Page 5 of The Enchanted Frost (The Christmas Chronicles)

CHAPTER 5

Blanche

W armth enveloped me as I slept, a sensation so elusive that it felt like a distant memory—a longing far removed from the bitter cold that usually plagued my nights and kept true rest out of reach. But now warmth surrounded me, cradling me in a cocoon of comfort and peace.

When I finally emerged, I experienced a moment of confusion as my eyes fluttered open to soft blue darkness reflecting off shimmery white walls. Outside the windows carved from transparent ice—shinier than any polished glass—I could see the winter landscape stretching out in all directions. Snow-covered trees, frozen lakes, and gently falling snowflakes created a serene and picturesque backdrop.

Yet it wasn’t the wonder of the surreal frosty surroundings that startled me, but the sight of the man sitting beside me. The crackling fire cast amber hues across his face, furrowed in concentration as he studied a shimmery, see-through book that appeared to be crafted from ice .

I blinked in disbelief, expecting the dream-like scene to dissolve and reveal the cold, unforgiving alley where I last remembered being when I lost consciousness.

But instead, I felt the comforting weight of a cloak draped over me, its rich, alluring scent drawing my attention. I wriggled my fingers no longer inhibited by the numbing cold, and stroked the soft velvet—a sensation I once took for granted but now I found mesmerizing, too vivid to be anything but real.

Beyond the warmth of the hearth and the cloak was his presence. Despite being a stranger, his company soothed the aching loneliness that seemed to have always been my constant companion, filling the emptiness with a comfort I hadn’t known I could still feel.

My attention remained fixed on Frost, a quiet admiration that eventually drew his curious glance. “You’re finally awake. I didn’t realize mortals slept for so long.”

He scooted his chair closer, allowing me a clearer view of the thin layer of snow clinging to his long white eyelashes. The urge to reach out and brush it away tugged at me, though I hesitated, still half-expecting him to vanish at my touch, proving this fantastical experience to be nothing more than a dream prior to my death.

“Where am I?” I murmured faintly as I glanced around the beautiful room so different than any of my former experience.

His brows knit together. “I’ve already told you—you’re in my winter kingdom. Mortals are certainly forgetful.”

Fragments of our earlier conversation penetrated the lingering drowsiness clouding my mind, just enough for me to piece together portions of my recollection—this man, who claimed to be the King of Winter, had rescued me from certain death and brought me to this place of snow and ice. The circumstances were so surreal that part of me remained convinced I was dead and experiencing the afterlife.

A flicker of defiance stirred within me, swelling my chest with a familiar emotion that had long been buried by the exhaustion and shame brought on by sudden poverty. “It’s not that I’m forgetful—I just find this entire situation unbelievable.”

His eyebrows lifted at my sharp tone, but rather than irritation, amusement danced in his eyes. “I understand the sentiment. There are several unexplainable aspects to your situation that even you aren’t aware of, but those can be discussed at another time. Though you seem much improved over your near-death state when I brought you here, you’re clearly not yet recovered.”

He eyed my drooping eyes, evidence that one night of sleep was insufficient to fully recover from my ordeal. Panic surged when he stood, ready to leave me to rest again. I seized the hem of his shirt. “Wait.”

He paused at my raspy plea, his gaze flickering down to where I held him. Though he appeared startled and perhaps a bit unsettled by the contact, he didn’t pull away, but simply waited for me to speak.

Desperately, I searched for an excuse to keep him close, but none came to mind other than the embarrassing truth. “I don’t want to be alone.” Heat crept into my cheeks at the admission, but I didn’t retract my childish request. Only now did I realize how vast the void of loneliness had become carved into my heart until someone finally filled it, even if just momentarily.

Confusion creased his brow. “Are all humans such sentimental creatures?” Despite his puzzlement, he settled back into his seat, a trace of an indulgent smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I have some duties to attend to, but I’ll remain until you fall back asleep. Once you awaken, there is much I need to discuss with you.”

