Page 31 of The Prince and the Ice King

Jack

“Even I feel your chill today,” Branwen’s voice echoed off the ceiling of Jack’s chamber, drawing his attention from the spot on the wall he’d been staring at while lounging on his throne.

Branwen moved from the entrance like flames eating up dry wood in an impossible-to-stop wave, yet since his feet didn’t touch the ground, he didn’t so much as singe the floor or melt any ice. They didn’t know if they could be affected by each other’s touch, but they’d never dared test it to find out.

“What are you sulking for?” Branwen barked. “Thought the pretty princeling would be yacking your ear off.”

“I sent him away.” Jack kicked his legs over the arm of his throne.

“Already? He’s that bad of company? At least he’s a better view than this shithole.”

Ages ago—literally—when Jack first chose his court, Branwen was the only non-noble, a soldier who’d proven himself and become Jack’s friend. Jack didn’t care how the choice had been sneered at by the high-born, because he knew Branwen was the best man to lead his army and protect his castle, crass or not. Tactlessness meant he never hesitated to speak his mind, something Jack valued.

Usually.

“The view will be short-lived. He’s young and idealistic and thinks he can change the world with nerve and good intention.”

“Classic fool, then. Still pretty.” Branwen was only harping on that to annoy Jack. Branwen liked pretty things too, but not men.

“Worry about the fire in your own loins and stay out of the business of mine.”

“What business?” Branwen pulsed red-hot flames as he stood at the foot of the throne’s steps. “I don’t see anybusinessat the moment.”

Jack clenched his fists with an icy creak, kicking his feet down again with a crunch into the frozen pedestal. They were all sexless in these forms but hardly devoid of wanting. But Jack’s anger couldn’t last, and he let his tension go. “He’s pretty. He’s not worth futile dreaming.”

“Let’s get rid of him quicker, then. He’s all set to play champion. How about I put a little scare into him? See if the princeling can fight. Get Oliver to help for some early morning yard training tomorrow.” A menacing smile flickered across Branwen’s face. “The good fletcher will jump at the chance after that song last night.”

The suggestion had Jack mirroring Branwen’s grin, fire and ice in warring parallel, though he still wondered at his friend’s motives. Regardless, if there was a way to break Prince Reardon of his foolishnotions, this might be a start. “Do it. If he wants a crusade, let’s see how he battles.”

Branwen gave a mocking and mischievous bow before turning to leave, though not without adding, “And do something today, will you? You’re not a damn cat.”

Jack kicked his feet over the arm of the throne again just to spite him. Thinkingwasdoing something. He was strategizing. Admittedly, normally this time of year, he’d be watching the new sacrifice with an eagle’s eye until there was no doubt whether they belonged.

The prince should not be an exception.

“Zephyr!” Jack called, swinging his legs around once more to get to his feet.

“Yes, Majesty?” Zephyr popped into existence at Jack’s side. He might honestly always be watching, lurking wherever he pleased, but whether he was hiding in a nearby corner or on the other side of the castle, he always heard Jack—he heard everything—and could appear in moments.

Every court needed a steward, but Jack understood that anyone who ran a castle was obviously more than a mere butler.Spymasterwas more accurate even before Zephyr’s hearing and mobility became supernatural. He’d been a noble but was tossed aside when his family discovered he had no interest in carrying on the family line.

Jack had snatched him up immediately. The fact that the disrespectful brat hated the idea of bowing to anyone only made Jack like him more, especially once he discovered what an ear Zephyr had for gossip.

“Where’s the prince?” Jack asked.

“Getting his hands dirty—or should I sayclean—helping with the washing.”

“He’s doing the washing?” Jack couldn’t decide if Reardon continuing to surprise him was irritating or intriguing.

“Took off his doublet even,” Zephyr said with a whistle. “Very fetching, that prince.”

“Not you too.” Jack scowled.

The translucent nature of Zephyr’s form was eerie to some, but it only reminded Jack that he had nothing solid to swat at, just the faint outline of a young man looking well-dressed and smug. “I’m just enjoying the view,” Zephyr said, floating leisurely in front of Jack. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t been stealing peeks.”

Before Jack could snark back at him, Zephyr poofed away.He could very well still be right there, but that didn’t stop Jack from turning toward his secret tunnels, even if he did hear giggles following him.

He’d ended his time with Reardon early; the least he could do was see what he was up to.

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