Page 57 of The Prince and the Ice King

He was tired when he got to his room, so tired that he almost didn’t notice the book lying on his bed until after he’d removed his sword belt and doublet. It was beautifully bound, with red-and-gold lettering to state the title and two jousting knights carved into the leather.

Pillars of Virtue.

It had to be the king’s book, his favorite, he’d said, about two knights who might have been written as in love if the author had been bolder or lived in a different time. Reardon had never read it, but to find it like a gift waiting for him felt like the most intimate thing anyone had ever given him. Surely it was only to borrow, but still. The king must have had Zephyr set it there, for there was not a single mar of ice upon it.

If it wasn’t nighttime, Reardon would have gone to the king right then to express his thanks and ask if they could read the first chapter together. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed anywhere near the court’s private chambers after dark.

He needed to tell someone, though. Reardon had accomplished so much in his week and a half being here. If he was right that “melting” the king could break the curse, surely a gift like this meant he was close.

Close to melting him back to Jack—because they werefriends.

Reardon clutched the book to his chest. He didn’t even know what Jack’s real face or body looked like, only his eyes, and yet he couldn’t help wondering….

Couldn’t help wanting….

He had to see Barclay.

Still clutching the book, barefoot in his trousers and untucked shirt, Reardon rushed next door and knocked.

No answer.

“Barclay! I’m sorry if I’m waking you, but I need to talk.” Reardon knocked again.

Still nothing.

He knew Barclay was a light sleeper, and Barclay had definitely said earlier that he was going to bed.

“Barclay?” Reardon tried one more time, but when once again, no answer came, he opened the door.

Barclay wasn’t there, but several candles were lit—and one of the secret passageways was open, leading right into his bedroom!

Reardon clutched the book tighter. Barclay wasn’t the type to go snooping around, but then, where had he gone?

Edging closer to the tunnel, Reardon peered inside. There were torches lit along a path leading to the right, like a beacon telling Reardon where Barclay must have trod. He followed, and the farther he went, the more he noticed swaths of gold on the walls like he’d seen elsewhere, but here there was only gold, no sign of ice or scorch marks.

The path eventually stopped at another open tunnel entrance. Reardon was cautious, but his curiosity had been piqued too much to not go in. The room on the other side was opulent, with plush pillows, a beautiful vanity, elegant dresses in wardrobes, and a wall covered in jewelry hanging for selection.

There was also a dress, a pair of trousers, a shirt, and various other clothing in a pile on the floor.

And a bed with bodies moving on it and the distinct utterance of a familiar voice thatmoaned.

“Barclay?”

Covers tumbled from the shoulders of the most visible occupant on the bed, revealing Barclay’s brown skin and the pale limbs of someone tangled with him. He yelped when his eyes met Reardon’s and scrambled to cover himself.

“Reardon! How did you…whendid you… why are you here?”

Reardon was too mortified to look away, staring openmouthed at having caught his friend in the throes of passion with what he soon saw was a very beautiful brunette. “Sorry! I-I saw the tunnel, a-and I didn’t realize, I….” Still staring at the woman’s face—grateful as he was that he could only see herface—it suddenly struck him that he had seen that face before.

In a portrait.

“Josie?”

Chapter 6

Reardon

Josie looked human.

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