Page 32 of Heart of the Summer Queen

“There were other disturbing accusations made against him while my father reigned, but he dismissed them all, refusing to believe his brother capable of such atrocities. My uncle neverharmed my sister then, but I worried what would happen if he took the throne.

“It was during the fifth winter after Seraphina that the first assassination attempt came against me. That was when I learned I cannot die. Perhaps some would find solace in that immortality, yet to me it only confirmed I was no longer human.”

The journal feels unbearably heavy in my lap. I shuffle in my armchair, still not daring to look at him directly.

“More attempts on my life were made, all of which failed, and then the kingdom plunged into civil war. Overnight, Netham was besieged by my uncle’s forces, including the palace.”

“Your sister . . . ?”

Elaric stares at the fireplace before us, watching the blue flames flicker. “News of the attack reached me the following morning, but by then it was already too late. When I arrived at the palace, I was greeted by the heads of my sister and her husband and their children lining the gates. I underestimated my uncle’s capacity for cruelty, and I have never forgiven myself for it.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I whisper. “How could you have known what evil he was capable of?”

Elaric pauses and then sucks in a sharp breath. “From that day, I ensured my kingdom feared me so no one would ever again dare to incite my wrath. In a single night, I became the monster they believed me to be. I froze every man in my uncle’s army, and then I shattered them all. I spared no one.”

His voice trails off into the darkness. He looks at his hands before clenching them to fists. “I saved my uncle for last,” he continues, voice barely a whisper. “I brought him back here, to my dungeons, freezing him slowly. The first day I shattered his fingers. I meant to drag out his agony for weeks, but failed to contain my rage. As I tortured him with frost, he returned it withwords: of my nephews’ screams echoing through the palace, of what he and his men did to my sister before taking her head. That was on the third day, and I obliterated him there and then.”

I just sit there, staring at him as every terrible part of his story brands itself into my mind.

“His pain brought me no relief to mine,” Elaric says. “And it was perhaps one of the most monstrous things I have done.”

“He was the monster,” I snarl. “I hope he’s rotting in Hell.”

“As do I,” Elaric mutters. He leans back, fingers raking through his hair. “I ordered my sister and her family to be buried in Netham’s palace, but it is my deepest regret I could not attend. My presence would freeze the very ground. Even now I have never visited her grave, although I have asked servants to check on her and her family over the centuries.”

It’s fortunate I don’t sit closer, or I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from embracing him, from pressing my lips to his brow. Not once did I consider he may have suffered more than me. He saved his kingdom from the monster which killed his father and was rewarded with a terrible curse. Then instead of being celebrated as the hero he was, his uncle led a civil war against him and murdered his sister and nephews.

And after three hundred years he thought he’d found his Summer Queen, only for her to drive a dagger through his chest.

It’s impossibly hard to keep from crying, my chest so full of regret and grief. But what his father said is true. Crying changes nothing, neither Elaric’s suffering nor my choices which have led us here. I can only shape that which lies ahead.

“I...” My voice breaks. “Elaric, I swear I’ll do all I can to break your curse.” My fierceness surprises even me. “It’s cruel you could never say goodbye to your sister. Nothing is more important than family.”

“You are right.” He looks away from me, staring down at his hands.

“I am sorry,” I say.For everything.

“I am sorry, too,” he whispers.

And we sit there, that agonizing rift stretching between us. The two of us equally ensnared by our guilt.

In order to break his curse, I need to confirm whether true love was part of Isidore’s incantation or if it’s something else.

The curse allowed Elaric to pass me that book, along with his father’s journal which hinted at the reason Isidore cursed him. Perhaps it’ll let him take me to her.

“I would like to see Isidore,” I say.

His head snaps up. “You will not.” Somehow, I doubt the curse would compel him to protest so vehemently.

“Why not?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“It isn’t up to you to decide what’s too dangerous for me.” I fold my arms across my chest.

“I will not let you throw away your life so recklessly,” he growls. “She will kill you the moment she lays eyes on you.”

“Her magic might not even work on me. Yours doesn’t, and your magic comes from hers.”

---