Page 6 of The Enchanted Frost

He stared wide-eyed at the match’s blackened tip, as if unable to comprehend what had just happened, then reached for another to try again. This one met the same fate, dying just as quickly. Before he could grab a third match, I slapped his hand away; his skin was so icy it felt as if I’d plunged my hand into snow.

“Stop, you’re wasting them!”

His sheepish glance was apologetic. “Generating heat goes against my powers that create winter.”

Disheartened, I couldn’t muster a response. I simply stared at the spent matches scattered on the white ground like smoldered corpses, their fleeting warmth melting away the thin layer of snow, leaving only cold in their wake.

Frost tilted his head, his expression pensive. “I’d nearly forgotten: even if we succeed in creating a fire, this castle isn’t compatible with heat.”

“Then how do you survive the winter?”

“I’m Frost,” he reminded me. “Iamwinter.” He seemed unfazed by my lingering skepticism to his grandiose claimand continued studying the matches as their steam dissipated into the brisk air.

After a moment, he gathered his magic into a glowing orb and moved to a nearby wall. I watched in awe as he began to shape and mold the light with the precision of a master craftsman, his movements fluid and graceful, like a potter working with clay. An elaborate fireplace gradually took form from the shimmering magic, one woven spell at a time. He completed the intricately carved mantle before stepping back to admire his handiwork.

After a moment his approval changed to a frown and he abruptly walked out of the room. I stared after him, unsure whether I’d see him again, but he reappeared shortly with his arms full of freshly cut branches and tinder. Shaking the snow off, he piled them into the newly crafted fireplace.

I was both awed at his ability and touched at his effort, but my admiration was swallowed by the cynicism that shaped my life for so long. “A hearth made of ice is hardly effective against the heat—”

He shrugged dismissively. “I’ll simply recreate whatever melts.”

I had no response. The further I drifted from the glamor and comforts of my old life and the deeper I sank into poverty, the more I faded beneath everyone’s notice. I couldn’t fathom why he would go to such lengths for a stranger he’d just met. Considering his self-proclaimed mystical nature, I had reason to question his sanity…which would explain his kindness, a rare currency far more elusive than the meager coins I sometimes managed to scrounge.

When no words were forthcoming, I lowered my gaze to my second-to-last match and shuffled my aching body closer to the newly created fireplace. He extended his hand, but when I offered him the match, instead of taking it, he sent a tendril of magic towards it, absorbing the moisture muchlike he’d removed the traces of frostbite from my skin. His gesture bolstered me, and this time when I struck the match, the weak spark held steady, allowing me to ignite my first fire after countless days of darkness.

The radiant golden flame danced bravely, casting a warm glow across the icy hues of the crystalized palace. Although initially small, the fire grew, casting pools of comforting heat that thawed my stiff body, warmed my frozen hands, and revived my numb fingers. I stared at my hands as they took on a rosy tint, suffused with a level of warmth and comfort I could scarcely remember experiencing.

As the fire roared to life, the surrounding ice began to melt, creating a delicate play of light and shadow. The flickering flames reflected off the ice, turning it into a dazzling display of glistening patterns. I glanced nervously at Frost, but he remained composed, effortlessly using his magic to replenish the melting ice as needed so that the flames wouldn’t go out. This ensured the fire’s base remained stable even as it consumed the wood.

His gesture not only kept the flames from extinguishing but also kindled a warmth within me that stoked the embers of hope I’d long believed extinguished, breathing the first promise of life into my heart that I’d thought had been frozen forever.

CHAPTER 4

Frost

Ifocused on maintaining the delicate layer of ice lining the hearth, my magic weaving through the snow to sustain the frozen structure while the small fire flickered within. Yet no matter how much I willed myself to concentrate, my gaze kept drifting towards the woman I’d rescued.

She huddled on my bed, a fragile figure swathed in rags that seemed more suited to the streets than to the interior of an ice palace. The sight tugged at something deep within me, a strange sensation that was both pity and a newfound impulse—an unfamiliar desire to help, to do something for someone other than myself.

Why was I, an immortal being, expending so much effort to light a fire in my own ice-bound sanctuary? A fire—something so foreign to my world and contrary to everything I was—just to keep this mortal comfortable? The absurdity gnawed at me, baffling and insistent, yet I couldn’t bring myself to extinguish the flame.

The rags she wore only deepened the strange ache in my chest, as if her suffering had reached across the divide between our worlds, stirring an impulse I’d rarely had the chance to act upon in my long, solitary existence. The cold was my domain, my solace, and my strength—yet here I was, bending it to protect a life that should have been just another fleeting presence in my endless winter.

When she finally warmed enough to move, the heat drew her closer. She now knelt beside me—a proximity I’d never shared with another living soul. Her awestruck gaze was transfixed by the flickering flame and the curls of steam rising from the fire whose soft glow dispelled some of the chill, as if she’d never seen anything so beautiful.

I found myself equally mesmerized. I’d seen fires from a distance before, but this was the first time I’d ever been so near one. The heat prickled my skin almost painfully, requiring me to divide my magic between preserving the hearth and maintaining a thin layer of frost over my body. Every instinct urged me to retreat from the warmth that was so foreign to me, but if I moved the fire would die, and with it her fragile warmth would vanish.

And so I stayed, caught between the burning flame and the freezing cold, between the unfamiliar pull of compassion and the duty I’d always known.

Deep down, I knew my efforts were futile. No matter how warm I made her, it wouldn’t change the fact that once I discovered why I’d been unable to claim her soul, my powers would compel me to finish the task. Failure to do so would mean losing both my immortality and the abilities that made me the Winter King.

The gravity of this responsibility weighed heavily, yet I found myself increasingly uncertain of how to proceed after the usual course of events had led to this unexplainable obstacle. Though she wasn’t quite dead, she wasn’t fully aliveeither—a paradox that gnawed at me with the same persistence as the curiosity that kept drawing my gaze back to her, a sight even more intriguing than the foreign bright flames.

The fire’s dancing glow cast shimmers of golden light across her countenance, softening the gaunt pallor that had marked her near-death state and revealing a loveliness that I hastily dismissed. Beauty was something I only associated with winter’s artistry, not with a fragile, powerless mortal. I’d seen countless human women—both those considered plain and those considered breathtaking—and while I found human concepts of beauty fascinating I’d never been moved by a mortal face. Yet for all my stubborn protests, my heart stirred with a feeling far different from the numbing chill I had always known.

Even as I tried to keep my gaze averted, I couldn’t ignore the warmth softly emanating from her presence. Unlike the harsh heat of the flames which irritated the coldness coating my skin, this warmth was gentler, seeping inside me to curl around my heart, dispelling some of the shadows I hadn’t realized had formed from my eternity of solitude until they began to fade. The sensation was unsettling, yet also strangely comforting in a way I couldn’t quite understand.

As if my silent thoughts had somehow reached her, Blanche turned away from the dancing flames and cast me a sideways glance, a thoughtful pucker creasing her brow. “Why are you doing this?”

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