Page 13 of The Enchanted Frost (The Christmas Chronicles)

CHAPTER 13

T he cozy corner of Frost’s ice castle was bathed in the gentle glow of the firelight, a welcome contrast to the cold, crystalline grandeur surrounding us. It felt like a small haven, a pocket of warmth amidst the endless winter—a place where, for just a little while, I could bring a piece of my past and experience a sense of tranquility that had been absent for so long.

The scent of mint and chocolate filled the air as I stood with Frost beside the small hearth we had been able to prepare with magic in the cold palace; the golden flames crackled, dancing against the glimmering walls. The heat from the hearth created a delicate balance with the ever-present chill of the castle, one that mirrored the fragile state of our deepening relationship.

Frost stood nearby, his expression inscrutable save for the subtle flicker of curiosity as I arranged the ingredients. Our fingers brushed as I handed him a mixing bowl carved from ice, sending a soft jolt of warmth through me, the coldness of the bowl a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from where our skin touched .

I held up a small canister of cocoa powder. “Mint hot cocoa and gingerbread were always my favorite winter treats. My governess used to prepare them for me on the coldest days.” I felt a pang of nostalgia as I spoke, along with a sense of sadness that the one person who had shown me moments of kindness had been paid to do so rather than genuinely caring about me.

My plans to share this portion of my past extended beyond yearning to express my gratitude. Though he’d witnessed my memories, I wanted to add brushstrokes of my thoughts and feelings to the otherwise colorless facts, filling them in one by one so he could learn to know me on a deeper level…as well as show him that that even in the sorrow and pain of mortality, there were moments of joy and meaning.

I couldn’t explain this growing need when my life would be only one of the infinite souls he’d gathered throughout his time as the king of winter; I only knew that I wanted to be remembered by him forever, a longing deeper than I could put into words.

His eyes lit up with a spark of interest. “You mean there was something about winter you loved?”

“They brought comfort. When everything else felt too harsh, these treats made the cold more bearable.” I knew this portion of my past wouldn’t erase the aching loneliness he’d endured over his eternity, but hoped it might give him a flicker of warmth to carry with him, long after my soul passed on.

A hint of a smile tugged on his mouth, as if he was pleased I’d found something in his season to bring me joy. Though his gaze softened as he looked at me, his brow furrowed as he mulled over my words. “Comfort,” he echoed, as if the word itself was foreign to him.

Fitting as the word was to describe this moment, it somehow seemed inadequate for the emotions swelling inside me. I shook my head to dispel the errant thought and offered him an ice-carved whisk, the frosty handle no longer cold to the touch but now familiar and comfortable against my skin.

At my touch small tendrils of frost swirled from my palm, twining along the handle. The frost responded to my touch instinctively now, as if it were part of me.

Frost froze, his eyes widening in both surprise and fascination. “That’s new,” he murmured, his voice a mix of curiosity and concern.

My heart pounded, unsure how to explain what was happening. “It started yesterday.” I ran my hand along the frost-covered surface of the table, watching in awe as the icy tendrils curled beneath my fingers, extending and shimmering like winter's own breath. “Every time I touch something cold, it reacts to me.” I lifted my hand from the table and watched the frost swirl and dissipate.

Frost stepped closer, his gaze locked on my hand. “Magic should be impossible for mortals to wield on their own. You’ve never experienced anything like this before?” His voice was low, tinged with disbelief.

I shook my head. “It’s only begun since I entered your realm after we frosted the windowpanes together.”

He was silent a long moment, eyes flickering between my hand and the thin layer of ice lingering against the frozen surface. “Perhaps,” he murmured, more to himself than to me, “you’re beginning to absorb the magic of winter. Though my power is fading, yours...” He trailed off, but the unspoken possibility lingered in the air between us.

We spent several minutes discussing why this power might be manifesting and experimenting with the strange new magic, but neither of us were sure what it signified, a fact which was both intriguing and troubling. Eventually we sought a distraction from the strange mystery in the treat we were concocting. I pushed through the sense of foreboding pressing against my chest and forced a cheery tone.

