The head table where the elementals had been watching and talking amongst themselves was now empty, the Ice King’s chair looking wet as the frost melted without his presence.

“They don’t stay out at night,” Barclay said.

“Part of the curse?”

“Yes….”

“What?” Reardon pressed when he sensed that Barclay was keeping something from him.

“I’m sorry. I can’t say,” Barclay whispered. “I’m welcome here in ways only you ever welcomed me back in Emerald, and for that, no one will ever replace you in my heart as friend and brother, but….”

Reardon shook his indignancy away as he saw his friend’s pinched frown. “I understand. I’m meant to earn learning the rest, and I will. I will change things like I promised, even if you never want to come home with me.”

Barclay took Reardon’s hands beneath the table, like a silent apology for wanting to stay. “Eventually we’ll be able to talk about everything, and then I can explain why I’m so happy this is my home now. ”

Reardon supposed he’d never envisioned what a place where he could be himself would feel like. He wasn’t sure he knew how to be himself. Barclay knew his secret, but Reardon had never been able to tell anyone else or openly express romantic affections for another man. He saw men and women express it to each other all the time, but….

But here there was so much more to be amazed by.

A pitcher held aloft at the end of the table caught his attention, and when he looked, he saw that no one was holding it. It floated , moving down the table to the waiting hand of an elf.

The elf was broad-shouldered and handsome, with black hair and an unruly curl hanging across his forehead. He poured water for himself, and then some for the human woman next to him, who sat close, clinging to his arm.

They were clearly a couple, something that would have condemned the woman too, just for that—lying knowingly with someone of mystic blood. Perhaps that was what had happened, him sent here, discovered as an elf, and her following, called corrupt, right behind him.

Fewer eyes were on Reardon now, and it afforded him the sight of casual magic being performed all around, as well as other mixed couples showing affection. More items floated rather than having to be handed down. There were simple transformations, like bread becoming cakes and the white meat of the game birds becoming dark for those who preferred it. Even mending could be done at the wave of a hand, fixing a stain from an overzealous wine drinker or a button that had fallen off someone’s tunic.

Reardon stared at it all in awe, but maybe more so at the couples, so comfortable and unafraid together, whether elves and humans or half-elves and—

His heart jumped, all other focus draining away, as he looked back to the muscled woman beside Nigel, who had a beautiful dark-haired half-elf beside her. She was cupping her cheek, whispering sweet words that had them both smiling. Then she kissed her, simple but bold, right there at the table for everyone to see.

No one else seemed to care or even looked their way. And they weren’t the only ones. At other tables there were other such couples, just as brazenly holding each other or enjoying brushes of their lips—women together, men together. Suddenly, Reardon noticed all of them and couldn’t look away .

“You’re safe here,” Barclay whispered, noticing his diverted attention with a soft smile.

Reardon smiled too, because these daring couples gave him hope, even if he wasn’t ready to sing his own secret to the rafters like he had the thief’s tale.

He shook his head when Nigel tried to fill his empty water goblet with wine, but Nigel insisted. “It’s your party, even if much of the room is being poopers about it. Have one glass or you will deeply offend me.”

Reardon had two, enough wine that, combined with his exhaustion, his eyes soon started to droop, and his head nearly slumped into a pudding.

Barclay coaxed him out of his seat to lead him from the hall, assuring him that he could go to bed whenever he wanted now that the king was gone, even if there were a few jeers thrown their way as they left. Barclay’s friends had all departed too, though he wouldn’t have pegged them for early retirees.

“Where’s your room?” Reardon asked, waking up more as they walked, alone now in the corridor to Reardon’s chambers.

“Right next door,” Barclay said. “People change rooms sometimes, but generally, each new sacrifice is next to the previous year’s. Easier to expand that way.

“Nigel and Shayla aren’t so bad, right? And Caitlin will warm to you. She just doesn’t talk much until she gets to know someone.”

“And here I was taking it personally,” Reardon joked. “They’re lovely, really, but an odd match for friends, especially since you’ve all been here a different amount of time.”

Barclay wrinkled his nose.

“It just surprised me!” Reardon amended.

