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“No,” Gemma said, her words firm and certain.
Lord Lovland inhaled. “Then this may involve Linnea. I worried when he denied our request to return to Loire…Gemma, I beg you to protect Linnea. You must step carefully in what you say to him. The King is a madman.”
“My Lord,” Gemma said, taken aback by Lord Lovland’s frankness.
“He is, and the smallest thing might set him off with a desire to see you killed. He is worse than a wild, rabid bear. Do you remember early last fall?”
Gemma grimly nodded.
“Princess Elise’s near death may be your fate if you displease him. Do not be clever; do not be memorable. If the King means to keep an eye on you, I cannot protect you,” Lord Lovland said. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, My Lord,” Gemma said.
“Good girl. Off you go,” Lord Lovland said, stepping aside. The footman opened the door and escorted Gemma out.
The guards had brought a cart, into which they helped Gemma climb before they set off to the palace, the cart horses moving at a steady trot. Naturally, the guards took the most direct route, which wound through Ostfold. Civilians stopped and stared as the cart rolled through the streets. Some people looked at Gemma and her armed escort with sympathy. Others crossed themselves or whispered to their neighbors. A few sneered.
Gemma ignored the reactions and grimly steeled herself. No matter what awaited her, it was never good to be called to King Torgen’s attention. After what seemed like both an eternity and a second, the urban area of Ostfold peeled back, revealing the Verglas Royal Palace.
The palace, built during the Snow Queen’s time, was made to resemble ice and winter. Every part of the castle jutted up into triangular cut-outs that were intricately decorated with snowflakes and the royal family crest—a reindeer. The only tower in the castle was tall and skinny, and it was angled to get a perfect view of the mountains that unfolded behind the palace.
Gemma was stone still as the cart rolled through the palace gates. When it stopped, a guard helped Gemma down. The rest of the guards fell into ranks around her, herding her into the castle.
The interior was gloomy and dark, matching Gemma’s mood. The King must be summoning Gemma about Lady Linnea. Perhaps Lord Lovland was right, and he wanted insider information about her—or maybe he meant to hire her to watch Lady Linnea? Gemma bit down on her tongue to clear her mind as the guards escorted her into the throne room.
The throne room was a beautiful masterpiece that overlooked Lake Sno—the snowfed lake located at the back of the palace. There were two thrones: a central one for the current monarch, which was made of wood and blue velvet and placed on top of a marble dais, and a second one made of glass and crafted to resemble ice. The ice throne was positioned in the far back of the room, facing the lake view instead of the throne room. Tradition said it was occupied by the Snow Queen when she lived, and it hadn’t been moved out of reverence.
The floor was marble covered with blue rugs accented with snowflakes and reindeer, and the sunlight sparkled when it hit the silver-glass- and gold-work at the opposite side of the room, which was crafted to resemble a winter scene.
But Gemma didn’t see any of the beauty of the gorgeous room because when she stepped inside it and took note of those who were present, her worry increased tenfold.
Kneeling before the throne was her sloppy father. Her mother was on the sidelines, squished between an army of clerks, record keepers, and scholars.
This isn’t about Lady Linnea, Gemma realized as she stared at her father, who couldn’t even meet her gaze. It’s about me.
“Gemma Kielland, My Lord,” a guard said, bowing to the king.
“Very good,” King Torgen said, folding his hands over the expanse of his belly.
King Torgen was considered comely in his younger days, but years of hatred, spite, and madness had hardened his features and gave every part of his face the shadow of cruelty. His eyes were the worst. The whites were a sickly yellow, and the dark irises glowed with fires of hatred and insanity. Gemma had seen him before for public spectacles and events, but she had never before born the weight of King Torgen’s sickly, feverish eyes.
“I’ve heard about you, Gemma Kielland…and your unusual ability to spin straw into gold.”
WHAT? Gemma felt her muscles go slack. She must have misheard him. “I beg your pardon, My Lord, my ability to what?”
“To spin straw into gold. I have received a report that your father has run his mouth off singing of your fortunes,” King Torgen said, a mean smile spreading on his lips.