Page 4 of The Enchanted Frost (The Christmas Chronicles)
CHAPTER 4
Frost
I focused on maintaining the delicate layer of ice lining the hearth, my magic weaving through the snow to sustain the frozen structure while the small fire flickered within. Yet no matter how much I willed myself to concentrate, my gaze kept drifting towards the woman I’d rescued.
She huddled on my bed, a fragile figure swathed in rags that seemed more suited to the streets than to the interior of an ice palace. The sight tugged at something deep within me, a strange sensation that was both pity and a newfound impulse—an unfamiliar desire to help, to do something for someone other than myself.
Why was I, an immortal being, expending so much effort to light a fire in my own ice-bound sanctuary? A fire—something so foreign to my world and contrary to everything I was—just to keep this mortal comfortable? The absurdity gnawed at me, baffling and insistent, yet I couldn’t bring myself to extinguish the flame .
The rags she wore only deepened the strange ache in my chest, as if her suffering had reached across the divide between our worlds, stirring an impulse I’d rarely had the chance to act upon in my long, solitary existence. The cold was my domain, my solace, and my strength—yet here I was, bending it to protect a life that should have been just another fleeting presence in my endless winter.
When she finally warmed enough to move, the heat drew her closer. She now knelt beside me—a proximity I’d never shared with another living soul. Her awestruck gaze was transfixed by the flickering flame and the curls of steam rising from the fire whose soft glow dispelled some of the chill, as if she’d never seen anything so beautiful.
I found myself equally mesmerized. I’d seen fires from a distance before, but this was the first time I’d ever been so near one. The heat prickled my skin almost painfully, requiring me to divide my magic between preserving the hearth and maintaining a thin layer of frost over my body. Every instinct urged me to retreat from the warmth that was so foreign to me, but if I moved the fire would die, and with it her fragile warmth would vanish.
And so I stayed, caught between the burning flame and the freezing cold, between the unfamiliar pull of compassion and the duty I’d always known.
Deep down, I knew my efforts were futile. No matter how warm I made her, it wouldn’t change the fact that once I discovered why I’d been unable to claim her soul, my powers would compel me to finish the task. Failure to do so would mean losing both my immortality and the abilities that made me the Winter King.
The gravity of this responsibility weighed heavily, yet I found myself increasingly uncertain of how to proceed after the usual course of events had led to this unexplainable obstacle. Though she wasn’t quite dead, she wasn’t fully alive either—a paradox that gnawed at me with the same persistence as the curiosity that kept drawing my gaze back to her, a sight even more intriguing than the foreign bright flames.
The fire’s dancing glow cast shimmers of golden light across her countenance, softening the gaunt pallor that had marked her near-death state and revealing a loveliness that I hastily dismissed. Beauty was something I only associated with winter’s artistry, not with a fragile, powerless mortal. I’d seen countless human women—both those considered plain and those considered breathtaking—and while I found human concepts of beauty fascinating I’d never been moved by a mortal face. Yet for all my stubborn protests, my heart stirred with a feeling far different from the numbing chill I had always known.
Even as I tried to keep my gaze averted, I couldn’t ignore the warmth softly emanating from her presence. Unlike the harsh heat of the flames which irritated the coldness coating my skin, this warmth was gentler, seeping inside me to curl around my heart, dispelling some of the shadows I hadn’t realized had formed from my eternity of solitude until they began to fade. The sensation was unsettling, yet also strangely comforting in a way I couldn’t quite understand.
As if my silent thoughts had somehow reached her, Blanche turned away from the dancing flames and cast me a sideways glance, a thoughtful pucker creasing her brow. “Why are you doing this?”
The exhaustion that had previously choked her voice seemed to have faded as the warmth restored her strength. In its place her tone took on a hardened, almost defensive edge, as if she anticipated that her unexpected fortune would be cruelly snatched away at any moment. Mistrust was clear in her gaze each time she tore her eyes away from the fire that attracted her so strongly.
I had no adequate explanation. The last thing I wanted was to shatter the quiet calm that had descended over us like freshly fallen snow by reminding her that I was duty-bound to ensure that the process of her freezing reached its deadly conclusion. Nor did I have an answer that justified my efforts to warm her, efforts that contradicted my ultimate purpose to claim her soul.
She tilted her head at my extended silence, prompting me to respond. “I’m not certain why I chose to save you,” I finally admitted. “Perhaps it was nothing more than a whim.”
I doubted my honesty was the answer she’d been seeking, but she simply nodded. Her easy acceptance made my conscience prickle at keeping the darker details from her, but I hastily dismissed the urge to confide the full truth, reminding myself that the time for such a grim conversation was not so soon after her recovery.
Silence settled around us, broken only by the soft crackling of the embers. After a moment, she shifted her attention from the flames to my persistent efforts to keep them alive. “Aren’t you tired?”