“They all have other friends too, and so do I. Everyone is friendly here. They will be to you too, I swear. But the four of us have… a lot in common.”

“Caitlin also works with the wizard?”

“And Shayla. She collects most of the supplies we use. I’m sure you’ll see for yourself. They’ll all think of ways to put you to work.”

“Is that what they did to you?”

“To start. To gauge what sort of person I was but also my interests. It’ll be fine,” he reassured him, taking both hands again. “How can it not be when you were nothing but honest in there? ”

The knot in Reardon’s stomach twisted to remind him that he wasn’t as certain as he pretended. “Do you think we offended the king with that story?”

“He isn’t easily offended or I wouldn’t have started it.”

“His gaze was just so….”

“Intense. I know.”

They both shivered, and after another tight squeeze of Reardon’s hands, Barclay let him go.

“Sometimes, in my dreams,” Barclay said, “I see a world where magic is used openly everywhere, where people love openly whoever they want. I like to think that’s the future, and not too far off.”

“Maybe it is,” Reardon agreed. “Good night, my friend.”

“Good night, Reardon. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Reardon didn’t bother lighting any candles or lanterns when he entered his room, finding his way easily enough in the dark. The idea of sleeping in a real bed reminded him of his exhaustion, and he barely took the time to strip before he climbed under the covers.

The quilt smelled like lavender. They really had done everything they could to make the sacrifice feel welcome, even if they were cautious of anyone new.

As Reardon closed his eyes and started to drift off, he wondered where the elementals had gone when the sun set and what they did during the night. One of the many mysteries he had to solve, he supposed, and come morning, he’d be ready to get to work.

Jack

Jack stood in the same passageway he’d watched the prince from earlier, seeing the bed clearly through the hole he’d made by removing a carefully chosen stone. His goal wasn’t to peep, and it was far too dark to see much of him undressing anyway, but the faintest flash of bare skin made his chest feel warm—and nothing felt warm to him anymore.

The young prince was just so beautiful. And he had a voice to match—one that had enchanted Jack, so much so that he hadn’t dared speak after the tale Reardon sang for fear of his own voice breaking, even if the words had painted him as the villain.

Jack was a villain, worse than any bard’s tale could say. His people were too forgiving, but then, none of them had been there in the beginning, only those who carried the curse with him .

He’d been keeping his eyes on the banquet hall and knew the moment when Reardon and Barclay left, but now the prince merely slid into bed, planning nothing untoward but slumber.

Jack had to admit that Reardon seemed earnest with no ulterior motives, but there was no ending to this experiment where over two-hundred years of dissenting beliefs was resolved by a single hopeful boy made king.

Turning from the even breaths of the prince, who had already fallen asleep, Jack replaced the stone and moved quietly back down the passageway to his chamber. He knew where his court members were, but for him, there was nowhere else to go but back to his icy halls.

He shivered as he crossed into the main room, a sensation that made him smirk, and then continued behind the throne to the other door, the one on the left , where no one else was ever allowed to go.

The next morning, Jack was shocked—and possibly a little irritated—to leave his private room, just after the crack of dawn and planning to sprawl himself across his throne dramatically before calling for the young prince, only to discover Reardon already waiting for him.

“I expected a chronically late and ambivalent young royal, and yet… here you are,” Jack sneered, crunching one clawed hand onto the armrest of his throne.

Today Reardon was dressed in complementing green and blue, accentuating the hue of his eyes, with the contrast and bright light of the sun making his auburn hair far redder than before.

The boy was a royal, gorgeous, and seemingly smart and talented—surely he had to have glaring faults hidden away, or was otherwise secretly daft or entirely full of himself. Yet, despite the haughty smirk he wore as he bowed low in Jack’s presence, his eagerness seemed genuine.

“Majesty,” Reardon greeted as he finished his bow. “Widow Caitlin left several draughts in front of my door to keep back your chill, so after scavenging for some quick breakfast, I came straight here for our inaugural audience. Princess Josie assured me you would be ready.”

“I’m sure she did,” Jack grumbled. Gripping the side of his throne more tightly, he made a show of easy strength by swinging himself up onto it with a loud crash and burst of icy wind that made Reardon shudder.

