Page 2 of The Alien’s Cruel Starfrost Domain (Empire of Frost and Flame #1)

CHAPTER 2

IVRAEL

O n Earth, there are countless tales of fairy princes, handsome and charming, who slay dragons, rescue fair maidens, and restore peace to all the lands.

None of those stories are about me.

I’m not a prince, and I’m certainly not charming. I won’t be slaying any dragons. As for rescuing maidens? Fuck, no.

And I have zero intention of creating peace on my planet. The exact opposite, in fact. In order to save my world, I’m planning to start a war. By sacrificing a couple of those maidens I won’t be rescuing, in fact.

I’ll agree to handsome , though. Of course, that might be the problem. Women see my face and assume I’m the answer to their…what? Prayers? Dreams?

Wild imaginings, more likely.

Sometimes I think human women are the worst. For generations, my people have visited Earth, often enough—and carelessly enough—that the humans have created myths surrounding my kind.

They never get it quite right, of course .

The fairy mounds have always been my favorite—places where people disappear, holding destinations the humans travel to, where they dance and eat and drink, only to return home to find years have passed.

Traveling faster than the speed of light in a cryochamber can have that time-dilation effect. It certainly did in the early days of our interstellar travel, when the humans we took with us slept away entire star-cycles as we made our way between our planets.

Now, of course, what used to take cycles takes days, though cryo still mitigates the unpleasant side effects of wormhole travel.

And if our science seems like magic to humans—well, so too do our natural abilities.

But it doesn’t matter if we have powers beyond human comprehension. Our world has been fucked for centuries.

To change that, the Evans sisters—Lara and her sister Izzy—have to die.

Before I ever set foot on Earth, I already knew what I had to do to save my planet. It took a sacrifice to break the planet. It’ll take an even bigger one to heal it. So I expected to feel guilty when I met Lara.

What I didn’t expect was the way the mere sight of her sent a shiver racing through my entire body. And I definitely didn’t expect to almost turn around and head back to my ship.

After all, when I started this whole cursed business, my goals were simple.

Get the girls.

Use the girls to get the crown.

Use the crown to take the throne.

But it all fell apart from the first moment I laid eyes on Lara—and it’s gotten so damned complicated.

Lara Evans. I roll the name around in my mouth, feeling the strange syllables.

She’s my savior and my torment.

She doesn’t know that, either.

I’ve had to fight myself to keep her ignorant of my reasons for bringing her to my planet, to force myself not to tell her my reasons for purchasing her from the man who sold her to me.

Even now, almost a full Earth-year into her captivity in Starfrost Manor, I find myself wanting to explain it all, beg her forgiveness.

I shake my head silently, contemplating the irony of the Duke of Starfrost explaining anything to a mere human servant.

It might be even more ironic than my current position, spying on that same servant, watching the human female— woman , I remind myself—move through my manor, though she doesn’t know she’s being observed.

At this moment, Lara is in my chambers, clearing out the ashes from this morning’s fire and setting the wood for the next day.

Fire... It’s a luxury I probably should not allow myself. It’s too far outside of my Starfrost Manor forebears’ preferences.

And yet, I find it comforting, a warm reminder of the myriad things I love even when I should not.

A puff of silent laughter escapes me.

Things I want but should not have.

Lara is at the top of that list.

I’ve spent the last year watching her. I could pick her out from a crowd far in the distance. I know her shape, the way she moves, the curve of her lip, her cheek, her hip. The graceful sweep of her arm, even as she completes the most mundane of tasks.

Every time I see her, the same possessive urge screams through me.

She is mine.

Nothing I do to distance myself from her can change that.

Even now, as I stand outside the room she’s in, I’m arrested by the scent that emanates from her. In another place, another time, I would follow that urge. I would claim her as my mate.

But she’s too important for that. As much as I know she belongs to me, I also know I can never have her.

And so I have hardened myself against her, against the musical notes of her voice, the summer-floral scent of her, the pull she exerts on me like gravity, leaving me orbiting her like a helpless satellite to the heavy mass of the attraction between us.

I must become as hard as the iron my ancestors could never touch.

Otherwise, the heat between us will kill us both, just as surely as that iron would have destroyed them.

In a moment, I will open the door to my own chambers and stride in, as careful to ignore her just as I would ignore any servant. But for now, I give into at least that much of my desire for her, tilting my head to see her better through the tiny crack where it did not close completely.

She’s beautiful. Her hair, a bright golden red color, escapes in a riot of curls no matter what she does to try to restrain it.