I nodded weakly, hating how needy I felt, yet grateful for the kindness he bestowed. I’d never fully appreciated the value of small, considerate gestures until my fall from grace, when they became the only shafts of light in my dark circumstances.

With my basic needs finally met, a stubbornness I hadn’t felt for so long began to reemerge. I was half-tempted to stay awake just to keep him near, unwilling to relinquish the companionship that until this moment I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed. But in the end, my heavy exhaustion emerged as victor and I found myself gently pulled back beneath the folds of sleep, surrounded not by the icy winds and drifting snow of the alley but by the soft warmth of Frost’s cloak.

My first rest had been dreamless, but this time, the unfamiliar comfort and security allowed my mind to wander. Memories flitted in and out of my consciousness before settling on a seemingly insignificant moment—a morning when I’d woken up late in my grand canopy bed, the scent of bacon and eggs mingling with the sound of a crackling fire. Such a simple reminiscence—a rare moment of pure contentment, free from the burdens that would later consume my life—yet one I cherished more than all the lost glamour.

As I drifted through that recollection, portions of it seemed to drift into my present reality, for my present comfort was startlingly similar. The absence of the icy prickles that usually tormented my exposed skin startled me, jolting me awake with a gasp.

The fading light from when I’d drifted off had been brushed away by the bright morning sunlight filling the room, illuminating the intricate details that the night and my drowsiness had blurred. I struggled to sit up to better look around. Frost was nowhere to be seen, but on the empty chair beside me, he’d left a woolen dress that looked far warmer than my meager rags. The fabric caressed my cheek as I gingerly cradled the outfit close. The faded brown design was far too simple and worn to be considered fashionable, but I had long since stopped caring about such trivial things.

After ensuring I was truly alone, I cautiously slipped out from beneath Frost’s cloak. The air was warmer within the reach of the hearth, but the lingering frostiness in the air nearly caused me to take refuge back beneath the blanket I’d just escaped.

I dressed as quickly as my still stiffened limbs allowed before wrapping Frost’s cloak back around my shoulders and tiptoeing to the door, tugging on the smooth, frosty handle to peer into the corridor. Though the hallway was absent of my mysterious host, instead I was greeted by his exquisite craftsmanship—a vision of winter wonder that left me breathless.

I took a reverent step before pausing to turn in a slow circle and take in the surrounding splendor. The interior was a labyrinth of ice corridors and chambers, each more awe-inspiring than the last. The translucent walls glowed with a soft, bluish hue, casting an ethereal light throughout the space. The polished floors beneath my feet mirrored the ambient light, creating the illusion of walking on a frozen lake.

Exploring the ice castle felt like stepping into a frozen dream, where every corner and corridor held a new marvel sculpted by winter's hand. The narrow, winding passageways heightened the sense of mystery and anticipation, their walls adorned with frost patterns that seemed to shift and change as I explored. Occasionally, I caught glimpses of the snowy landscape beyond through the clear ice windows, their panes offering a fleeting connection to the outside world.

Each room served as a testament to the artistry of its creation. As I ventured deeper into the castle, I encountered a series of chambers, each more captivating than the last. Some rooms were adorned with ice sculptures depicting scenes of winter folklore and mythical beings, so intricately carved they seemed ready to spring to life at any moment.

Grand halls with vaulted ceilings were supported by columns resembling the trunks of ancient trees, their branches intertwining to form delicate arches. Frosty lacework adorned their surfaces, while massive ice chandeliers hung overhead, their frozen crystals refracting light into a spectrum of colors that danced across the glistening walls.

At the heart of the castle lay a majestic throne room, dominated by a magnificent ice throne atop a raised platform. I stepped closer to see that the throne was carved with exquisite detail, featuring symbols and motifs that told stories of winter's majesty and the power of the cold. As I approached, the air grew even colder, a reminder of the elemental force that had crafted this enchanting palace.

