Page 59 of The Prince and the Ice King

“Nigel forgave me for that!” Zephyr defended.

“Reardon….” Nigel dragged a hand down his face. “We—”

Reardon spun on his heels to continue his journey, pushing past Josie in a silken robe and Barclay in a barely held up pair of trousers.

Only he couldn’t reach the tunnels this time, because Shayla and Liam were coming out of them, equally half-dressed, and Liam looked far less understanding than everyone else. His physique matched the fletcher’s too, but Reardon didn’t have time to admire it.

Sprinting the other way, he mapped out in his mind which tunnels would best lead him to the basement. He vaguely remembered from his drinking with Branwen that the master of arms said his chambers were down there, close to the wine and ale. Now Reardon knew why: hehadbeen waiting for nightfall so he could drink when the sun dipped below the horizon.

“Stop!” Barclay tried again, but Reardon knew his stamina would win.

He had three couples chasing him as he worked his way to the lower levels of the castle, finding larger scorch marks with smears of blackened soot along the walls. When at last the scorches stopped, he found the expected door.

“Reardon!” Caitlin yelped—from adesk, thankfully, with a large, imposing man standing over her shoulder, both fully clothed.

This room was more utilitarian but covered in parchment and scattered tomes, which surprised Reardon, as it seemed Branwen was dictating to Caitlin.

“She’s my scribe,” he growled, like some hasty defense.

Branwen was as broad and burly as Reardon would have imagined, with mild scruff, a mostly shaven head, and pale eyes that also lookedblue. Every single member of the court had blue eyes, but none of them were the eyes that mattered to Reardon.

“If you’re with Bran, then…. He doesn’t have anyone, does he?” Reardon asked Caitlin, turning equally imploring eyes to Branwen. Hearing the others pour into the room behind him, he turned to them as well. “He doesn’t, does he? I know he doesn’t. He can’t.”

“Reardon,” Barclay said with a sigh, reaching out to touch him—only to gasp.

A vision, Reardon thought as he surged forward, realizing then that he still clung to the king’s book, and Barclay’s slack expression made him clutch it tighter, like salvation. “It’s him, isn’t it? It has to be him.”

“I… I don’t know.” The strange expression on Barclay’s face didn’t change, but he blinked the vision away and gave Reardon’s arm a firm squeeze. “I didn’t see the same thing just now. I’m not sure what I saw…. There was a woman with dark skin in brilliant finery, and… and someone in armor of the Emerald Kingdom, bookending you like a prize between them. You guarded someone from them that I couldn’t see.”

“Theking,” Reardon said without falter. “It’s him, Barclay. It has to be, and I stand before my love, between my kingdom and the past.”

“Your love?” Josie repeated, stepping from the others—Liam and Zephyr, who looked annoyed, and Shayla and Nigel, smiling in delight. Josie’s robe was neatly tied now, black silk trimmed in gold.

“Just as all of you found someone,” Reardon said, “I am meant for him. That’s why I’m here. My purpose here. I’m sure of it.”

“Hang on,” Branwen said, no change to his gruff voice even when lacking flames. He held a goblet, finally enjoying his wine. “Don’t get any ideas thatwe’retogether like that.” The faintest color filled his cheeks as he said it, and he wouldn’t meet Reardon’s eyes, something mirrored in Caitlin which told Reardon that, despite their protests, they clearly wanted what they hadn’t yet had. “She helps get my ideas down, that’s all. Nothing like these rutting maniacs.”

“Rutting?” Liam threw back. “Shayla ignored me for a week because of this princely brat. Whoisuseful,” he amended when Shayla glared at him, “and not all bad most days, but I’m allowed my ire!”

“Maybe sometimes you take for granted what you have,” Shayla shot back. “You don’t need Reardon’s presence to require occasional reminders.”

“Sounds familiar,” Nigel muttered.

“You forgave me!” Zephyr cried again, looking rumpled in just the robe he’d been clutching earlier.

Nigel pulled Zephyr against him, quieting him in such a sweet, reflexive manner that Reardon had kept his smile. He was right. He had to be right. They’d all had lessons to learn, but they’d needed someone to melt their hearts as well, someone who had nothing to do with this place in the beginning—a sacrifice freely given.

Wasn’t true love always the epic end to a curse?

“I only found Barclay a year ago,” Josie said, taking his hand to pull him close too. “They’ve all had each other for decades. I’ll rut as I like.”

Barclay blushed far darker than Branwen or Caitlin, a beautiful hue, because Reardon had never seen his friend so happy.

“Four days left, and we have to do this inmyroom?” Branwen grumbled, taking a gulp of wine.

Reardon turned to him, to all of them, understanding that he had broken the rules, however unintentional at first. “I’m sorry I made you all run, but I had to be sure. I understand now why you said fourteen days. Any shorter could allow a swindler to betray you as that thief once did.”

A solemn expression touched each of the court members as it had Josie, but she was the one who spoke. “We told her the truth after six days, so certain she posed no threat, just another one of us welcomed into our company. But then she knew, you see, that we were vulnerable at night.”

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