Page 31 of Frost Bite

War watches me. I thought he hated me, but now I realize that his scowl is simply a part of his face. He sits behind me on the floor, cradling my head in his hands. “Your village paid the price for our greed. But this is not your fault. We gave you no choice.”

I cry into his lap while they caress me. I feel fingers on my back, my thighs and ankles. All gentle strokes, attempting to soothe the ache in my chest. But I can’t be helped. My heart is broken. I close my eyes, and right before I drift off to sleep, I beg the gods to take me too.

Sunlight streams through the stained glass windows of my room, casting an array of colors across the alabaster floors—rich hues of red and gold, like blood and fire. The second I open my eyes, I draw in a sharp breath. The hazy memories from last night flood my brain.

Lucy is gone…

I should’ve run faster. I should’ve cried out for Saint Nick and begged him to come get me. I should have… died.

Fresh tears pour from my heavy lids. I sob into my sheets, wishing I could go back in time and make Lucy run away with me like we talked about. This is my punishment for leaving. For not fighting harder.

After lying in bed for most of the morning, I decide to force myself up. Perhaps roaming around the castle will bring me some solace.

I choose an elegant black gown to wear. It has a lace-up corset and long satin skirt, one of the many beautiful piecesthey’ve gifted me with. This dressing room is bigger than my entire cottage back home.

Home.

It’s all gone. Burned to the ground along with the people in it.

I shiver as I stare at myself in the mirror, barely recognizing the face looking back. My skin glows with the flush of womanhood. But my eyes reflect my loss.

I pile my blonde hair into a high bun, drawing a few wisps out to frame my rosy cheeks. Then dab a rose-scented cream under my puffy eyes.

As I stand back and survey the stranger before me, I shudder. Iamthe queen of Death and Conquest and Famine and War. The old gods are so quiet now. They’ve abandoned me. And I do not blame them.

The Four Horsemen are already seated at the table in the dining hall, awaiting my arrival. They eye me carefully as if I’m a fragile bird that may spook from any sudden movements. I had my cry. My pity party. Now, it’s time to embrace who I’ve become. Who they’ve turned me into. A monster like them.

Conquest pulls out a chair for me at the head of the long table. “You look lovely.”

“Exquisite,” Death hisses.

Famine grins as he leans back in his chair and throws a leg over the armrest. “No longer a virgin, but a deliciously dark queen.”

“Ourdark queen,” War adds with a grunt.

My skin flushes from his words, and an ache stirs between my thighs. They invoke deep longing and feral appetites. To be claimed by them means to be chosen. To be brutalized and yet worshipped. The darkness in them stokes the darkness in me. And they are all that I have left now. I am tethered to their damned souls for eternity.

“Will it be enough?” I ask after taking a sip of spiced wine. “Or is he still after me?” While they’ve assured me that no one, not even Saint Nick, can breach the wards around our lands, I don’t want to be confined to this castle for the rest of my days.

Death, the most stoic of the four, pushes a heaping plate of bread and cheese toward me. “No. Saint Nick took his penance. I don’t suspect he’ll bother with any of us anymore.”

War sets a long dagger down on the table by his plate, the hilt encrusted with rubies and emeralds. I can’t imagine how many lives he’s taken with it. “Yours was not the only village to pay sacrifice to him every Yule. There are other villages and other hunters. He will be sour but occupied.”

“However, we shall keep you inside the wards until next Yule as a precaution,” Conquest adds.

My heart sinks. I was hoping to travel to the ruins of my village. To see it for myself. And to gather any belongings that may have survived the fire. A fruitless endeavor, it seems. I need to let it go. To let Lucy go.

“Will you not grow bored with me?” I ask between nibbles of cheese.

Famine snorts as he tears off a bite of meat from a boar leg. “Not possible. We have been waiting for you for centuries.”

“You say that as if you mean me, Imogen, and not the proverbial me of whom any peasant girl could’ve fulfilled.”

Death’s eyes darken as they narrow at me from across the table. “We were told of a prophecy many moons ago. A crone appeared to us in the woods one night after a gruesome battle. She spoke of an innocent, a maiden with flaxen hair and sapphire eyes. A virgin with a crescent moon birthmark etched into her thigh.”

Oh gods.

Conquest nods and picks up where Death leaves off. “For centuries, we’ve brought sacrifices to Saint Nick. But in truth,we were looking for you. Some have come close. We’ve captured many flaxen-haired, blue-eyed girls. But none had the mark. Until you. It was the first thing I looked for when I had you spread open in the cave.”