“Comfort is not just about the taste—it’s the warmth, the memories, and the feeling of being safe and cared for.” Though I’d had little experience with this elusive emotion prior to coming to his winter realm, thanks to him I’d been able to discover it, even amongst all of the ice and snow.

His cool fingers brushed against mine as he took the whisk. As I leaned closer, the heat from the hearth paled in comparison to the warmth that bloomed in my chest. My shoulder brushed his as I adjusted his grip and a shiver traveled down my spine—not from the cold, but from the undeniable attraction I felt in his presence. I could feel his gaze on me, intense and searching, as if also aware of the charged atmosphere between us whose small distance felt like a fragile barrier, one that I wasn’t sure I wanted to maintain.

My shallow, flustered breaths came a little quicker as I leaned in his direction to demonstrate how to mix the cocoa with the warm milk, adding just the right amount of mint for that refreshing yet soothing flavor. I couldn’t help but laugh at his intense concentration as he stirred, his brow furrowed as he approached this simple task like he would conjuring a snowstorm, seriousness I found increasingly endearing.

“You’re whisking too hard,” I teased, reaching out to guide his hand, our fingers briefly intertwining; a spark of warmth spread through me at the touch. He relaxed, his expression softening with a rare, genuine smile, though the chocolate mixture was in danger of spilling as we found ourselves gazing at each other rather than our work.

“The creator of infinite snowflakes, and yet I cannot brew a simple drink,” he mused, his voice touched with humor.

“Give it a few millennia and I’m sure you’ll have the hang of it,” I teased in response .

With every turn of the whisk, I realized he was stirring something much more powerful than the comfort brought by a soothing drink—feelings I couldn’t quite name, but which deepened in my heart with each passing moment.

As if to remind me of Frost’s kindness that melted my heart, I felt a cool nose nudge my palm affectionately and looked down to see the muzzle of my ice fox, Shiver, nestling my hand as its crystalline eyes stared up at me pleadingly, hoping for a taste.

“We haven’t even baked the cookies yet.” I ruffled its fur with a laugh, bemused as always by the musical tinkling that sounded as the icy strands rubbed against each other.

As I sifted through the bags of ingredients Frost had gathered, my eyes caught sight of a familiar stamp on one of the sacks. It was a simple, circular mark, slightly faded with age but unmistakable—the emblem of a small bakery I had frequently passed after finding myself on the streets.

The memory surged back with startling clarity—another cold winter evening measured by my gnawing hunger when the scent of fresh bread drifted through the frigid air. I stood outside that bakery, face pressed against the frosted glass, staring longingly at the loaves lined up on the shelves, each one feeling impossibly out of reach.

As if my desperation had drawn her attention, the kindly older baker noticed me lingering. The warmth from her shop followed her as she stepped outside. I shrank back, prepared for a harsh admonition to leave the premises, but without a word she handed me a brown paper sack with flour-dusted hands, the contents still warm and fragrant.

“Leftover bread,” she’d said, her voice gruff but kind. “Can’t let it go to waste now, can we?”

I clutched the bag to my chest, tears springing to my eyes as its heat seeped into my cold fingers. It wasn’t just the bread that warmed me—it was the unexpected kindness, the simple act of generosity I hadn’t anticipated…one I felt I didn’t deserve considering how little I’d extended it to others back when the circumstances had favored me. In a world that had often felt harsh and unforgiving, her small act served as a beacon of light, a rare balm in the poverty-stricken life I’d endured.

Now, as I stood in Frost’s kitchen tracing the worn stamp on the flour sack while the memory of that cold winter evening played vividly in my mind, I was filled with a deep sense of gratitude. The memory of the baker’s simple act of kindness stirred something within me that I hadn’t felt in a long time—a desire to be better, to see the world and the people in it not just as obstacles or threats, but as individuals with their own needs and struggles.

For the first time, I saw the baker in my memory not just as a nameless figure who had shown me mercy, but as a person with her own hardships who had chosen to help a hungry girl when she easily could have turned me away.

