Page 104 of The Prince and the Ice King

Chapter 11

Reardon

“Liar!” Reardon kicked thegate leading out to the Mystic Valley.

He had bathed and dressed and carefully removed the bandages protecting wounds that potions had already healed to smooth scar tissue, but every monotonous act only fueled his rage.

“Witch!” he cried, because this was the Fairy Queen’s fault! She cast the curse without following her own rules! “Why are you doing this to him?” He kicked the gate again, and then grabbed its bars and shook them in his fury, nearly upsetting the frozen-over latch.

“My, you have a temper.”

Reardon reared back with a gasp, instinct bringing his hands to his hilts, as he looked up—upon a radiant figure perched on the castle wall.

Reardon had heard stories of the power and beauty of the queen of elves—beauty that could swindle and corrupt, for the tales painted all elves and anyone with magic as sinister and vile. He hadn’t believed it, but his anger at her now made him wonder if those stories were true.

She certainly was beautiful. Dark skin and eyes, her hair in lovely long waves pinned even more intricately than Shayla’s and twisted into a thick braid over one shoulder. Within her hair were flowers and delicate vines, as well as a crown of golden antlers that could easily have been mistaken for demon horns. Her gown was made of such rich shades of violet, indigo, and blue that the silk flowing from her skirts and sleeves did indeed make her look more like a fairy than an elf.

She had no wings, however, just her pointed ears, adorned in cuffs of glittering gold that matched her crown. She looked as much like a goddess of the wood as a high queen. The only exception was her dainty feet, bare beneath her skirts as she dangled them from her spot on the wall. She was smiling, but Reardon held his guard. He had never believed his angry ranting would actually reach her.

“You mean to mock me?” He clenched his jaw to keep from stuttering, hands still on the hilts of his swords, even if a swipe of steel might mean nothing against her magic.

“I mean to talk to you, Emerald Prince. It hasn’t been often enough that you’ve come this close to my gate.”

“As if you’d need such formality,Majesty.”

She clicked her tongue at him, leaning back on the wall, as if she weren’t an ethereal vision, but a simple peasant girl enjoying a nice day outdoors. “Such venom. No need to call me that, or ‘Fairy Queen.’ Those are just titles. May I call you Reardon? Because please, call me Mavis.”

The tension in Reardon’s stance faltered. It was said that true names could be powerful among those who wielded magic. Had she given him hers?

But then, Reardon had no magic himself, only science, and only his swords and dagger on him now.

“You wish to talk to me? Why?”

“It seemed you wished to talk tome.”

Reardon fidgeted in the snow. “I thought you had long since moved from these lands, but the king implied you were still out there. It all looks empty.” He glanced through the bars of the gate.

A thud drew his attention back to her, where she stood in the snow, having leapt from the wall, her bare feet hidden by her gown. Being so close to a figure he had thought mythical only a few weeks prior reminded him of when he first met the Ice King.

With her glowing smile, she opened her arms, gesturing him to her. He hesitated but figured he had nothing to lose.

Her hands were warm as one curled around his back to lead him forward, the other taking one of his hands to wrap around a single bar of the gate. As soon as his fingers closed, it was like being thrown through the castle wall, hurtling blindingly fast down the hill and into the valley below.

Reardon knew his feet hadn’t left the castle grounds, but he saw it all as if he had, like a soaring eagle. Reaching the edge of the valley that indeed looked abandoned like the Frozen Kingdom’s adjoining city and villages, ripples appeared in front of Reardon. The ripples parted like the sheer drapes of the king’s bedchamber, revealing so much beyond the veil that he could hardly take it all in.

Cities and towns stretched there too, but bustling ones, both outside the forest edges and within. The woods there were lush and magical, far removed from the Shadow Lands on the other side of the king’s hill, with all sorts of dazzling sights in every direction.

There were humans, elves, half-elves. Reardon thought he even saw fairies—real fairies—dancing in the wind. He realized, however, that among all the people he saw, no one ever drew close to the veil. He assumed it was so that they wouldn’t be seen by those outside it, but realization grew within him that they were in fact trapped. Happy with their lot but unable to leave.

His vision zoomed forward again to a glittering castle, then inside, where he saw the Fairy Queen’s throne. She sat upon it, eyes closed, as if to show Reardon that the real her was there, and the one with him was a phantom.

Beside her throne was a smaller one with a human man in equal finery to hers but with a smaller antlered crown. He was handsome, gazing adoringly up at her, blond and blue-eyed, but clean-shaven and far more sweet-faced than Oliver or Liam. If that was her husband, Prince Consort to her kingdom, then Reardon understood why a younger Jack had tried to court him.

“You too, hm?”

All at once, Reardon returned to himself, staring at his hand on the bars.

“I think he’s quite handsome too,” she said, “but he is taken.”

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