Page 2 of Out of Time (The Ice King Chronicles #3)

Glorfindel

After I had fucked things up with King Tarrak rather royally—if you’ll excuse the pun—I’d had no choice, really, but to transfer my affections to the Dark Elf King Stefan or else go home in disgrace again. Since there was no love lost between the two Elven tribes, I had to buy my way into Stefan’s affections by delivering a purveyor of the potentially demonic or harmful magic called Infernal Magic. Since this man also just so happened to be the brother of King Tarrak’s witch Pavel, who’d killed their former king by making him dance off a cliff, King Stefan was only too happy to receive him. His name was Sergey, and Stefan had tried his best to put him in his dungeons.

Unfortunately, Sergey fought his way out of the trap I set for him, burning the city gates as he left, and King Tarrak had come after him to rescue him, later defeating King Stefan in a showdown between them. He had used the fabled Sword of Light, and Tarrak had even eventually made Sergey, the boy who did Infernal Magic, his consort, despite the fact that I had been the one originally betrothed to him.

Anyway, I transferred my affections to the handsome King Stefan, which had worked out beautifully until Stefan caught me in flagrante delicto , to use the Latin phrase—or in other words, naked on a bed in an anteroom just off his throne room—with his equally underdressed captain of the guard. I have to say Stefan took unusually strong exception to it. Hence my ignominious dismissal and retreat from the king’s Dokkalfar domain.

I was delighted to learn from my servants that my clothing had been packed up and sent home by King Tarrak, as I literally had nothing to wear other than the clothes I’d arrived in. I was shocked that Tarrak had bothered, but thought it must be the work of Pavel, his wizard, and my only friend during my time in the Ice Kingdom. My servants had hung them carefully in my wardrobe cabinet, so I immediately called for a bath to be drawn for me so I could burn the rags I had on. In the rush to leave King Stefan’s palace, Stefan had at least tossed me some old clothing so I wouldn’t freeze, as my own things had been lost in the kerfuffle that had occurred after the captain and I had been discovered.

Later, as I was lying in the warm, perfumed bathwater, I wondered why I’d ever left my home in the first place. I knew I could have talked my father into indefinitely postponing my betrothal to the Elf King if I’d really tried. It wasn’t as if my feelings were involved—or ever had been, for that matter.

It seemed to me that the word love got thrown around more and more, but people told the truth about it less and less. I was firmly convinced that “true love” just didn’t exist. Lust, yes, and a craving for romance, but true love? Not a chance. That was simply a story told to gullible idiots, and I certainly had never experienced it or even seen it in action.

Perhaps Pavel’s love for his handsome Elven Lord Juul came close, but it remained to be seen how long it would last. If Pavel were wise, he’d make love, but never truly believe in it. Listen to the words Juul spoke, but never allow his heart to believe them, and always, always be the first one to leave, before he himself was left.

The door to my room flew open suddenly and my elder brother Radiense stood in the entryway, looking in at me.

“Ah,” he said, “So the rumor is true; you’re back home again. What took you so long this time?”

“Radiense, don’t tease. I’ve only just arrived after a long and tedious journey in truly awful weather. Just look at these chilblains on my fingers. Father was rude to me and not at all welcoming, and now here you are to jeer at me and abuse my feelings even further.”

He laughed and came farther into the room to lounge in a chair near the tub. “Ah, Glori, if I truly thought you had feelings, I might regret my words.”

“Et tu, Radiense? I thought you might be the one person who could best understand how hard it’s been for me.”

Radiense was only three years older than I was, and like me, had little to no chance of ever ascending the throne. He’d been resistant to my father’s attempts to marry him off too, and I had a suspicion that, like me, he preferred males, but he had yet to admit it.

“It’s only been hard for you, because you don’t really try.”

I sat up and glared at him. “I might remind you I’m under a curse.”

“I know all that, but I also know you, and you’re stronger and cleverer than anything like that. If you set your mind to it, you could beat the thing.”

I lazily ran the sponge over my arm and thought about what he said. Could I defeat the little strumpet’s ill-wish? Perhaps, though I hadn’t been able to figure out a way yet to do it. The curse was perverse and stupid, just like the one who laid it on me, but I thought it must be remarkably strong.

It usually took one of two forms—either the object of my intended affections had little interest in me, as was the case with King Tarrak, or if they did care, I quickly found a way to fuck it up, like I had with King Stefan. Trouble seemed to follow me around, in fact, like a lingering odor.

King Tarrak, for instance, was kind enough, in his way, but all of his interest lay with another, and I’d known it almost from the moment I arrived. No matter how hard I tried, he rarely gave me a second look. On the other hand, King Stefan, of the Dokkalfar, had been attentive from the first, and I’d liked him too.

I hadn’t been in love, though. Not really.

Since that wicked curse, I hadn’t felt any such emotions, though I’d respected Stefan and thought him handsome. We could have been happy, I think, if I could have stayed away from his Captain of the Guard, but there was some perverse part of me that deliberately sabotaged every relationship I tried to have.

