Page 37 of Of Rime and Ruin (Sirens of Adria #2)

Chapter thirty-five

Aethan

We ride at dawn. Twenty snowbears, seventeen hunters, one healer, one king, and a troublesome Brine Princess.

Saddled, provisioned, and mounted, the snowbears plod single-file through the snow.

Their paws break the frost layer, crunching in a steady gait, as they carry us toward the morning sun.

Cyrene leads the pack. The hunter’s thick cloak drapes over the wide, white bottom of her mount.

The wind whips across the plains, penetrating every hole in my leather armor.

Our plan is simple: we’ll trek until twilight, then make camp. The prey that hunker in the outer reaches of the plains are most active in the early morning hours. One day to get there, one day to hunt, one to return.

I squeeze my thighs, urging my mount forward. The snowbear shifts beneath me, putting more distance between me and Nahlani Mahelona. As there should be. This kingdom follows a simple order of things: she’s my prisoner, and I am the king. I should not be so beholden to her whims.

But if I’m being honest with myself—truly honest—I’ve known nothing would be simple since the moment I laid eyes on her.

That princess is nothing but trouble. Those full lips always curved around a witty insult, her eyes burning with mischief, that goddessdamn Voice, wriggling inside my head—she’s ruined me.

With a simple flick of her tongue, she ensnared me, shackled me, and bound me body and soul. Her Voice awakened something inside me in the courtyard yesterday, and now I can hardly breathe without craving her. Needing her. Desperately.

This is going to be a long three days.

Even now, I sense her every movement. Meters behind me where she rides alone, swaddled in her new frostcat cloak, as far away from me as fucking possible. She murmurs affectionate nothings to her snowbear, maintaining a quiet song.

That cloak looks good on her.

With clenching teeth, I tear my attention toward the Frosted Plains spreading before us.

A sheet of ice stretches from the mouth of our basin to the horizon, uninterrupted and covered in snow.

Somewhere out there is the prey we seek, but as I scan the expanse, I see nothing.

We’re the only sign of life on the goddess-forsaken ice.

Have I made a mistake? What if we return empty-handed?

“You’re doing well, Sire. A kingly mission indeed.” Lucas’s voice penetrates my thoughts as the healer pulls his mount next to mine. His long, dark hair catches in the wind, battering his sharp cheekbones. “I wonder if we might have a word. About my research.”

I grunt my affirmative.

“The dungeon rubble is cleared. I think you’ll be interested to know what the Frost Guard found in the princess’s cell.” The wind carries his words, but the nearest hunter is several lengths behind us, and hopefully out of hearing.

I pull my mount closer and lean to hear him better. “A dead body?”

“No, Your Majesty. Several grimoires on curses—the same I’ve been wanting to retrieve from the original city library. They will be immensely helpful in my research.”

“In her cell? Why? How’d they get there?”

“Curious, isn’t it?” He reaches into his cloak and tilts a stone tablet from the pocket within. He pats the book and grins. “A stroke of fate, the goddess shines brightly upon us! I started reading this morning, and I think I’m onto something. A cure is in sight, Sire.”

The idea twists through me, fragrant and intoxicating. I could be rid of this curse. I could be whole again. I could return to the person I was twelve years ago—before my world descended into darkness.

What would that feel like?

Hope flares, dangerously fast. I tamp it down.

“Well, keep reading,” I say. “A hunch isn’t good enough, Lucas. I need certainty.”

He nods. “Of course, Sire. I thought you’d like to know.”

Sudden cold pierces through my body. Every scale rises in alert. Someone shouts from the rear of the group, and I glance over my shoulder in time to see the princess slump from her mount and topple into the snow. She lands in a puddle of fur, unmoving.

My heart plummets. The world zooms in, blurring at the edges, until all I can see is her .

Her body crumpled so easily.

Is she dead?

Without another thought, I yank the reins, turning my mount. The snowbear grunts from the urgent pressure of my knees in the saddle. We plunge through the snow to reach her, lumbering past the long line of confused hunters. Blood roars in my ears, urging me faster, faster.

Her snowbear grunts, plodding forward a few paces before it realizes it lost its rider. Its large head swivels in confusion. The hunters near her cry out, leaping from their mounts and trudging through the snow. As they pull her face from the snow, I glimpse her expression, blank and weary.

Relief twists my lungs. Alive. Her nose dapples with the beginnings of frostbite.

I should have known better than to let a sun-drencher ride solo on the Frosted Plains. I should have left her at home instead of dragging her along to feed my selfish whims like a goddessdamn fool.

The mount halts at my command, and I leap from the saddle. Cold seeps through my snowleathers, crunching the ice beneath my feet. As I approach, another sound clarifies—the rapid chattering of her teeth.

