

“How—”

“It was a pack of Tharnoks,” he answered before I could finish my question.

My stomach twisted.

Even in their bare sketched form in my compendiums, Tharnoks were living nightmares. Towering, grotesque creatures with wolf-like bodies covered in clotted obsidian fur and icy-slicked scales, but they usually haunted cemeteries, tombs, old burial grounds.

And…they hunted alone. Always.

I met the king’s eyes, finding fury and bitterness…but not surprise. Tharnoks hunting in packs wasn’t unusual for him, even though it should have been.

Something was deeply wrong in the Winter Court, maybe all of Aerivelle, and I had the ominous sense that we were only just beginning to feel the cracks.