Exploring the ice castle was an experience that captivated all my senses—the soft echo of my footsteps in the vast halls, the sight of light playing across the icy surfaces, and the crisp, clean scent of frozen air all combined to create a profound sense of awe and wonder. It was a place where the beauty and magic of winter were on full display, inviting me to lose myself in their crystalline splendor.

As I wandered through each room, I was struck by how they mirrored those of my old manor except these had been caressed by winter’s brushstroke. The beauty was otherworldly—if heaven were a cold place, I might have believed I’d found myself there…even as my past whispered that I was unworthy of such a heavenly paradise .

My explorations eventually led me to a room where the light glistening through the partially ajar door beckoned me to peer inside. The space beyond was an extension of this winter wonderland, a studio unlike any I’d ever seen. The walls were lined with detailed sketches of snowflakes in infinite varieties, each more intricate than the last. Snowflakes fell gracefully from the ceiling in delicate, orchestrated waltzes, their movements synchronized as if guided by an unseen conductor. An ice-crafted gramophone played a hauntingly beautiful tune, the melody reminiscent of the whispering winds of winter.

I stood entranced for several moments before a movement caught my eye. Frost himself sat hunched over a workbench, a basket of freshly created snowflakes at his feet. I drew closer, captivated by the design he was meticulously shaping. Curious, I watched as he used the curved blade of a tiny silver knife to craft an intricate pattern in a snowflake the size of his hand, pausing on occasion to consult a drawing. A nearby candle flickered, not from an ordinary flame but from an enchanted blue light that cast a heatless borealis of color across the room, illuminating his handsome features. A flutter of attraction stirred in my chest, startling me but also infusing me with a warmth entirely new and different from anything I’d ever experienced.

At the sound of my quiet footsteps, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, you’re awake.” He set aside his carving tools in a small basket woven of ice strands and swiveled in his seat to face me more fully. “I was planning on checking on you when I finished here, but I wasn’t sure if you’d had enough rest.”

He himself showed no sign of fatigue, exuding an air of timelessness, as if both he and this castle had existed long before the world was formed, his youthful physique frozen in time .

I glanced around in awe. “Did you truly create such a marvelous place?”

A faint smile touched his lips. “I’ve had eternity to carve out every detail.” Pride tinged his otherwise matter-of-fact tone. “This is my studio, where I create winter. Right now I’m preparing several upcoming blizzards.”

The ever-present doubt in my mind stirred, but it was becoming harder to hold onto it after the wondrous feats of architecture I’d just explored in his ice castle and the evidence of his creation process before me. “Such a claim still feels so surreal,” I admitted, stretching out my palm to catch a snowflake.

He shrugged, seemingly unbothered by my skepticism. “It’s of no concern to me whether or not you believe; your acknowledgment or lack thereof cannot change my role nor the powers I possess.”

Once upon a time I might have believed without question, but after all I had endured, I wasn’t sure if my heart was even capable of the childlike faith I once treasured. Yet despite the magic that had been absent from my life, I still yearned to recapture that belief in its existence.

As if his power allowed him to sense my unspoken wish, Frost caused magic to shimmer against his palm, directing it towards the snowflake he had been carving. I watched in astonishment as a single caress of his power caused the snowflake to shrink. He carefully placed it in a basket with the others, each one destined for one of the future storms scheduled on the small desk calendar beside him. Then he cast me a mischievous smirk, as if daring me to deny what I’d just witnessed.

Pride kept me from admitting my mistaken assumption, so I averted my gaze to take in the spectacular room, nervously fiddling with the fabric of the new skirt he’d procured for me. His eyes followed my movements, and I gratefully seized the opportunity to change the subject.

"Thank you for the clothes." The words emerged uncertainly, my lips unaccustomed to expressing gratitude. Poverty had hardened me, making it difficult to be thankful for anything after everything had been stripped away.