“Exhaustion is a state immortal beings have no reason to feel.”
She lifted a skeptical brow. “No matter how invincible you believe yourself to be, there’s more to resting than simply replenishing your physical energy.”
Her dismissive tone couldn’t mask the concern I detected in her soft grey eyes—an emotion I’d never experienced directed towards me before, consideration I found both oddly comforting and disconcerting, much like the earlier emotion I’d felt towards her.
After some experimentation, I crafted a spell for the frost to regenerate on its own, allowing me to step away from the full force of the blistering heat against my frozen skin. She leaned forward, inching even closer to the flames, and the soft clink of metal against ice caught my attention as something in her pocket shifted.
I gestured towards it. “What’s that?”
Blanche hesitated, her hand lingering over her pocket before she slowly withdrew an odd-shaped object and extended it to me. I took it and turned it over in my hand, surprised by its weight. One side was smooth and oval, its polished surface broken only by an intricate engraved symbol, while the back looked like it had snapped off from a hinge.
“It’s a door knocker.” She offered no rationale as to why it was one of the few items aside from the matches that she carried with her. I returned it without a word and she carefully tucked it back into her pocket. The quietness between us grew heavy, broken only by the fire’s crackling embers.
I shifted uncertainly, unsure of what to do next for Blanche now that she was warming up. With no one other than myself ever gracing these halls, my duties as a host felt as elusive as the distant summer in my wintry existence.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” The question escaped me before I could stop it, driven not by politeness but by an unfamiliar desire to ease someone else’s discomfort, the first yearning of its kind I’d experienced in my existence.
A blush dusted her cheeks, adding a touch of color to her pallor that caused an odd flutter in my chest. “I can’t even remember the last time I’ve eaten.”
Her lips pressed together in an odd mix of resignation and resentment. I studied her, sensing something unusual in her tone, or perhaps her manner of speaking. My long history of observing humans unseen had attuned me to subtle inconsistencies, and there was something about her refined speech that clashed with her threadbare appearance.
Blanche turned back to the flames, and I refocused on the pressing matter at hand, pushing aside my curiosity about her background for the moment. I’d forgotten that humans depended on food to survive, but what did mortal beings eat? For me food was a luxury, not a necessity, leaving me at a loss.
When I asked her, she considered it for a moment. “When circumstances were…different, I used to be picky, but now I’ll eat anything.”
Her gaze wandered around the room before settling on a bowl on the nightstand filled with winter fruits I’d crafted after centuries of experimentation—a variation of plums infused with the sweetness of sugarplum candy.
Awkwardly, I handed one to her, careful to avoid chilling her with an accidental touch...though deep down, I was more afraid of how her warmth might affect me. She examined the glistening silver fruit with an appraising air before taking a tentative bite.
Her entire countenance lit up. “It’s delicious!”
I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear praise for something I had created until she voiced her delight. Relief softened the tension stiffening my posture as a spark of delight shot through my body. “Thank you. I spent years perfecting them.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You mean you created them yourself?”
I shrugged, trying to downplay the effort. “I wanted there to be a fruit that could be enjoyed during my favorite season.”
“I didn’t think anything beautiful could be found in such a harsh climate.” Her murmur seemed to be as if speaking to herself.
Juice dribbled down her chin as she took another bite. Though I was pleased she enjoyed my offering, I knew humans required more than fruit to survive. Yet at present, I had nothing more to offer. I briefly considered creating a portal to a village, but I lacked the human currency needed for the necessary purchases.
Blanche devoured the entire bowl of fruit, her frantic pace evidence of a half-starved desperation. Once her hunger was sated her eyelids drooped; when her exhaustion eventually overcame her, she fell asleep, curled in front of the hearth, her formerly pinched features now bearing a trace of contentment.
Trapped in indecision, I watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept. Should I carry her back to the bed farther from the heat and risk waking her? Or leave her in an uncomfortable position where she might not receive adequate rest? After a moment of internal debate, I made a hasty trip to my chambers to fetch my cloak—worn on occasion for style rather than need—and draped it carefully over her.
After ensuring that the magic preserving the fireplace was secure and piling an extra log on, I left to attend to the duties that had accumulated while I tended to her. As I reached the doorway I hesitated, casting an uncertain glance back. Would she be alright on her own?
After a moment’s deliberation, I decided that even residing in my ice palace was preferable to the alley where I’d found her. Her state of being caught between life and death couldn't worsen during the short time I’d be away.
Though an array of tasks awaited me—managing the temperature, preparing impending blizzards, designing frost patterns for tomorrow’s windowpanes—curiosity tugged at my thoughts and distracted my focus, persistent despite my efforts to push it aside.