I thought it was all because of the pixie named Drusilla. I had first seen the little hussy at a party given by my brother, Charmello, not long before I left for the Quendi forest and my betrothal to King Tarrak. The creature had been naked as the day she was born, a custom of the pixies.

It had been in a glen in the middle of the Fairy woodland during Midsummer celebrations, and we’d all been exceedingly drunk on dandelion wine. I had apparently over imbibed to the point that I had allowed myself to be drawn into some rather dirty dancing around the fire with a woman—my friends had assured me that much was true at least. But then according to her claim, I had taken her aside to have a sexual encounter of some sort with her and asked her to become my bride. How that so-called sexual act was even possible considering how much wine I’d had, and my decided preference for men, and how all that had then translated into an offer of marriage, I was unable to work out. No one could corroborate her story. But they couldn’t definitively say it never happened either.

The creature had the nerve to shake her fist at me the next morning when I left her behind and refused to take her home with me, and she vowed revenge for the promises I had supposedly made to her. I’d been far too drunk that night and far too hungover the next morning to form complete sentences, but I had serious doubts. Personally, I thought she was a wishful thinker. Not to mention, a gold-digger and a liar.

It was the next week after that drunken celebration that Drusilla appeared in my father’s throne room. It had been Midweek, the day King Lorimach had set aside a century or more ago to allow the common Woodland Fairy-folk to come to him with their problems and concerns. He always insisted his sons attend him, and so on that day, all but one of us was there. My eldest brother, Prince Fabulosa, was attending the wedding of one of his wife’s sisters in the Gwragedd Annwn Kingdom. The Gwragedd Annwn was ruled by Queen Angharad whose subjects were all lovely female fairies who had a great affinity for lakes and rivers. The wedding was being held on the banks of the River Dee in Wales, so Fabuloso would be gone for a few weeks.

The rest of us were all in attendance that day, however—me and my brothers Prince Radiense and Prince Charmello. Radiense was lounging in his chair, inspecting his nails as if he were examining the map of lost Atlantis; Charmello was soundly asleep with his mouth slightly open, and I was idly flirting with one of my father’s handsome courtiers. It was a typical Midweek, in other words, until a sudden commotion disturbed the dozy peace of the great hall. I glanced up to see a familiar face show itself at the back of the hall. It was the pixie from Midwinter—Drusilla. Her pretty features were twisted in fury and her amethyst-colored hair flew madly about her bare shoulders.

Pixies are not at all the tiny creatures folklore and legend would have them be. They’re only slightly smaller than members of the other Fairy tribes and are most notable for their small butterfly-like wings and their masses of hair in all colors of the rainbow. This one claimed to have just enough magic to make herself really annoying. Personally, I was skeptical.

Pixies were notorious for their refusal to wear clothes, though on that day, Drusilla wore a few green vines strategically draped across her nether regions—no doubt in honor of the occasion of her appearance at court.

She came in glaring daggers at me, marching up to my father’s throne and dropping a sketchy curtsy in front of him. “Your Majesty, I have a grievance against one of your sons, and I demand to be heard.”

My father was an easy-going, well-liked monarch, but it’s never wise to make “demands” of any king. The only indication of his irritation was one slightly raised eyebrow. He sat back in his throne, steepled his fingers and regarded the creature.

“Oh?” he replied, that one imperious syllable dripping ice, though she was far too oblivious to notice.

“Yes, sire, and I also demand that you hear my grievance.”

Still frosty, he glanced over at the three of us. “I can hardly not hear it madam, with you screeching at the top of your lungs. Pray tell me, to which of my sons are you referring?”

She pointed one long finger at me. “Glorfindel!” she dramatically intoned.

My father turned toward me. “Glori, can you shed any light on this?”

I stood up and took a few steps closer to her. “Your Majesty, I must admit I’m at a loss. I have met this person once before...but I confess I have no idea what grievance she could possibly have as far as I’m concerned.”

That went over about as well as you might think, and the creature flew at me, her claws extended.

I raised my hand, calling out, “ Lár! Pusta!” and Drusilla froze in mid-air, still hissing like a cat.

It was old Elven magic, taught to me by my nurse as a child, and it had stood me in good stead over the years. The ability to freeze one’s enemies in place had come in handy on many occasions. It had been taught to me by the lady who had accompanied my mother to my father’s castle when she first came as a bride. She had then stayed behind when my mother left in order to care for me. Her name was Raquela, and she was the closest thing I’d ever had to a mother. She left to go back home years ago, and I had cried myself to sleep every night for weeks thereafter.

My father sighed and said, “Release her, Glorfindel. Let us hear what she has to say.” He then signaled to the guards who had come forward to stand beside her and make sure she didn’t try anything else.

I waved my hand and she fell to the floor on her plump little posterior. She leaped back to her feet, swept her mass of purple hair out of her face and fixed me with a malevolent glare. “You left me without a word after making me a promise of marriage! Then you refused to see me or answer my letters,” she shrieked. She turned to my father with a hand stretched out in appeal. “We had an understanding, Sire. A proposal of marriage is binding in the Woodland world.”

