Page 1 of Heart of the Summer Queen

one

Last night, I tried to kill my husband.

And I failed.

Now I sit alone in these icy chambers, while my sister’s death goes unavenged.

I draw my knees to my chest and pull my furs around me, shivering though I don’t feel the cold. I haven’t since my first night in the Crystal Palace, when the Winter King chose me as his bride. He visited my room in the dead of night and kissed me, breathing winter into me. Only through the burning hatred within did I overcome his magic.

After that, he claimed I was his Summer Queen and insisted on marrying me for a purpose. One I’ll now never know.

But regardless of what he needs from me, surely a wife who tried to assassinate him can’t be suitable? And if I’m no longer useful, it’s only a matter of time before he comes to kill me.

I’ve thought about running. Of course I have. But I can’t. After the king threw me onto my bed, he raised his hand and conjured a wall to seal the passage into his chambers. When he left, I stayed where I was for a long while, chained in place bythe weight of my failure, until sense penetrated the numbness. I leaped to my feet and raced across to the doors on the opposite side of the room—my only other exit.

But they were locked.

I pushed down on the handles as hard as I could, and when that didn’t work, I dug my nails into the gap between the doors, pulling and pulling. I even tried to dismantle the comb on my vanity, intending to use its tines as lock picks, but none came loose. And I have no weapon inside my room. Nothing I can use to defend myself. The dagger I thrust into the king’s chest is in his chambers. Perhaps still on the floor, coated in his blood.

My hands tremble as they recall the weight of the blade, the way it sank into his flesh. The blood which soaked my fingers. The clink as my dagger reached his frozen heart. Unable to fracture it.

Tears flood my cheeks, as they have a thousand times this night. My eyes are raw and gritty, as if sand scrapes them.

If only my dagger worked.

If only I didn’t try to kill him.

I don’t know which I wish were true: whether the Winter King was dead or whether I never needed to kill him. My mind is too weary to process all the chaotic emotions of tonight.

I lift my head and look toward the window across from my bed, where moonlight pours into my room. Setting aside my furs, I tiptoe across to it, and my steps are weightless, as if I’m treading on air.

Shaking, I reach for the latches and push open the window as far as it will go. I lean out and stare at the gardens.

Usually, the palace is barren of color, but not tonight. For our wedding, the king ordered for the palace to be decorated with the colors of summer, and that extended to the gardens. Banners and flowers and ribbons are strewn everywhere, silvered by the moon.

My stomach constricts as the image of our wedding ceremony plays through my mind. Of the vows we spoke.

Of the wedding night we shared.

I grip the window ledge so hard it hurts, trying to banish that memory. It’s the most painful one of all.

I push my shoulders further through the window, straining my neck to get a good look at the wall. But it’s as I feared. The stones are too smooth to climb safely, and while I have previously scaled the wall at the gardens’ perimeter, it’s a fraction of the palace’s height. Should I slip here, no soft blanket of snow lies beneath, and I’ll fall to my death.

Grimacing, I tear away from the window and assess my chambers, searching for something to use as rope. My attention snags on the blankets draped across my bed. I could tie them together and hope their combined length reaches the ground, but what if a knot comes loose?

Trying to escape through the window will lead to my death. Staying here will also lead to my death. It’s hard to decide which end is preferable. Dying by the Winter King’s hands, or by falling?

I suppose I don’t yet know what he intends to do with me. There’s a chance he still needs me and will spare my life for that fact alone. If that’s true, then it’s best not to risk falling to my death. But I don’t know how long it’ll take before he decides to punish me. I could be waiting days. Weeks.

Reluctantly, I return to my bed and pull my furs back around me and stare up at the ceiling. Though I try, I can’t stop those final moments from playing in my mind. The Winter King’s fingers, his lips, all over my skin. My dagger plunging into his chest.

I feel hot and cold all at once. Confused yet furious. Relieved yet fearful.

Somehow, I drift to sleep. It’s a restless slumber, one where I don’t dream. Before any can seize me, I bolt up from my pillows, panic thrumming through my veins. But there’s no immediate danger, and I can only put my reaction down to the emotional toll of today.

Finally, dawn arrives.

And he with it.

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