Page 10 of The Enchanted Frost (The Christmas Chronicles)

CHAPTER 10

Blanche

A s I drifted in and out of sleep, I felt as if I were floating between worlds. The contrast between warmth and cold was disorienting—one moment I was enveloped in a comforting warmth that felt like a gentle embrace, the next I was plunged into a biting cold that cut through me like a knife. The two warred for dominance, blurring the lines between reality and dreams and rousing me from my peaceful rest.

With an effort, I forced my eyes to flutter open, my lashes heavy with the remnants of sleep. The world around me gradually came into focus, but the lingering sensation of warmth and cold remained, as if I were still teetering on the edge of that strange, dreamlike state.

When some of the foggy confusion cleared, I slowly took in my surroundings—not the abandoned alley I half-expected given the coldness gripping me, nor even the ice palace that I was slowly accepting as reality…but a cavern with jagged stone walls, dimly lit by the dying embers of a ne arby fire. The scent of earth and wood smoke mingled with the crispness of the snowstorm that raged just beyond the entrance, its muted roar outside filling the night.

For a moment, my mind was blank, struggling to grasp where I was or how I’d ended up in this unfamiliar place. The cavern seemed to close in on me, the echo of the storm outside amplifying my confusion.

My breath caught in my throat and I struggled to sit up, only to realize I couldn’t move far—something, or rather someone , was holding me close, their strong arms wrapped protectively around my shivering frame. I fully awakened, and a flush of awareness swept over me: Frost—the mystical winter being whose duty was to capture my soul—was cradling me in his arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

My pulse quickened, a mix of surprise, embarrassment, and an overwhelming sense of comfort. How had we ended up like this? I searched my foggy memory for answers but found only fragments—the bitter cold of the raging snowstorm, the desperate need for shelter, the shared embrace for warmth—nothing that explained how we’d come to be entwined in such an intimate way.

Every detail of Frost’s proximity flooded my senses, grounding me in the reality of the moment—the outline of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the scent of a crisp winter day, the temperature that was neither warm nor completely cold, the cradle of his arms that protected me from the raging storm outside.

As the confusion of waking in an unknown place slowly ebbed away, a different kind of awareness settled over me—a deep, unspoken connection that I had never imagined I’d experience with anyone, let alone with the mystical being who was becoming more and more dear. I hesitated, deliberating on whether or not to pull away, before I couldn’t resist the urge to lean into him and let myself be held just a little longer.

I dared to glance up at him, my eyes tracing his face softened by the dim light. He was still asleep, his expression relaxed. I could feel the gentle thrum of his heartbeat against my back, a steady rhythm that anchored me. The sight of him so close and his reassuring presence made my heart ache with an unfamiliar tenderness. I studied his features relaxed in sleep, realizing that his was probably the last face I’d ever see, his arms the last that would embrace me as my life wound to its conclusion.

The once-unfathomable reality of being in Frost’s domain now seemed almost tangible, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the small miracle of warmth amidst the icy splendor. The fire was a stark contrast to the frost-laden surroundings, its flames casting a soft, golden glow that danced across the ice-encrusted walls, making them shimmer like jewels; the light seemed to reach across the divide between his world and mine, creating a sanctuary where warmth could exist, even in the heart of winter.

It wasn’t just the flickering fire, but the very fact that he had built it just for me. Despite the cold that defined his existence, Frost, the embodiment of winter itself, had gone against his intrinsic nature to offer me this warmth, a silent acknowledgment of my humanity in a realm where such softness had no place. In that moment, the fire wasn’t just a source of heat; it was a symbol of the care he had begun to show for me, an effort to bridge the gap between our worlds.

In this quiet, snow-blanketed world, the storm outside was a distant concern. All that mattered was the warmth of his arms around me, a warmth I was surprised to experience from a being of ice, the feeling of safety and belonging that enveloped me. I closed my eyes, letting the sensation of being with him anchor me in this strange, beautiful reality where for once everything felt exactly as it should.

For a long moment, my mind was content to remain in this cocoon of peace, an emotion that had felt elusive ever since I’d lost everything. But eventually my thoughts stirred, attempting to piece together the events from the night before, fragments of memories slowly resurfacing.

