Page 5 of Heart of the Summer Queen

I must escape.

I double my pace, lungs burning in my chest. I push myself harder, though I risk pushing myself into oblivion. My vision blurs, and the corridors become a whirlwind. At this speed, it’s hard to maintain my sense of direction. Have I taken all the right turnings, or am I sprinting deeper into the palace?

I collide with something and stumble.

A servant.

He’s thrown off his feet from our collision, but I stay upright. He shakes his head and opens his mouth to say something, perhaps to scold me, but then his eyes scan over my red curls and recognition flashes across his expression. His irritation vanishes, remorse taking its place.

“Your Majesty!” he blurts. “Forgive me—”

Though I’m the one who should apologize to him, I don’t wait to hear what he has to say. I hurry past, not looking back.

I make it to the small door leading to the gardens without running into any more guards or servants. I push it open and burst outside, almost tripping over the steps.

There are plenty of guards atop the palace’s walls, but I don’t bother with discretion. The guards and my maids could be informing the king this very second.

I race over the thick blanket of snow, over the fallen twigs from the bare branches. The needles pierce my feet, perhaps even breaking my skin, but I don’t check to see if I’m bleeding. While I might leave a bloody trail, my footsteps are already incriminating enough.

I reach the wall marking the palace’s perimeter. It’s low enough to climb, and a pine tree hangs over, allowing me an easier descent on the way down. Last time, I climbed the wall in the cover of darkness, and did so with stealth, worrying the guards would spot me.

Now I scramble up as quickly as I can, shoving my fingers and toes into every crevice I find, hauling myself up the wall.My movements are frantic, and I scale it without hesitation. All that matters is reaching the top, scrambling down the pine, and diving into the forest beyond.

Weeks ago, Father sent men to rescue me, fearing what the king would do to me. We barely made it through the forest before he found us. The fact we were on horseback and had far more among us was perhaps what gave us away. Now it’s just me. No horses. No guards. I’ll find somewhere to hide and wait until he gives up his chase.

But how long will it take for him to surrender me to the wilderness? Will I survive that long? Little life grows in this forest, and I may find nothing to eat.

I can’t think about any of that right now. I must focus on climbing the wall.

The pine’s branches are so close. I reach up to grab them, to heave myself over the wall. But then they freeze. Like everything inside the palace, they become translucent all the way through. Not even a speck of green remains.

I jolt, almost tumbling from the wall. Did I do this? After living in the palace for so long, after marrying the Winter King—after lying with him—have I somehow gained his terrifying power to turn everything to frost?

The wall climbs higher, shoving the pine’s branches aside. Breaking them. The wall reaches so high it blocks out the sun. From this angle, it seems to touch the sky.

I grit my teeth and look back.

It’s him.

Of course it’s him.

The king descends on his winged steed. He must have flown from his balcony, and I would be easily noticeable up here on the wall. Though my white chemise blends with all the terrain, my red hair is another story. The vivid hue paints a large target on my back.

I grip the wall, watching as he dismounts. He lifts his chin and stares up at me. Even from this height, his eyes glow as bright as ever.

“Adara, my queen.” His tone is light but bears no humor. Only thinly restrained fury. “Will you come down from there?”

My fingers dig into the wall.

No. I will not come down. I will not surrender my freedom.

I climb higher, resolve burning fiercer. But the top moves farther from my grasp.

“Adara,” he says again, this time sterner. “Come down.”

“Make me,” I growl, all my bitterness and hatred rolled into those two syllables.

And then I keep climbing, even though it’s futile, because what else can I do? Climbing is better than admitting defeat. Than accepting that either the king will kill me or I’ll spend my whole life caged in his palace.

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