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AMbrOSE

Bessa’s face drained of color, and Ambrose thought she looked for a moment as if she was going to be physically ill. “Philip?” she whispered. “My twin?”

They must have been calculating a million scenarios.

“Philip,” Mika confirmed.

“The Philip who is supposed to be the king, the one prophesied to bring back magic? The one that disappeared in the middle of a battle and is now reappearing at the very worst moment to demand his throne back and throw us for eternity in the dungeon if we’re lucky and behead us if we’re unlucky? That Philip?”

Wyot looked as venomous as a spider. “Would you like me to stomp on the frog? We can take care of this problem right now. In fact, forget I even said a thing. Go momentarily deaf and dumb. Mika, can I have a separate word? Bring the frog.”

“You can’t kill the frog!” Bessa exclaimed, her hair falling around her face from where it had been pinned back.

Despite the seriousness of the moment, Ambrose couldn’t help but admire the way it made her look like she was in the center of a red corona. Except Mika’s next words were even more unbelievable. She pulled the small, sickly looking frog from under her gown and held it up between the four of them.

Wyot’s fingers twitched, but Mika held him protected in the palm of her hand. “Go on,” she whispered to it. “Tell them what you told me.”

When it spoke, they all leaned in to listen. “Free me from the magician’s curse and I’ll bring back magic. The old gods have been locked away in slumber, frozen under ice. I can set them free and bring back spring. Bring back magic. It was prophesied!”

“No thanks,” Wyott scoffed. “Your father let all of us go hungry so he could have hot baths. Remember? Then he died in battle and you disappeared. Bessa stepped up, and she’s done far better than you could have ever dreamed.” He turned to Bessa. “Seriously, I’ll step on him. He’ll only croak once before he croaks for good.”

“Can you craft me another candle to reveal the truth?” Bessa asked. “Sort of like the memory-wick but present day?”

“I could,” Ambrose admitted, running a hand through his hair. “It would take at least two days to set properly. My magic is slow and methodical.”

“A wonderful quality that I’m sure Bessa will admire if it translates to other areas of your life,” Mika quipped and his queen flamed red, “But we simply don’t have that sort of time. Bessa has to choose a suitor tomorrow night. They’re already getting antsy, especially with Rontu and Jarth gone. Gillian is already undressing you in his mind on the bridal night!”

Ambrose felt an urgency flood him. “Bessa, I burned that prophecy for a reason. You don’t need a magical candle to reveal the truth or let it make your decisions for you.”

“You burned my prophecy?” the frog squeaked, trying to hop out of Mika’s grip to attack Ambrose. They watched the tiny creature in some amusement until Wyot threatened to croak him again, and Mika tucked him in her gown pocket.

“What do I do?” she asked, looking at each of them in turn. “I can’t delay my coronation. I must be crowned if I’m going to keep my throne.”

“Delay!” came a peep.

“Best if you hush for now,” Mika told the frog, patting her pocket.

Bessa looked at him in a way that would have sent a weaker man to his knees. They wobbled as it was. “Please, do your best. I’ll worry about the suitors.”

“You don’t have to choose one. No matter what Rune or any other councilor announced. It’s your throne and your choice.”

“Not true!” came a peep.

Everyone ignored the frog, though.

“I do have to choose one. I have a duty to my people,” she said, a teardrop gathering at the end of those long lashes Ambrose so loved. “Can you help me, Ambrose? Can you craft me a candle and help me keep my throne?”

Everyone around them, her brother, her sister, the damn frog, it all faded until nothing in the world existed but Bessa and her plea. It wasn’t even a question, and he hated that she felt as if she had to beg, let alone ask.

“I would craft anything for you, Bessa.” And he knew it was true.

Her relief sank into his chest and the tear fell onto the ground. It sizzled the snow around their feet and where it dropped, a single green plant unfurled from the ground and stretched toward the sun.

Ambrose knelt to her feet, clearing more snow from around the plant. By the time he’d brushed a circle around it, six bell-shaped white flowers were visible and everyone knew what it was. It was a snowdrop.

“It’s true,” Mika said, her voice full of awe. “You are blessed by Frostine.”