When the flurry of snow had first descended, blanketing the world in fresh whiteness, my initial thought had been the suffocating terror of freezing to death all over again, as if the chill of that night had never truly left me. The memory had resurfaced with a sharp clarity, as though the cold had unlocked a door I tried desperately to keep sealed shut—the violent, uncontrollable shivers; wrapping myself in every thin rag I could find that were all inefficient against the biting chill; the sound of my chattering teeth echoing the dread seeping into my chest; my tears freezing against my cheeks, leaving my face raw and stinging; the pervasive cold as it seeped into my bones, sapping my strength and warmth.

My memories had consumed me so completely that I’d been unaware of Frost guiding me to shelter, and only faintly aware of him using one of my matches to light a fire until its orange glow filled the damp cavern. My cheeks burned as I vaguely recalled drowsily reaching for him, fighting to stay awake—half terrified that if I slept, he would use his power to claim my soul during the night.

As I trembled in the icy grip of my memories, his arms suddenly wrapped around me, pulling me close to his chest. Though his body had always possessed a constant chill as if he’d been outside too long, a surprising wave of warmth radiated from him, seeping into my skin to chase away the cold that had gripped my body and taken root in my heart, threatening to consume me.

I felt a flicker of hope rekindle within me, warmed by the unexpected kindness of my enigmatic rescuer. How strange that in the arms of the embodiment of winter itself the cold couldn’t touch me, and the terror that had haunted me melted away like snow in the spring sun. I was at a loss as to his motive for protecting me from the elements when he could have just allowed me to freeze so he could claim my soul.

Yet in this moment his mysterious motives didn’t matter. I pressed closer, letting myself be enveloped by the calming security he offered. With him, the recollection of freezing seemed like a distant memory, muted and far away. Despite being stranded during a violent storm, I’d never felt so safe, not even in my former life of wealth. Such elusive comfort seemed like nothing more than a dream, and I couldn’t help wondering if I’d wake up in that abandoned alley on the brink of death.

The morning sun slowly rose, its rays piercing through the chill to brighten the dank stone walls. Inside, the fire had long since died down, leaving only faint wisps of smoke curling into the air. As the sun’s warmth intensified, a delicate transformation began to unfold, causing the icicles and layers of frost to melt away.

Eventually, I felt Frost stir, and I hastily closed my eyes, afraid to let him know I was awake, fearing that this beautiful moment of the first time I could remember being held would come to an end. Yet some unseen force compelled me to steal a peek, curious to see what this mysterious being looked like when waking. He blinked sleep from his deep blue eyes before they widened as he took in our entwined position.

His breath caught. “I’m sorry, you were shivering and I wanted to…” His breathless explanation tumbled out in his haste to explain and the rest of his words faltered. He shifted slightly, his arm moving away from where it had rested pr otectively around me. A frown creased his brow as he glanced at the morning light, as though puzzled to realize he’d been asleep so long.

The absence of his touch left my skin tingling, somehow leaving me colder than when I’d been wrapped in his cold embrace, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask him to hold me again.

The cave suddenly seemed smaller, the space between us filled with the weight of our unspoken thoughts. My heart pounded in my chest, every tiny movement amplified in the silence. The cave suddenly seemed smaller, yet the intimacy we’d shared felt distant, replaced by an awkwardness that neither of us knew how to navigate.

Our gazes briefly met before we both quickly looked away. We slowly sat up, careful not to brush against each other, the silence stretching on, almost uncomfortable.

Desperate to break the tension, I opened my mouth to say something, anything …but the words caught in my throat. As if sharing my struggle, he shyly glanced at me out of the corner of his eye before hastily focusing on the remnants of the fire. The memory of how naturally we’d clung to each other in the cold seemed almost surreal in the face of our present discomfort, as if it had happened to someone else.

Eventually, he cleared his throat, the sound startling in the stillness. “Are you…alright?”

“I think so,” I responded hastily, my voice tinged with an awkward laugh that did nothing to ease the tension. “Thank you for helping me.”

His hand brushed through his hair as he looked away again, the moment passing like a fleeting shadow. I never would have imagined that a being who embodied the confidence and unyielding strength of winter could in this moment appear so flustered. It was disarming, a glimpse of vulnerability that I hadn’t expected to see in him .