The prince remained undaunted, however, and steadied himself with a shake of his hair. “I understand certain things have been kept from me. Barclay is loyal to you, aside from sharing what he deemed safe, but I intend to learn the rest, as I told you.”

“You will know me, and I you,” Jack recounted. “So far, I have learned that you are equal parts bold and meek, completely ignorant of my kingdom, an admittedly impressive bard… and quick to blush.”

Reardon’s cheeks went instantly scarlet.

Ignorant again ? Jack wondered. Or merely bashful?

“One would think you’d be used to having attention on you, little prince.”

“N-not volatile attention.”

“You sure? Not everyone is tolerant of princes, not even your own people.”

A scowl crossed Reardon’s face, like he knew of some not so well-meaning subjects, but he kept that story to himself. “I apologize if my naivete is a concern to you, but that is why I wish to learn. The banquet… I know it was not really meant for me, but it was still wonderful.”

“Yes, parlor tricks, wine, and amorous strangers.” Jack trailed the tips of his claws down the front of his throne, watching Reardon’s body language and the way he bit his lip. “I bet you thought you were right at home, like in the cellar of some sleazy tavern.”

“I have never frequented brothels, if that’s what you’re implying!” Even Reardon’s ears went red at that. “Your wizard said the same, but I am not like that.”

“It’s easy to pretend you like magic and mixed company when it’s a novelty instead of a way of life.”

“Knowing each other means putting aside assumptions, and you are making a lot about me.”

If that scarlet color was as real as it seemed, Jack wondered how naive Reardon truly was. “So, convince me you’re interesting enough not to simply banish you from my sight.”

Something seemed to spring to Reardon’s mind immediately, but he dismissed whatever it was and emboldened himself with something else. “I told you my mother died. I was ten years old.”

“And how old are you now?”

“Twenty-one.”

Maybe a rebel then. If his father was Prince Consort and only King as placeholder, then Reardon was meant to marry within a year and take the throne .

“Her death raised many suspicions,” Reardon continued. “No one could explain it, and so magic was blamed. But I never believed that. There was no evidence; people simply chose something they didn’t understand to be the scapegoat because they saw no other answer.”

“Your point?”

“I never jump to conclusions. Not about anyone or anything. I’m a scientist. I would have apprenticed as an alchemist right along with Barclay if I’d had the option. But I also believe that magic can’t be any eviler by default than alchemy. Nothing is evil by default, only by choice.”

A philosopher too, but that wouldn’t change anything.

Lurching up from his lounged position, Jack took great enjoyment in the way Reardon scrambled back as he began to lumber toward him. “You might be everything you claim to be, little prince. But your task here is also to convince me that releasing you won’t bring doom upon my kingdom.”

“When I am king—”

“You will still be at the mercy of your people.”

“I can sway them—”

“With what? What will your arguments be?”

Reardon floundered, starting and stopping again many times, before giving up with a defeated sigh. “I don’t know, but that was why I asked to see you each day. I can only discover the answers by learning. I appreciate all the time you are willing to give me.”

Jack could move upright like a man, but it was easiest on all fours with how large and changed his form had become. Regardless, he remained tall, looming over Reardon. “You get until I notice your potion has begun to wear off. No longer.

“Why don’t we start with a walk?”

“W-walk?”

“So you can see my garden for yourself.”

Turning around, Jack headed for the door to the right of his throne. When he reached it, he looked back to see that Reardon had not yet moved.

“Well?”

Clambering forward, Reardon showed commendable speed to catch up, long limbs flailing, yet he was still somehow graceful. He shivered as they moved into the passageway, but there were no signs of ice crystals forming on his skin or clothes.

Jack had to hunch to traverse the corridors upright, knowing each path by heart as he led Reardon through halls and down several staircases, all paved in ice, toward the ground floor and a door to outside.

It was early morning and late in the year. The sacrifice arrived the first day of winter, and so today was the second, meaning that outside was just as cold as in Jack’s chamber as they stepped out into the sun.