Her skin is the color of avencorea fruit—pale, but with a hint of the same orangey-brown undertones that come out in the sprinkle of freckles across her snub nose.

At the moment, her entire attention is focused on the fireplace. She reaches up with the back of her hand to push one of those rebellious curls back behind her ear. When she turns to drop another scoop of ashes into the bucket beside her, I see that she’s left a smear of black soot along her cheekbone.

I want to smooth it away—just like I want to smooth away the frown that has carved itself into her forehead over the last several moon-cycles.

But I can’t, and I know it.

As she finishes stacking the last piece of firewood in the grate, I shake myself out of my trance.

I don’t want her to leave.

It’s as if I only believe she is safe when she and I are together.

When I can see her.

And if anyone ever discovered my plans—or worse, discovered how I feel about her—that belief would be truer than I currently care to admit. She definitely would be in danger whenever she wasn’t in my company.

For now, though I know she tries to avoid me, I work just as hard to find ways to be near her every day. And then, just as often, I force myself to shove away any warmth toward her. I become as cold, as frozen, as any duke of Starfrost Manor has ever been.

Only then do I ever allow myself to enter the rooms where she’s working.

Now, I push the door open and step inside. Lara jerks a little, startled by my sudden appearance. As quickly as she possibly can, she finishes sweeping the hearth with the tiny ash broom she’s brought and piles everything together into the bucket she carries with her. She stands, preparing to leave, and turns away without a word.

I can’t help myself.

“Lara,” I say, keeping my tone as cold as I can, hoping I betray nothing of my thoughts.

With her back to me, she stiffens before she turns around to face me with obvious effort.

“Yes?” she manages to grind out before following with a stiffly spoken, “Your Lordship?”

I try to think of something to say to her, some reason I might have stopped her.

“It’s appropriate to curtsy when I enter a room,” I finally say.

A muscle in her jaw twitches, bunching up as she clenches her teeth.

“Yes, sir, Your Lordship,” she mutters as she drops into a clumsy approximation of a curtsy.

I want to sweep her into my arms, pull her body to mine, feel her soft curves pressed against me.

Part of me wants her to submit of her own free will, to give in to me out of desire as I ravish those curves. I don’t want to see her broken.

But I do want to break her to my desires.

It’s all I can do to suppress a moan at the thought. Instead, I give a sharp nod and turn away, stripping off my jacket. “You’re dismissed.”

I’m unbuttoning the vest beneath it when the echo of the door shutting behind Lara reaches my ears. I blow out a deep breath, the one I’ve been holding for what feels like an Earth year, and slowly continue undressing .

Stepping through the more public sitting room and into my truly private chambers, I close the door behind me, and my shoulders slump in relief. I may be the Duke of Starfrost, but here is the only space in all my domain—on the entirety of this planet—where I can truly relax. Where I can show my true face.

I drop my vest across the back of my desk chair and lean against the window, watching frost spread across the glass from my fingertips. The patterns are weaker than they should be, fading before reaching even halfway across the pane. Ten cycles ago, my ice would have covered the entire window instantly.

The ancient text on my desk offers no new answers, only confirming what I already know—our magic weakens with each passing cycle. Soon it will fail entirely, taking our world with it.

But it doesn’t tell me how much time we have left. How long before the weakening of our power becomes irreversible.

I think of Lara, probably by now somewhere below in her kitchen sanctuary, unaware of how crucial she and her sister are to our survival. Of how their blood might be the key to saving everything.

If I can implement my plan in time. If the magic doesn’t fail completely first.

Looking back at the window, I watch the meager frost I managed to create already beginning to fade.

I turn away from the window, my gaze falling on the cabinet with its hidden compartment. On a whim, I go through the steps of the puzzle required to enter the lock combination, remove the false back, and reveal the twisted crown I’ve hidden away inside.

In the dim light, its blue stone pulses with a faint glow—weaker than descriptions claim it once shone, but still holding power. Power that could save us all, if wielded by the right bloodline.

My hand trembles as I reach for the crown. The metal burns cold against my skin—colder than even Icecaix should be able to tolerate.

But I'm not purely Icecaix, am I? Just as the Evans sisters aren't purely...

No. Better not even think it. The walls in Starfrost Manor have ears, and I can't risk anyone discovering what I know about their heritage. Not until everything is in place.

I wish I had a better way to contact Cyan, my starship’s AI—wish that there were fewer strictures around how often we can communicate. She is the only one who knows the entirety of my plan. The only one I can trust not to betray me.

Cyan would remind me it’s necessary to keep Lara hidden away until the right moment.