The unspoken tension between us thickened, like the air before a storm, and with it came the awareness of all the conversations that remained unspoken, growing more pressing until they could no longer be suppressed. “Why did you help me? Wouldn’t it have been easier to let me freeze?” I spoke hesitantly, my breath visible in the cool air that surrounded us.

His gaze, which had been determinedly avoiding mine, suddenly snapped back to me with a startled intensity, his eyes widening with something akin to horror at the thought. “Allow you to freeze? I could never do that.” He shifted closer, as though to protect me from the icy grip of winter that hadn’t yet completed its job.

“Yet that doesn’t change the fact that you’re seeking a way to claim my soul.” The words hung between us like a weight. I yearned to ask him how much time I had remaining, even as I was afraid to know. The past few days we’d spent together had been more fulfilling than my entire life on earth, and I couldn’t bear to imagine that they would soon come to an end.

He heaved a weary sigh, the sound filled with a deep, ancient weariness. “Not by choice; I am simply following the ancient laws of magic that allow me to create winter. Believe it or not, it breaks my heart when mortals succumb to the cold I’ve created; I take no pleasure in gathering their souls to extend my life.”

I could see the struggle in his eyes, a reflection of the battle he faced every time he fulfilled his duty. “But why? ” I pressed, needing to understand the force that drove him to this inevitable end.

Frost shifted, angling his body to fully face me, his icy blue eyes filled with a sorrow that matched the chill choking the air. He hesitated for a moment, as if searching for the right words, the cold wind swirling around us like a spectral whisper.

“You don’t understand,” he began, his voice soft with an almost tangible regret. “It’s not a choice I make out of malice or cruelty. It’s simply my duty, bound by forces older than time itself.” An ancient sadness filled his eyes, deep and endless, as though he carried the weight of countless winters on his shoulders. “To bring winter is to bring an end, a finality that gives way to renewal—a world without winter would be a weary, lifeless place with no chance to rest and refresh. Your soul is tied to this cycle. It’s your time to move on, to become part of the endless rhythm of life and death, of winter and spring. I must claim your soul not because I wish to, but because it’s what must be done…lest the balance shatter, and with it, the world we both know.”

He reached out, as if to touch me, but stopped just short, his hand hovering in the air, the unspoken words hanging between us like a fragile thread.

“Believe me,” he continued, his voice thick with sincerity. “I would do anything to spare you this, but this is the way it has always been, and the way it must continue to be. The world depends on this balance, on the cycle that I uphold. Disrupting it would have consequences far beyond what either of us could imagine.”

I searched his earnest eyes, wide with a sincerity that compelled me to trust him. Though his goal likely hadn’t changed and the fate of my pending death remained the same, something had changed between us since our night spent huddled together in the cavern. This subtle shift was enough to soften the cynicism that usually hardened my heart. I wanted to believe in him—my first true friend, whom I never would have met if I hadn’t frozen to death in that abandoned alley.

It was in this moment as I looked into his eyes that I realized how deeply I’d grown to care for him. The thought of the inevitable, hastening end to our fragile relationship filled me with a sense of dread, even as there was also a strange comfort knowing that, for whatever time we had left, we would be together.

The blizzard had passed, leaving the world around us draped in a pristine blanket of snow. The air was crisp and clear, the storm now a distant memory, lingering only in the chill that still filled the atmosphere. The shroud of frigid cold that once dominated Frost’s domain had softened, like the sun was warming the land despite the thick overcast that still blanketed the white sky, a hint of its golden light barely breaking through to glisten on the snow around us.

The scene was beautiful, but the rays of sun couldn’t penetrate the deep chill that hung over us; I instinctively drew the cloak around my shoulders, feeling its dampness that lingered even after the night by the fire. From beside me, Frost’s shoulders gave a sudden, convulsive shudder, and I turned towards him in surprise. “Are you cold?”

“Of course not.” He hastily dismissed the notion, but though he didn't shiver again, I couldn't help but notice him draw closer to me, as if instinctively seeking warmth from our proximity. His breath became visible in the icy air, a puff of mist that seemed almost out of place. Though as the King of Winter, the elements shouldn’t affect him, his strained tone was less than convincing.

As we walked back to the ice castle, an unsettling feeling gnawed at me, a sense that something fundamental had shifted—not just in the landscape around us, but within Frost himself. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His expression remained as stoic as ever, but there was a softness to his features that I was certain hadn’t been there before. His breath, visible in the chilly air, contrasted with the sharp angles of his face, once as cold and unyielding as the ice he commanded, now less severe, almost...human.