Reardon was as impervious to this cold as to Jack’s with the potion in his veins, and he smiled as he tilted his head toward the light. “It was freezing following the caravan all those nights. How wonderful to be outdoors in winter in nothing but a doublet and be this warm.”

Naive, ignorant—but filled with wonder that made his lovely face light up like the dawn.

Jack turned away before Reardon could notice him staring. “I don’t feel the sun at all anymore.”

As Jack moved down the familiar path, Reardon detoured off the walkway into the dead grass, allowing him to get closer to Jack’s side without slipping. “That sounds awful. You never feel warmth? Ever?”

“Tell me, little prince,” Jack asked without stopping his progression down the path, “how could I, while I am made of ice?”

Reardon gave no answer but followed quietly, beginning to look around and take in the grounds.

They had exited from the side of the castle. In spring, only Jack’s path would be dead and frozen, the rest surprisingly lush with greenery that various people of the kingdom kept tidy. Over the years, more and more planting had begun. Now, even in winter, there were a few smatterings of color.

Reardon gazed fondly at the bright yellow winter jasmine that dangled like ivy along the wall. Jack was leading them along a purposeful path to look out beyond the castle, opposite the Emerald Kingdom, a view Reardon had likely never seen. There was a second gate there, not easily reached.

Jack’s castle stood atop a hill like the song said, and out that gate was the path toward what once was the rest of his kingdom. He paused as they reached it and let Reardon wander to the chilled bars that separated them from what lay outside .

“I always wondered…,” Reardon said, taking it all in—the sprawling city below that was desolate now, with collapsed houses and not even the scurry of animals, like a wasteland. “Only your castle was ever spoken of, but as grand as it is, it’s still only a court. What became of your people? Your original people?”

Jack stayed on the path, for if he drew closer to Reardon, he’d inevitably lean out toward his empty legacy, and he did not wish to endanger the young prince.

Yet.

“Some left before I was cursed. The rest after. Beyond the city, farther down the hill, you can see the start of the Mystic Valley. Some went there. Some to Emerald. Some beyond to lands unknown. No one stayed behind but my inner circle. We had many years alone before the story of the first sacrifice you heard last night.”

“He wasn’t really a sacrifice.”

“No, but he was the beginning.”

“And what of before then?” Reardon insisted

Jack held his head high, the shape of it formed together with his crown feeling forever heavy, but he did not answer.

“You’re not going to tell me what the curse is, are you? Not without effort.”

“You can see what it is , little prince.” Jack gestured at himself with one of his massive hands and at the trail of ice behind them. “But come now, we barely know each other to be spilling such intimate secrets.” With a grin, he moved on, expecting Reardon to follow, which he did, and brought them around the side of the castle toward the front courtyard.

“You said some of your people escaped to the Mystic Valley,” Reardon said, falling in beside Jack again, “but the elves have been gone from there for centuries. It’s as abandoned as your city and farms.”

“Is it?” Jack tilted his head, and when Reardon’s brow furrowed, he laughed coldly but didn’t elaborate.

Pushing forward, they reached the true garden of the center courtyard that had been well-kept by the people of the castle, though the fountain held no water this time of year. Reardon looked at it with as much awe as he had the flowers, but Jack steered away from it to bring them closer to the gate, where the other garden existed as upright sentinels to ward off any who entered uninvited .

Reardon’s posture changed immediately, seeing the multitude of frozen figures like the thief Jack had shattered in front of him.

“More unlucky cutthroats who didn’t realize where they were. And some who did, sent here like the others, but they chose to not belong.”

“Barclay said the same, that some of the criminals sent here deserved it.” While Reardon held himself more stiffly among so much glaring death, he walked unafraid through the statues, almost touching one before he pulled back.

“Does that assuage your guilt?” Jack asked.

“No.”

Jack waited for Reardon to return to his side before continuing. He had to make him understand. “You’ve heard the story of our first offering, now hear the truth of our first death.”

Watching the way Reardon’s face paled further, Jack moved on down the path to the other side of the castle. His garden was not merely the guards past his gate but also figures lining the walkway along the right side, since it better faced the Emerald Kingdom.