The echo of my footsteps reverberated through the frozen corridors, magnified by the emptiness that seemed even more vast now that someone else occupied these walls. I paused at the doorway to my studio, where blueprints for my upcoming creations and tools of my craft awaited me.
After a moment of indecision, I bypassed the studio and headed towards the library. The room crafted entirely from ice had been inspired by mortal structures, with towering shelves fashioned from frost and etched with intricate designs, complete with icicles draping artistically from the domed ceiling.
My chest swelled with pride at my handiwork, but purpose gently nudged me forward, guiding me to a shelf tucked near the back that held not rows of books, but something far more unique and intriguing.
Magic tingled at my fingertips as I traced the frosty spines until I found what I was searching for. I carefully withdrew the thin sheet of ice. At first glance it appeared entirely blank, an illusion to the untrained eye that couldn’t decipher the faint etchings carved into the ice, records frozen in time.
Over the millennia of my existence, I’d discovered innovative ways to wield my winter powers beyond the mere creation of the season itself. I pressed my magic against the sheet, embedding it into the surface. My power stirred, rising gracefully to search the surrounding air, lingering on the invisible water particles that filled the atmosphere.
Water was the foundational element of my craft. Across my immortal existence I’d forged an intimate relationship with it. Through exploring all its possibilities, over the centuries I’d discovered that water retained memories of substances previously dissolved in it—an invisible preserver of history. Through painstaking practice, I’d learned to read these memories, though deciphering the complex swirl of images and sensations within a single drop added another layer of complexity to the already difficult task.
Closing my eyes, I let my thoughts fade, allowing the visions captured by my powers to fill my mind unhindered. Countless paths awaited my exploration; it took time to sift through the flashes of color and sensation to find the thread connected to the mysterious woman so that I could finally attempt to unravel the riddle of why my powers had failed to claim her.
Piece by piece, I used my magic to assemble fragments of her life like shards of broken glass in hopes of creating a mosaic that would reveal the understanding I sought. As the images coalesced, my brow furrowed at the unexpected vibrancy they conveyed—instead of the dark hues and bleak details typically associated with poverty, her memories were filled with vivid color and light, painting an impression of abundance rather than deprivation.
The elegant, haughty woman in these recollections bore a stark contrast to the starved beggar I’d rescued. I traced the magical thread through the events of her life until I stumbled upon a vision of Blanche after she’d been cast onto the streets. Yet the connection between her past and present eluded me, as if her desperation to suppress the event that had led to her downfall was strong enough to erase it even from this enchanted record.
I slowed my perusal in order to delve deeper into her memories, but before I had the chance to uncover more, her recollections abruptly ended at the moment before I’d found her in that dark alley and attempted to claim her dying soul. The pattern preserved in the stream my water magic had traced matched the instances of other mortals' deaths, confirming that her life had indeed ended that night—yet she still somehow clung to existence, leaving me no hints as to the reason for the phenomenon.
An inexplicable sensation tightened in my chest, interrupting my concentration. My magic faltered, severing the connection; no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t recapture the elusive thread. The visions faded, slipping away like mist. Unconsciously I reached out, trying to grasp the evasive wisps, but they remained just out of reach.
A nagging, unfamiliar feeling tugged at my thoughts; it took me a moment to recognize it as worry —an emotion I’d never needed to explore in my timeless existence. My magic had always come as naturally as breathing, only for it to fail to obey me twice in a single night. The only variable that could serve as a possible explanation was her , a realization that only deepened the unsettling mystery surrounding this mortal.
The visions of Blanche had been transcribed onto the thin sheet of ice I still held, etched in a way that would allow me to relive them with a brush of magic. I took this sheet and a few books from the shelves, but instead of studying them in my usual nook by the window overlooking the snowy landscape, I brought them to the room where I’d left her.
I found her still sleeping, her gentle breathing filling the quiet in harmony with the crackling embers of the hearth. To my surprise, her presence brought a sense of comfort to the room, dispelling the oppressive silence that usually draped my castle.
Checking the hearth, I noticed that some of my preservative magic had faded, leaving a reside of water droplets as the ice began to melt…another concerning sign that my powers were not behaving as they should.
This troubling development took precedence over whatever secrets lay hidden in her past. I set aside the ice containing her history and instead reached for the books on magic, hoping to find the answers that eluded me. Despite my efforts to focus, my gaze repeatedly drifted back to her, as if pulled by an invisible force. Soon the information I attempted to peruse was abandoned in favor of watching her sleep—a trivial distraction that prevented me from making any progress.
For the first time in my long existence, I questioned my course. The fading strength of my powers, the dire consequences that loomed if I failed—all seemed to pale in comparison to the enigma of this woman and the warmth she brought into my frozen world.
Who was she and what was this strange power of hers that was slowly consuming me?