That thought reminds me. I need to find a reason to go off-planet, if only for a quick run.

Perhaps to a nearby commerce planet. It’s been long enough since I’ve used that excuse, and the Manor does require replenishing. Besides, it will allow me to get away from the overpowering pressure of Lara’s constant presence.

Even if I will spend the entire time worrying that something will happen to her while I’m gone.

But of course, I can’t leave. Not yet. Not until the younger sister is a little closer to her majority. Certainly not while Mib Svalkat, Baron of the Far Eastern Reaches, remains in my home as a spy.

I’ve known Svalkat’s purpose since before he’d arrived a ten-day ago—almost since the first moment my valet had mentioned the unwelcome baron to me.

The afternoon Khrint brought the news to me, I’d spent most of the day in my personal sitting room, sprawled in the wingback chair by the window, fighting my desire to go spy on Lara yet again.

“There’s a message for you, Your Lordship,” Khrint had said when he entered the room.

Oh, good , I thought. Maybe the message could distract me from wondering where she was, what she was doing. I stretched out my hand and waved it indolently toward my valet.

Khrint held the silver tray toward me to allow me to pluck the envelope and letter opener from it. I slipped the blade beneath the flap, sliced open the envelope, and drew out the single card to read the note the baron had written. It purportedly offered to take me up on a social invitation—one I didn’t recall ever having made. And he would be arriving the very next day.

My jaw clenched as I sat straight and dropped my feet to the floor. My boots hit the polished wooden planks with a jarring thump.

I managed to avoid cursing, but only barely.

As I turned to my servant, I tried to swallow my anger and frustration—Khrint had merely delivered the message. The valet did not deserve to suffer merely for doing his job.

“Inform housekeeping and the kitchen that we will have guests tomorrow. I expect everyone to be prepared to greet them.” Khrint gave a curt nod and careful bow before sliding out of the room. Normally, I would have appreciated him leaving me to my brooding. But not then. At that moment, I would have preferred company.

Then again, the message had put me in a foul mood. Khrint might have preferred to be out of my company.

“Wise man,” I muttered.

On most occasions, I wouldn’t bother assembling the entire household to greet a guest—especially not one whose social rank was lower than mine.

However, it was always wise to pull out all the stops for Baron Svalkat. His rank might not be particularly exalted, but he managed to have a say in the actions of many—if not most—of the noble Icecaix.

But more to the point, I was fairly certain where his loyalties were. Those loyalties could only mean he was here by order of our glorious, exalted leader—and that he planned to offer a full report to the prince.

Prince Jonyk. I snarled as the name skittered through my mind. Trust His Royal Fucking Highness to place a spy in my home just as I’m preparing to move my plan out of its waiting phase and into action.

The last thing I wanted was to draw the prince’s attention to me. I couldn’t afford for the baron to catch even a whiff of my plans for Lara and her sister.

No—better to direct his attention precisely where I wanted it to go.

So when Baron Svalkat arrived, the majority of my household stood ranked in the courtyard to greet him… except the kitchen staff.

The baron drew up in a sleigh coach drawn on gleaming silver sled runners and pulled by enormous ice-swans gliding across the snow. The conveyance was white and blue, made of glass and crystalline ice—just as Prince Jonyk preferred. Without a single word, Baron Svalkat had announced his affiliation with the prince.

Well done , I thought, though I managed to keep my sneer internal.

A second coach pulled up behind the baron’s, and four blue-clad footmen tumbled out, racing around to pull down the stair steps and open the first coach’s door in a perfectly choreographed dance, timed to coincide with the baron’s first step out of the carriage.

He hadn’t even bothered to check that the stair was in place.

Svalkat raised a quizzing glass to one eye and peered at me through it as he held out the other hand to one of his footmen, who used it to aid him to the ground.

“Ivrael, my dear boy,” the baron said. “I do hope this is not an imposition.”

I swept him a bow, using the motion to hide my snort of derision. The depth of the bow was precisely calculated to convey the idea that I evaluated the baron’s social standing as only a hair less than my own. It was a compliment, and one I was certain he would recognize.

“Of course not,” I said as I stood straight. “You’re always welcome at Starfrost Manor.”

As long as you don’t go anywhere near Lara , I added silently. But of course, I already knew how unlikely it was that I could keep Svalkat from noticing the new woman in my household.

Preemptively killing one of Jonyk’s men won’t do you—or Lara—any favors , I reminded myself.

Still, my hands curled into fists as I turned to lead the baron inside, the thought drumming a tattoo beat in my head over and over again.

I can’t allow him to get close to her. I won’t.