In my life I’d met very few people—myself included—who acted out of anything other than selfish desire. My parents were known for their supposed charity, but it only served to curry favor and boost their image. My peers had all been in open competition for the highest positions in society, using favors only as a means to help themselves climb higher. I winced at the memory of how I myself had rejected a potential suitor the moment a more eligible gentleman looked my way.

But the baker was proof that not everyone was so self-centered and cruelly ambitious. My heart swelled with both thankfulness and the realization that I wanted to carry that spirit of kindness forward, a desire that contrasted with the person I used to be but which felt more like the Blanche I had been searching for.

I had spent so long focused on surviving each day without being swallowed by the world’s cruelty that I’d forgotten the world wasn’t entirely dark. Like crocuses whose resilience pushed through snow each spring, there were people who chose kindness no matter the circumstances. The memory of those warm buns, given freely without expectation of anything in return, had stayed with me all this time, helping me realize how much I wanted to be that source of warmth for others.

The memory of the past gradually mingled with the present. I turned to Frost, still absorbed in measuring flour with an adorable concentration. Though I wasn’t quite ready to share all the painful memories of how I’d ended up on the streets, I wanted to at least share this portion of myself in hopes of deepening the growing relationship between us.

He looked up as I softly called his name, his icy blue eyes meeting mine, a flicker of curiosity in their depths. “Where did you get these ingredients?”

A faint flush crept up his neck, and he looked momentarily flustered. “I…might have snuck into a shop that I saw in your memories. I waited until after closing and I borrowed the ingredients, but I left more than enough coins that I’d found to cover it. I returned the recipe book before dawn after copying the page with instructions for gingerbread.”

I blinked in disbelief, then a laugh bubbled up before I could stop it. “You snuck into a shop just to get these?”

He shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I wanted them to be just right.”

My heart swelled at the thought, urging me to open up to him and share why this shop held a prominent place in the memories he’d seen. I showed him the faded stamp on the sack. “This came from a bakery I used to visit.” Emotion caught in my throat as the memory tugged at my heart.

Frost’s gaze flickered to the sack, then back to me, his expression thoughtful. “What happened there?” His tone was gentle, as if he sensed there was more to the story.

I took a deep breath, letting the warmth of the memory wash over me. “It was during my first harsh winter on the streets. I had nothing—no money, no shelter—and I was starving. I stared at the bread through the bakery window, knowing I couldn’t afford even a crumb, and certain that no one would spare me a coin to buy anything.

The baker saw me standing outside her shop, and instead of turning me away, she gave me a bag of leftover bread. I’ve often wondered what I did to deserve such kindness, especially when I’d been so blind to the beggars who used to come to me back when I still had something to give, before…” Emotion clogged my throat and I couldn’t finish.

Rather than condemning me for the mistakes of my past self, Frost’s eyes simply softened as he listened, his usual cool demeanor melting into something more human, a quiet empathy that gave me the strength to continue.

“The bread was still warm,” I added, my voice thick with nostalgia. “But it wasn’t just the food that warmed me—it was her kindness. She didn’t have to help me, but she did, a small act of generosity that has stayed with me all this time.”

Frost stepped closer, his presence steady and comforting, his gaze thoughtful as it lingered on the bag. “I don’t need to view your memories to understand how much that kindness meant to you.”

I nodded, my throat tightening as I traced the stamp one last time before meeting his gaze. “It was one of the few moments in my life when someone truly saw me—not as a burden or inconvenience, but as a person worth helping. I’d forgotten what that felt like, but standing here with you...it’s all coming back. I want to be like that baker—someone who offers warmth and comfort to others, even in the smallest ways…even if my life is nearing its end.” No matter how sh ort my remaining time, I wanted to fill it with as much joy as possible so that unlike my past, I could depart without any lingering regrets.

Frost’s fingers brushed against mine as he took the sack from me. “You already are that person, Blanche. You’ve brought warmth into my life, into this castle, in ways I never thought possible.”