The hunters lift her onto her feet, and her knees wobble beneath her, knocking together. She moans and her gaze drifts aimlessly. Her plump lips are pale, ashy. A perfect picture of hypothermia.

My heart punches hard. Hot.

Anger. Fear. Panic.

My fault.

“She’s too cold, Sire,” one hunter says, to state the fucking obvious.

“Give her to me.” My growl pierces the morning, and the princess’s gaze snaps to meet mine. I reach for her, arms spread wide. War rages in her eyes—her pride rears against her shame, her need—until finally, good sense wins out. With a weak step, she tumbles into my embrace.

I squeeze her against me. That’s a good girl.

“Fetch the healer,” I bark, whipping my cloak with a snap of leather as I pull it around her. I catch her wrist in my hand and press my finger to her pulse. It batters pathetically against my touch, slow and feeble.

Didn’t she think to wear a fucking hat? She’s not invincible. Her body is poorly suited for the harsh climate. She’s too warm. Too fragile. And she’s wearing nothing more than a sweater, leather pants, and the frostcat cloak.

Goddessdammit, why didn’t I give her a hat, too? Or a fucking scarf? Gloves? The cloak is warm, but it’s not enough.

Useless, stupid king. Anger flares in my stomach, and I clamp my teeth to tame it, tugging my cloak tighter around her small frame. She’ll just have to share mine.

I peek through the opening of my cloak-tent and frown at the crust of snow on her hair. Her fingers splay wide on my chest. With a shiver, she tucks her nose into my bicep, an icicle piercing straight through my sleeve.

I hiss. “Dammit, Nahlani.”

Her mouth moves against my chest. “It’s N-N-Nahla,” she chatters.

I dip my head, tucking my ear inside the furs to hear her better. “What?”

She huffs and tries again. “My n-name. It-t-t’s Nahla. Only my s-sister c-calls me Nahlani, when I’m in t-t-trouble.”

“Nahla.” My tongue curls around her name, as my grip tightens on her wrist, monitoring her quickening pulse. “You are in trouble.”

“I’m f-f-f-fine. Really.”

Whaleshit. She’s one cold gust of wind from dissolving on her feet. Where is Lucas when I need him? I tear my gaze from her, searching for the healer. He dismounts with the speed of a slogfish, ambling toward us.

“Do something,” I snarl.

Lucas raises his hands and readies his spell. Golden tendrils of healing magic dance around his fingertips. His mouth quirks.

“What are you waiting for?”

He nods sharply. “I need to see the patient, Sire. You’re blocking her.”

Right. With stiff arms, I part my cloak, revealing the shivering princess within my grasp. She gasps as the wind rushes in.

“Make it quick,” I snap.

Lucas reaches for Nahla, and his long fingers cup her cheeks.

Every nerve in my body stretches taut. His Voice whines and weaves as his magic enters her skin.

The glow spreads through her limbs, illuminating the pads of her fingers, the tip of her nose.

It swirls over her belly and legs, wrapping around her thighs.

The healer stares into her eyes with intensity and presses closer, closer. Nahla gasps, a soft hiccup in her throat, and my temper roars. My hands quake. My thighs clench. It takes every ounce of self-control not to rip her from his grasp.

From the depths of my mind, the Beast crawls out. His claws scrape, clamoring for control. She’s mine . Jealousy stings, like a poison in my veins.

I tremble, watching Lucas as he watches her, and quietly break at the seams. One wrong touch—one lengthy glance—and the healer’s head will land in the snow.

Finally, he severs the spell. “I got the worst of the frostbite. Find her a hat and keep her under furs. Body heat is best for hypothermia. She needs to warm up slowly.”

Nahla trembles in my arms. “C-can’t your magic warm me up-p?”

Lucas bends, stooping to her level. I bristle. She’s not a fucking guppy.

“Sorry, m’lady. We’ve been over this, remember? My magic doesn’t work like that. No heat, only healing.” He raises his hands in defense.

Her teeth chatter loudly in response. “R-r-right.”

Anger flares hotter. Has she been this cold before, to have needed to ask Lucas for help? Fucking hell. What a complete dick I’ve been.

“Would you like me to take her weight, Sire? There’s room on my mount.” Lucas flashes a debonair smile.

“No,” I growl. I pull the cloak around her once more, smothering her to my chest. My heart thunders, so hot and heavy I’m sure she can hear it. “She’s my responsibility, and you have reading to do.”

Without waiting for her protest, I lift her into my arms. My hands splay across her round ass, holding her feet out of the snow as I walk her to my mount and swing her into the saddle facing backward.

Nahla will ride with me.