Page 6 of The Prince and the Ice King

“Your father can only answer the people’s call. There were other criminals who might have been chosen, but your friend was fresher in their minds and something far more frightening, so they cried for him instead.”

Reardon knew, of course, and there weren’t many criminals in the Emerald Kingdom—not who dared get caught, because if they weren’t cut down where they stood, as those deviants in the alley had been, they’d be imprisoned until the next offering. Only if they were passed by as sacrifice could they be considered for release.

But not magic-touched. Not what they’d call “deviants” like Reardon. They stayed in prison indefinitely or were exiled.

“I’ll stop it,” Reardon swore. “I’ll never let them do it again.”

“You can try, my prince. And when you are king, maybe you will succeed.”

Reardon didn’t remember much more about the walk to his room. He awoke in the clothes he’d worn the night before but tucked neatly under his covers. He told no one of what had happened, least of all his father, trusting that Lombard wouldn’t either, not when the matter had been resolved. But as he washed and changed and looked himself in the mirror that morning, he became more determined than ever.

The sacrifices had to stop.

“Your friend?” the Ice King asked, curious again.

“Barclay, House of Numara. He was last year’s offering.”

“A rescue mission?”

“And to see for myself if you are like the stories.”

Even with a cracked face in shades of white, blue, and gray, the Ice King’s expression betrayed his amusement. “And what are your findings so far, little prince?”

Reardon trembled beneath him, but only from the cold.

He wasn’t scared. A single touch might turn him to ice like the thief who’d been shattered—and the form of the Ice King, naked but sexless, pure ice from head to toe, was close enough that a touch would be easy—but he felt none of the same helplessness that those men in the alley had instilled in him.

“The truth may be worse,” Reardon said. “They call you Ice King, but I didn’t think it meant this. If your whole castle is like this chamber,then I fear my friend no longer lives. But then I also have to wonder: Why speak with me at all? Why not kill me outright?”

The Ice King studied him with his penetrating gaze. “Perhaps you’d make a fine ransom, an added bonus to the sacrifices your kingdom sends.”

“No, I don’t think you’re the monster you appear to be. Your eyes give you away, Your Majesty, whatever else you might be.”

The pregnant pause that filled the chamber made Reardon fear he’d guessed wrong, especially when the Ice King leaned closer, mist rolling off him, cold enough to frost the ends of Reardon’s hair.

“Jack!” a melodic voice cut the quiet, making the Ice King grimace. “The sacrifice didn’t come through the gate! The cart left! What—what on earth are you doing?! Who is that?”

As the Ice King lifted off him, all Reardon could focus on was how she’d called himJack, which further proved his point.

The Ice King couldn’t always have been like this.

Frost still clung to Reardon, but he was able to take a deep breath and shake some of it from his hair as he sat up and looked past the Ice King, past the window he’d climbed through using a grappling hook and staunch patience, to the formal entrance of the chamber, where the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes upon stood.

She was also monstrous in her own way. Her gown and jewelry were all made of gold, with a delicate crown atop her head, but her hair and eyes and skin were all gold too. The fabric moved like silk as she came closer, and her golden hair, curled in waves down her back near to her waist, shifted around her shoulders like silk, but she was clearly not painted, but made of gold down to every fiber, just like the king was made of ice.

“The Emerald Prince thought to kill me,” the Ice King said.

“Only if you’d proven to be a villain!” Reardon protested, confident enough now to stand, though he was careful with his footing on the slick surface of the floor.

“Are you certain I’m not?” The king’s fangs glinted in the sun coming in through the windows.

“Prince? Why would they send their prince?” The woman approached more swiftly, practically floating over the floor and bypassing the king without concern. She was even more beautiful up close but still unsettling to look at. “Did you do something vile?”

“No. I replaced the real sacrifice and sent him toward the Shadow Lands to make his escape. No one knows I’m here. The soldiers didn’t see me make the switch. Are you the Ice King’s queen?”

She laughed, and the Ice King snorted.

“His sister, dear. Princess Josephine. Call me Josie.”

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