I hugged my arms around myself, more as a subconscious shield from my growing apprehension than to ward off the cold. But even that was different now. The icy chill that once clung to me whenever I was near him had lessened, replaced by a gentler, more bearable sensation—not exactly warmth, but far from the bone-deep freeze I’d come to associate with him, as if his presence had lost some of its icy bite.

The surrounding landscape also showed signs of change. The snow beneath our feet that had once crunched with the crispness of untouched ice now felt slightly slushy, as though on the verge of melting. My shoes sank into it, the dampness seeping through reminding me of my last night before entering this realm when my inadequate footwear had allowed the wet snow to submerge my feet, chilling them to the bone. Now, patches of exposed earth peeked through the thinning snow, a jarring contrast to the flawless winter landscape I had first encountered upon my arrival.

I watched as a few delicate snowflakes drifted down from the sky, only to dissolve before they touched the ground, not so much melting as simply disintegrating. Frost had conjured these elements effortlessly before, but now they seemed less vibrant, as if fading away with approaching spring. Though his expression remained impassive, I detected a hint of confusion as he surveyed his altered realm, unspoken worry tightening his eyes.

We continued in silence, the only sounds our squelching footsteps against the snow and the distant drip of melting icicles. Frost walked slightly ahead, as if subconsciously trying to distance himself from my body heat, his normally graceful steps now slower, more deliberate. I could see the faintest hints of fatigue in the way his shoulders slumped slightly, as if the effort of maintaining his wintry domain was wearing on him.

Was it possible that our time together in the cavern and the warmth we’d shared had done this? Could the simple act of holding each other during the storm have somehow diminished his power? My heart ached at the thought, but even as I worried for him, I couldn’t help but celebrate this strange connection growing between us, as if the more human he became, the more my own indiscernible feelings for him deepened.

When the towering spires of his ice castle finally came into view, I felt a pang of unease. The structure, once a masterpiece of glistening ice and sharp, crystalline edges, seemed softer, almost as if it were starting to thaw. The walls, which had always shone with a blinding brilliance, now looked duller, their surfaces marred with faint cracks that spiderwebbed across the once-flawless ice. The drawbridge lowered automatically in greeting, but creaked ominously as we passed over it.

Frost paused at the entrance, his hand resting on the door, his fingers brushing over the surface. The ice beneath his touch didn’t respond the way it once had. Instead of glowing with a frosty light, it seemed to absorb the warmth of his hand, leaving behind a faint imprint that quickly faded.

He finally glanced at me and I saw something in his eyes that made my breath catch—doubt, as if he’d lost the previous self-confidence that had accompanied him ever since our first meeting. It was a fleeting expression that faded as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the calm, measured look I’d come to know.

Yet I couldn’t dispel the deepening sense of unease that something was wrong. “Does spring ever visit the winter realm?” I asked.

He gave his head a rigid shake. “But there is nothing to worry about. Our time together has simply distracted me from my duties. A bit of magic, and everything will be back on its proper course.” His voice hitched, as if trying to convince himself rather than me.

I frowned. Whatever had changed between us after what transpired during the storm, I felt I understood him better than before, enough to sense that he was lying. “Are you certain?”

He nodded, but the gesture was small, almost reluctant. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice steady but lacking its usual cold detachment. “Just…tired.” He pressed his lips together, as though he regretted the admission and wished he could take it back.

Tired . The word hung between us, heavy with implications. Frost had never admitted to such a human weakness before. I reached out, my hand hovering near his, unsure if he would welcome the touch or if it would only remind him of what he appeared to be losing. But before I could graze his skin, he turned and pushed open the door, leading us inside.

The interior of the castle was just as grand and imposing as I remembered, but there was a subtle difference in the air—not only was it not as cold as before, but many of the frosty carvings decorating the snowy walls had faded. In addition, the ice sculptures that lined the halls seemed to have lost some of their definition, their edges smoother and more fluid, missing some of the intricate detail from before. Even the light filtering through the icy walls was dimmer, less vibrant…and warmer.

My mind whirled, the signs around us impossible to ignore—Frost was changing, and with it his power seemed to be waning. What did that mean for not only him, but the balance of the winter he’d always maintained?