His words, so tender and sincere, caused peace to settle over me, pushing away the cold that had once lingered in my soul. I smiled, though the ache brought by the reminder of my fleeting time tightened my chest. “I want to do more. I want to always remember there’s good in this world and try to be part of it.” My longing was so acute that for a moment I struggled to breathe…especially when I remembered how little time I had left to make that difference.

Frost looked at me with a mix of admiration and affection, his hand lingering on mine, his touch grounding me. “You’ve already made a difference in my life. Whatever you choose to do, I know it will be filled with the same light you carry within you.” He hesitated, as if unsure of whether to continue. “When we watched your memories together, admittedly I was…surprised by some of your actions.”

Shame flooded my face, but Frost gently tilted my chin up, gazing at me with no hint of condemnation.

“The more I thought about it, the more I realized that you were acting as you’d been taught. You’d never witnessed love, so how could you be expected to show it?”

I shook my head, the voices of hungry children ringing in my ears. “That doesn’t excuse ignoring a clear plea for help.”

Frost nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right, but I have seen your deep regret and your attempt to change and grow from your past mistakes. The past cannot be undone, but that doesn’t mean the future must follow the same path. I know you are not the same person now that you were then. ”

His words touched something deep inside me, awakening a new resolve. I wanted to be someone who could offer warmth and comfort to others, even in the smallest of ways. Now with Frost by my side, surrounded by the ingredients he had so carefully gathered for me, I felt like I had the strength to carry that kindness forward for however long I had left.

I didn’t want to dwell on the reality that only a handful of moments remained for me to live out my new purpose before Frost finally fulfilled his duty in acquiring my soul; I wanted to spend my remaining time not just living and serving to the best of my ability, but enjoying life with the man who was becoming increasingly dear to me.

I pushed away the last wisps of melancholy and nostalgia that clung to the edges of my mind and focused on the present—the warmth of this moment with him. It was easy for our current tenderness to turn into laughter when Frost lugged a hefty bag of baking powder onto the counter. “You certainly went above and beyond.”

Puzzlement furrowed his brow, a perplexity that deepened further when I pointed to the recipe, explaining that we only needed a tiny spoonful. “Is that truly all that we need for an entire batch of gingerbread?” At my nod, his mystified expression cleared into one of his soft smiles, reminiscent of the tenderness blooming between us.

We continued working on the gingerbread, our shared laughter mingling with the warmth of the fire. The simple act of baking had become something more—a connection between us that allowed me to momentarily forget the weight of my looming future.

I watched as Frost carefully measured out the ingredients, his movements precise and deliberate, his brow furrowed in such concentration I couldn’t help but smile. I gently nudged him with my elbow. “You’re really taking this seriously. ”

His lips curved into a small, almost sheepish grin as he looked up at me. “It’s important I get it right.”

There was something in his words—unspoken yet heavy with meaning—that sent my heart fluttering. He was expending so much effort for me , a thought that made this moment all the more precious.

When it came time to mix the spices, I noticed something that made me pause. Fighting to suppress my grin, I picked up one of the jars and turned it towards him. “Did you forget to label these?”

Frost blinked, his gaze flickering between the jar in my hand and the others lined up on the counter, each bearing a small amount of powder in various hues of brown. His expression slowly shifted from confusion to mild embarrassment. “I…didn’t consider that.”

A laugh bubbled from my chest as I shook my head, amused. “It appears we have quite the task ahead of us.”

We spent the next few minutes tasting and smelling a pinch from each jar, trying to distinguish the ginger from the cinnamon, the nutmeg from the cloves. With my limited baking experience the task proved harder than I expected, especially with Frost’s serious approach to every sniff and taste.

We initially got some of them wrong—mistaking nutmeg for cloves, causing us to almost use too much of the wrong spice. Each misstep brought another round of laughter, filling the frosty room with a lightness that drew my heart even closer to his, the space between us shrinking with every touch and glance.