“She was a sacrifice, you see, after nearly a decade of people wronged, only hoping to find sanctuary. She tried to swindle me. Me . Swore allegiance, acted the part, and then, once she had gained our trust, she attempted to make off with trinkets she thought would fetch a nice price in other lands and fled.

“On her way out of the castle, she stabbed a young elf gifted with beautiful magic who tried to stop her. He didn’t survive. The thief didn’t get far, however.

“How did you put it? But down the Ice King came to feed ,” he sang softly, haunting and low. “I swooped upon her like a storm. I knew what my touch would do, though I hadn’t seen the effects on a human yet. In that moment, I wanted to freeze every highwayman that had ever lived, every liar, everyone who thought they could claim their place and then simply be gone when it no longer suited them.

“If she wanted out, then she was out. I caught her before she reached the gates and laid my hands on her without mercy. She froze on the spot… right here where I left her.”

Jack saw Reardon stumble, the young man not expecting to be brought before the subject of the story, yet there she was, untouched by time. Jack rarely shattered statues, preferring to keep them as reminders .

Her expression was preserved in mute shock, the trinkets she carried frozen with her in a bag at her side.

“Was I wrong?” Jack asked as he stopped in front of her.

“I… don’t know,” Reardon said. “I can’t say I ever agree with someone being killed. But you certainly seem to be the hero of your story.”

“I’m no hero,” Jack snapped, lunging toward Reardon more closely than intended and causing him to stagger back. “That is not the lesson here. I earned my curse, but the people your kingdom sends to me did not. Even ones like her….” He glanced at her frozen body, remembering the sweet smile she’d afforded everyone in the castle, like she was a doppelganger of her own self once the truth was revealed. “I can’t say if she deserved her fate, but as I said—”

“You won’t hesitate to kill an enemy,” Reardon finished. “But like I told you, Majesty, I am not one. I believe all of this. You don’t need to frighten me. We can end this. Together. The sacrifices. Maybe even the curse. Just tell me. Tell me what caused it.”

What caused it… was that Jack had proven to be the real monster of his kingdom, far worse than the jagged edges his body now displayed. He hadn’t killed or robbed or bedded anyone unwilling. He’d done worse.

Apathy was so much worse….

“Please.” Reardon inched closer. “Do you think I can’t sympathize?”

Jack fell to crunch down into the frost at his feet on all fours and leaned close to Reardon’s face. “I think you will realize that this curse cannot be broken and all you hope to accomplish will fail. When you can no longer deny that is true, you will see no other answer but my death. And I will not allow that to happen.”

“Majesty….” Reardon shuddered.

A small part of Jack would have preferred to end this now, before he had to again be disappointed, but the sweet face before him… he didn’t want to see it frozen. “We’re done for today,” Jack said and turned to move back toward the castle.

Reardon

Reardon had the entire day ahead of him—but for at least a quarter hour he didn’t move from the garden.

He walked back through the statues of ice, staring at each expression, at each look of terror or surprise, and understood why the Ice King didn’t believe him or his ambitions, but he couldn’t give up after only one day.

He hadn’t seen Barclay yet that morning. Maybe he could find him—

“Thinking of fleeing already, dear prince?”

The familiar voice spun Reardon around.

Shayla .

Even in the bright light of morning, she wore dark colors, making her stand out starkly against the frost on the ground, with her equally dark skin and black hair. Adornments hung from her ears, and her lips were painted burgundy. She looked like the type of thief the Ice King had talked about, especially with a large knapsack thrown over her shoulder, yet she had proven herself welcoming and clearly had her place here.

“ Dear prince, sweet prince, little prince. Can someone just call me Reardon?”

Shayla laughed, reaching him and giving his shoulder a firm smack like last night. “Reardon it is. Still have some time left on your cold potion, Reardon ?”

“I think so.” Reardon didn’t feel much chill, and Caitlin had said the potion should last for hours.

“Then come on.” Shayla motioned him toward the gate, which Reardon had assumed didn’t open much outside the acceptance of annual offerings, but apparently he was wrong. “You said you wanted to earn your place. It’s my day to go foraging, and around here, no one leaves the castle alone. You’re coming with me.”