His gaze flickered over the outfit he had provided and he gave a nod of satisfaction. “It appears to fit. You’re fortunate to be a similar size to the woman whose clothes I procured from her clothesline after she froze to death last night.”

My breath caught in my throat and I shrank inside the suddenly less comfortable clothes. “Did you take her soul?”

He nodded, seemingly unconcerned by the horror in my voice at such a shocking revelation. “Naturally. Souls don’t just wander off on their own—all the phenomena in this world are carefully orchestrated by magical beings behind the scenes.”

Though his explanation possessed a strange logic, a shiver tiptoed up my spine. “I used to read about the King of Winter in my book of legends—according to its descriptions, you’re a being who only creates winter, not one who acts as a grim reaper.”

“You’re correct in assuming I possess no such role,” he said. “I take no part in the actual death of any of the people whose souls I take. And as the embodiment of Winter, I can only claim souls that fall under its jurisdiction—those who freeze within the elements I create. Each acquired soul extends my life, rendering me immortal thanks to the countless I’ve collected throughout eternity. I’ve never failed to extract a soul...until yours. At first, I feared there was something wrong with my powers, but I had no trouble acquiring the souls I collected last night; it was a particularly cold night, so there were several.”

His voice remained matter-of-fact, but there was a fleeting shadow of something else in his eyes—regret, perhaps—before his expression smoothed into neutrality. Despite the grim duty he spoke of, that brief flicker of emotion suggested there was more to him than the coldness of his role.

His brow furrowed as he pondered the unresolved puzzle, one he had mentioned before but which took on a new significance now that exhaustion no longer clouded my thoughts.

“You mentioned I’m currently between life and death. What does that mean?” I twisted the cuff of my brown sleeve, dropping my eyes as I waited for his answer.

“I’m admittedly not certain,” he confessed. “I was studying the matter when you first awoke.”

I recalled the moment he referred to, the memory deepening the implications of his words. My eyes flew upward in alarm. “You’re trying to figure out how to kill me.” The realization chilled me more than the icy air ever could.

His long hesitation confirmed my worst fears. Seeing my shock, he quickly clarified, “Technically, I’m not the one killing you; the only death that comes by my hand is through the winter I create. I’m simply duty-bound to find a way to finish the process that should have concluded in the alley where I found you.”

To my mind, dying from the cold he created still placed the blame squarely at his feet. I wanted to argue, but I knew it was a pointless technicality—his goal of obtaining my soul was the same, regardless of the details.

I was ashamed to admit how often, in the depths of my misery, I had wished for death—anything to escape a life measured not by happiness but by a constant, cold struggle. But now, faced with the reality of my mortality, a deep, long-buried desire stirred within me.

I don’t want to die .

At that desperate wish, a spark of shimmering light ignited above my heart. Frost extended his hand, capturing the light on his fingertip like one might catch a falling snowflake. He examined it closely, his vivid blue eyes widening. “This is magic.”

The doubt I had only just managed to suppress resurged and I stepped back, shaking my head. “It can’t be. As a human, it’s impossible for me to possess magic.”

“True,” he conceded. “But while you’re in this state—neither dead nor truly alive—you’re not exactly mortal anymore. Quite the puzzle.” By the excitement lighting his eyes, this riddle intrigued him deeply. The spark of magic illuminated his already striking features, quickening the flutter in my chest.

He continued to study it, as if that tiny glimmer held all the secrets of my heart—secrets I likely didn’t even know existed. “Where did it come from?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Magic exists all around us, even when we don’t recognize it. You must have given voice to words that acted as a form of a spell.” His tone was thoughtful, as if piecing together an enigma.

I considered his theory as I stared at the glistening light birthed from my realization that I wasn’t ready to die. It seemed that even when everything else was lost, a part of me had clung to the hope that there was still something worth living for. This newfound desire made me hesitant to ask him about his progress in completing my death. I’d never struggled to speak my mind before, but whatever forthrightness I’d once possessed seemed to have vanished along with my previous privilege.