I found Frost’s concentration endearing, especially the more his usual stoic demeanor and rigid posture relaxed as he allowed himself to enjoy the process. He closed his eyes as he took in each scent, a slight crease in his brow as he tried to place it. After lingering long over one particular jar, he triumphantly held it up, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I’m quite confident this is the cinnamon.” Despite his showy declaration, a glimmer of doubt filled his tone.

I took a deep whiff, only to burst into laughter. “This is ginger! But you were close.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he set the jar back down. “This is more complicated than I thought.”

“For all your mastery over winter, spices seem to be your weakness.”

“And this entire time I mistook it for the sun.” His eyes crinkled at the edges in a way that made my heart skip as he laughed again, a warm sound that filled the air between us. “In all my centuries, I’ve never attempted to venture beyond my sphere of winter magic; I never realized how much of life I’ve missed.”

My teasing smile softened into something gentler. “I’m glad we’re experiencing this first together.”

His eyes locked onto mine, his laughter fading into a look of tenderness. “So am I.”

We fell into a comfortable silence, our hands occasionally brushing as we worked side by side. Each touch, each shared glance, was filled with a growing intimacy that knitted our hearts together in ways I could never have anticipated.

The soft scents of ginger and chocolate permeated the air, mingling with the crisp, cool essence of winter that clung to Frost, creating a heady combination that made my pulse quicken. His steady presence was both anchoring and exhilarating, and the simple act of creating something together sent a thrill through me I couldn’t ignore.

As we finished mixing the spices and began shaping the dough, Frost suddenly reached out, his fingers brushing a streak of flour from my cheek. His gentle touch lingered as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The tenderness in his gesture, so unlike the aloof figure I’d first met, made my heart skip a beat.

And yet, I hesitated to fully embrace it. I knew I was vulnerable to any kindness Frost showed me since my past, filled with loneliness and neglect, had left me starved for affection. Though I welcomed the growing closeness between us, I reminded myself to guard my heart, especially in a relationship that could have no future.

I needed to ensure I wasn’t falling for the first person to care about me simply because he filled the aching void I hadn’t realized the depth of until I’d met him. But with each accidental touch and every shared laugh, the pull I felt towards him was becoming harder to resist.

With the gingerbread finally baked and our mint hot cocoa steaming in our cups, we settled by the fire, our shoulders grazing as we relaxed in front of the hearth. Shiver joined us, curling into a cool ball in my lap.

I held my breath in anticipation as Frost took his first sip. His eyes widened slightly, his reaction to the warmth and sweetness one of pleasant surprise. I watched him with a soft smile, feeling the bond between us deepen despite my earlier resolve. His lips curved into a smile as he met my gaze, and the surge of affection that rushed through me was so strong it almost stole my breath.

“This is…different.” His voice was softer than usual, almost reverent.

“In a good way, I hope?” I teased.

Frost nodded, his gaze fixed on the flames. “Yes, in a good way.” He curled both hands around the cup as he inhaled the sweet steam.

Joy bloomed in my chest as I took a sip from my own cup. The minty warmth was just as I remembered—comforting and familiar. We broke off pieces of gingerbread, savoring the sweet, spicy flavor as it danced on our tongues, more delicious than any I’d ever tasted. It wasn’t just the food that made the moment special, but the fact that we had made it together sweetened it more than the sugar we’d added. Each bite served as a reminder of the connection we were forging, a bond that strengthened with each passing day despite my concern for the future.

I couldn’t help but smile as I watched him, a deep sense of contentment settling over me. For a brief moment, the worries and uncertainties of my limited time faded, replaced by the simple joy of sharing this experience. For this moment, I was alive…and more importantly, I was with him .

The quiet, irresistible pull beckoning me towards Frost grew stronger with each passing moment in his presence, and I found myself scooting closer and leaning my head against his shoulder. He stiffened at first, startled, but quickly relaxed, his arm slipping around me to hold me close.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He didn’t respond with words, but his free hand found mine, his fingers lacing through mine in a gesture that conveyed more than words ever could. Surrounded by the warmth of the hearth and the sweetness of gingerbread, I knew that whatever the future held, we would face it together…and for now, that was enough.