Page 20 of The Prince and the Ice King

Toward a hungry maw

On the hill.

“Those in pursuit were sieged by death and magic in the air,” Reardon led, and Barclay came in later to add harmony they had not used the first time.

“Held back by frozen gates ahead and all they’d known to fear.

The thief escaped beyond the wall, assured that he was free

But down the Ice King came to feed and warned the rest to flee.

“And the thief cried on,

Swallowed up by greed,

But the hungry maw

Had enough.

“So, beware the vice that will feed the story’s end,” they sang in unison, “for the next year comes again too soon.”

Barclay nodded for Reardon to give the final line, and he did, softer now but loud enough to fill the room, “And the Ice King sings the final tune.”

The ceiling was high, so that Reardon’s voice echoed long after he’d finished, and while he continued to smile at his friend, the silence that reigned in the absence of their song drew his eyes to the head table, where all other eyes had turned too, because the Ice King was staring stoically back at him.

Those eyes nearly glowed, cutting across the expanse between them, but Reardon knew it was not magic. His eyes were simply that blue.

“Well now,” Nigel cut the silence as sharply as the king’s gaze, “the story might have been shit, but your singing’s not half bad. Our young fortune teller too. We’ll have to teach them something more fitting for next time, eh?” he called, and another rumble of laughter filtered through the hall.

Reardon blushed at the shouted compliments and applause, thinking that a few of the eyes on him were a little less unfriendly now, even if the king said nothing.

Nigel sat, and with his departure from the stage, the din of separate conversations took over the hall once more, allowing some of the blood to leave Reardon’s cheeks. He watched Nigel add food to his plate, reaching over the woman next to him to grab an especially large piece of cheese. She shoved him back into his seat with impressive strength, and as he laughed, unruffled, the jeweled dagger smacked the tabletop and unhooked from his belt with a clatter.

Reardon nabbed it, but then grandly handed it back to Nigel. “Let’s say I get that back on my own someday.Withoutyou noticing. Then can it be mine again?”

“Good luck with that,” Shayla snorted, as Nigel held the dagger delicately between his fingers.

“I’m the talented one around here at making things…disappear.” Nigel waved his hands around the dagger, covering it from Reardon’s sight, and when his hands parted, the dagger was gone.

“Magic….” Reardon gasped.

The woman next to Nigel sneered, “Nobles. Can’t tell the difference between magic and basic sleight of hand.” She was beautiful but had a lethality to her that told Reardon she had likely been a soldier or an assassin, especially given the defined muscles bulging through her shirt sleeves.

“It’s an illusion,” Nigel said, lifting the dagger from his lap. “Not real magic. But this beauty is still mine.” He grinned as he hooked it back onto his belt, eyeing Reardon in challenge.

“Until I earn it back,” Reardon promised, to which those around them snickered. It wasn’t some grand family heirloom, but it was precious to Reardon—a gift from General Lombard on his eighteenth birthday. He’d learn everything he could from these people and gain both the dagger back and their trust.

Reardon began to eat more normally then, chatting with Barclay, Nigel, and Shayla, with occasional additions by Caitlin, though she never addressed Reardon directly. As the feast waned, he realized that the room had grown darker and more torches were lit to fill the hall with light. But while the evening shadows had indeed crept upon them, the room also felt warmer, and he soon saw why.

The head table where the elementals had been watching and talking amongst themselves was now empty, the Ice King’s chair looking wet as the frost melted without his presence.

“They don’t stay out at night,” Barclay said.

“Part of the curse?”

“Yes….”

“What?” Reardon pressed when he sensed that Barclay was keeping something from him.

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