Despite the limbo trapping my soul, my stomach growled, a stark reminder that I was still physically bound to this world. Frost blinked, as if momentarily forgetting that a human needed more sustenance than the bowl of winter fruit he’d given me earlier.

He led me through the frozen corridors to a vast icy dining hall, where he awkwardly handed me a plate of fish, shyly admitting he’d caught it from a nearby frozen river. I watched the steam rise in misty curls, almost afraid to look away from the first real meal I’d had in what felt like ages, as though it might disappear if I did. Whatever his ultimate purpose for my soul, he at least possessed enough kindness to see to my basic needs while I lived here.

I took a tentative bite. The flavor was subtle, lacking the rich seasonings I once enjoyed in the dishes prepared by my highly trained chef, yet it was somehow the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted, second only to the winter fruit Frost had given me earlier.

He fidgeted, his eyes filled with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. “Is it…alright? I’ve never prepared mortal food before and had to summon a portal to visit a nearby village to see how it’s done.”

Despite my lingering wariness, my heart swelled to find myself the object of anyone’s consideration after the isolation that had defined my life for so long. While my servants in my former life of luxury had done everything I asked, it had never been out of the simple desire to bring me pleasure. Overcome with emotion, I simply nodded, noting the endearing way his shoulders sagged with relief at my response, as though he truly cared about my opinion.

As I ate, the sensations I once took for granted washed over me—the texture and taste of the food as it danced on my tongue, the smell of the world after a fresh snowfall, even the chill of the air—all reminders that I was still alive. I wanted to embrace whatever life I had left, in whatever form it might take.

This desire, unhindered by the uncertainty clogging my throat, allowed me to at last voice my desperate question. “Have you discovered the reason why my soul appears to be lingering?”

He looked up from his place on the other side of the table, where he’d been watching me eat with curious fascination. He blinked hastily, as if my voice had summoned his thoughts from somewhere far away. “There are many possibilities, the most likely being that something is keeping you here. We’ll have to experiment to discover what it is, but once we determine the cause, I should be able to release you.”

What if I don’t want my soul to be released?

The thought struck me with surprising intensity. Yet despite that intense desire, I hesitated at the thought of returning to the life I’d left behind…nothing awaited me there save the mere illusion of living , and the sensations I was experiencing now gave me a longing for a life of more meaning than just survival. But I was afraid to voice these reservations to a man who for all his show of care was still very much a magical stranger responsible not only for the season I loathed, but for ensuring that in the end I froze to death…leaving me very little reason to trust him.

As I finished the last bite of fish, I glanced up to find Frost watching me with an intensity that made me pause. His vivid blue eyes, so full of mystery and unreadable emotions, met mine across the table. He wasn’t eating—hadn’t even so much as touched any food since we’d sat down. The thought unsettled me, and before I could stop myself, the question slipped out.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

He blinked, as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “I don’t need to eat, not the way mortals do.”

His casual tone did little to ease my discomfort. If he didn’t need to eat, then how did he exist in this frozen realm, untouched by the needs that bound me to life? I wanted to ask him about his habits, the years he’d lived, and the secrets he must have gathered through countless winters.

The questions hung on the tip of my tongue, but apprehension held me back—the fear of getting closer to someone who, despite his current kindness, might not have my best interests at heart when his ultimate goal was still to claim my soul.

I brushed a finger along the edge of the tablecloth—a wonder of delicate frost as intricate as any of his snowflakes—trying to steady myself. The array of sensations I was currently experiencing made it impossible to fathom—the food’s taste, the sensation of warmth, and the weariness that pulled at my eyelids felt all too real. Yet if I was currently trapped in a state so near death, how was I able to experience these things? Was it all a cruel illusion to remind me of what I’d lost along with my life?

Perhaps it was simply because the human experience was all I’d ever known, so tangible that even in this liminal state, my mind and body clung to it. The thought left me unsettled, as if the very nature of my existence was slipping through my fingers.