“We had no understanding, Father, as there was no proposal. Surely you’re not going to listen to this.”

“I hardly see how I can avoid it, Glori, with both of you shouting at me so. Did you, or did you not make promises to the pixie?”

“My name is Drusilla!”

“Yes, yes. Glori, did you promise marriage to uh, Drusilla?”

“I most certainly did not.”

My father turned back to the pixie with a look of appeal. “As you see, His Highness denies your claim. I really don’t see what more I can do about it.”

She squealed with outrage, and the guards standing beside her seized her arms. “If he plays me false, I’ll be forced to handle this myself!”

My father sighed, leaned back in his throne and waved his hand. “You must do as you see fit.”

She shook off the guards and whirled around to face me. I heard an ominous sound of distant thunder overhead as she extended her arm toward me again. Was it coincidence or did the creature really have magic?

“Prince Glorfindel, because you’ve never loved, I curse you never to find love in this world! Not ever! You will sabotage and destroy every serious relationship you enter here. Thus, you will live a long, miserable life alone for all eternity! By moon and sun, my will be done!”

My father stirred in his seat, looking agitated. “See here, that seems a bit extreme. For all eternity? Upon my oath, I demand that you alter this curse to something a bit more reasonable. You haven’t even given him a loophole.” He turned to one of his courtiers, hovering close by. “There’s always a loophole.”

“Oh, very well,” she said with a frown. “If you can find someone to fall in love with you, with no help from your wealth or your status or your magic, and if you can make that unfortunate being fall in true love with you despite your faults and betrayals, then the curse will be lifted. So mote it be!” Drusilla cried dramatically. She snapped her fingers in my face and turned as if to leave.

“Oh Drusilla” I called out. “Just a moment, please.” When she turned, I held up my hand, facing toward her and gave her a wicked smile. “Be careful who it is you curse, love. Make sure it’s not someone who can curse you right back.”

“ A gibbo retro habebis ,” I said, and the distant thunder rumbled again.

She gasped, bending forward and crying out as a large, misshapen hump suddenly popped up on her back. “You wicked, wicked creature!” she screamed and stumbled around, trying to come at me again. The guards recaptured her and held her back—not that I wouldn’t have wiped the floor with her, I’m sure, if she’d managed to reach me.

“You started it,” I told her with a shrug.

“Ohhh,” she moaned and whined. “You vile devil! You evil creature!”

“Glorfindel,” my father said in a hushed voice, gazing from her to me in shocked fascination.

I sighed. “Oh, very well. If she agrees to lift her curse, then I’ll lift mine. But she has to go first.”

“Never!” she cried, spitting and struggling in the guards’ arms.

“Suit yourself then, you intractable hussy,” I said and sat back down. “It’s no skin off my nose, because I have no interest in love.” I snapped my fingers. “Pfft! What do I care for it? I don’t even believe such a thing as true love even exists.”

Those words returned to haunt me as the next few years passed. Love, true or otherwise, just never seemed to happen for me. Oh, men were attracted to me and found me beautiful…they said. They were happy about my magic and my father’s fortune...they said.

But true love never seemed to be a part of the equation. Not the kind of love that lasted for a lifetime and even beyond. The kind that broke your heart one minute and made it fly the next, and all because of a sidelong glance or an accidental touch. The kind I had been cursed by the pixie to never find.

Abruptly, because of the water turning cold and not at all because I couldn’t stand the look of pity on Radiense’s face a moment longer, I stood up out of the bath and caught the towel my brother threw me. In an odd mood and feeling all out of sorts for no particular reason, I walked over to the fire and sat down in front of it to towel-dry my hair. Was it Drusilla’s curse that had cost me so much over the last few years? It did seem particularly odd to me that King Tarrak had always been rather indifferent to me, even though he told others he thought I was handsome and desirable above all men he’d ever seen. Yet he’d chosen a peasant boy over me.

Admittedly, Sergey was attractive too, of course. It was said he had demon blood in him, which would account for it. He could even do magic, like his brother, Pavel. Still, I was a fairy prince and the son of a king, and I had powerful magic of my own. An added plus was that I came with a really large dowry. That alone should have sealed the deal on my betrothal to Tarrak, as everyone knew how much Elves loved gold. Yet he had turned me down flat, making sure I understood it was Sergey and not me that he’d fallen in love with.

Had that all been a result of the stupid curse? I’d brought a lot of it on myself, and I knew that. But was that because I was just a flawed person, or because I was doomed never to be lucky in love? My thoughts were as scattered and broken as a bright jumble of broken jewelry, impossibly entangled and entwined and thus utterly worthless to me.

“What should I do, Radiense?” I asked softly as I looked up at him, a little horrified to find tears filling my eyes.

“Break the curse. Or find a way around it.”

“But how?”

He glanced down at me, looking horrified by my trembling mouth and the tears threatening to slide down my cheeks.

“Certainly not by crying about it. Come with me. We’ll go see Father and tell him this situation is intolerable and has gone on far too long. We’ll see if he has any ideas about what to do.