Page 68 of The Prince and the Ice King

“If he did, you would have gladly taken him instead. And at least he could be with you during the day.”

“You can as well!” Reardon insisted. “We can break the curse—”

“There is no breaking this curse!” the king’s voice bellowed from only a stride behind him. “You are a silly romantic. Now get out. In the morning, you can leave for your kingdom.”

Reardon snapped upright, dressed now but shaken. The king was dismissing him, but he would not let this be the end. “No.”

“No?” the king challenged back.

“I am not leaving.” Reardon stood firm, clenching his fists in resolve. “The secrets of this castle were only part of our deal. I said we would know one another.”

“I think we know one another quite well, little prince.”

The memories of that, the smell of it lingering in the air, mixed with cedar and flowers, only made Reardon more certain.

The crumpled verses on the king’s desk made him certain too, though he hadn’t yet read them. With the king behind him, and Reardon at the edge of the desk, he reclaimed the book he’d brought, using that more visible act to hide how he snatched the parchment too.

“I said I wanted a way to save our kingdoms from all this madness. Breaking the curse will accomplish that, and I am notleaving until I do.”

“You—”

“I will prove you wrong,” Reardon cut off the angry rebuttal, moving swiftly around the desk for the door. “And tomorrow, I will be ready for our next audience. Thank you for the book, Majesty. Good night.” Without waiting for a response, Reardon escaped, knowing the king would not follow, and fell back against the door with a shuddered breath, clutching his prizes to his chest.

Right there in the chilly throne room, he read:

The noble prince went on his quest….

It was a sweet and simple tale that ended as theirs just had, only they hadn’t yet managed to release the beast as the pair in the poem did. Even so, it proved Reardon right, that long before tonight, the king had wanted him, wanted more, wanted freedom and connection and the love he denied himself. He’d nearly thrown away this parchment, judging by its creases, but he’d salvaged it. He did want what Reardon offered. His heart was merely frozen.

Smiling as he held the poem and book close, Reardon slipped behind the icy throne to return to the secret tunnels. Lombard might have been his choice once, but his were not the eyes that haunted Reardon, and now, while Reardon still did not know the true form of the king, he had a picture in his mind of blue eyes on a man with an un-aging, scarred face….

And white hair.

Chapter 7

Jack

Jack didn’t rest thatnight. He dressed in clean clothes, drained his bath, and hoped that the smell of the oils would overpower any lingering scent of Reardon.

They did not.

Notenough.

Time moved so slowly when he didn’t sleep, but he still felt it in his bones when the sun was about to rise. He didn’t need the sun to touch him directly, only for it to reach the castle grounds. As that moment drew near, he removed his clothes and went to stand by the door so that as little of his rooms as possible were affected by his chill.

He never wore his crown. He locked that away ages ago. Yet still, once the change took him, an icy crown would rest upon his head like a mocking extension.

It didn’t hurt, but it did ache, like reaching the end of a grueling fight—only a fight waged naked in the middle of winter. One would think he’d be used to the cold by now, but that was the one thing that never got easier.

He had heard his court say that their changes merely felt like their stomachs dropped, a weightlessness overtaking them as their true bodies faded. Jack, conversely, was encased, but his body still felt like it stretched to fill his icy prison, mangled and pulled like he had mangled his kingdom.

Only, today, with his hands creaking as he clenched them into fists, there was a new ache that wouldn’t go away, like a dagger lodged in his chest.

Damn prince, Jack thought and turned to open his door.

“Good morning, Majesty.” Reardon dared darken his threshold at the very crack of dawn, prim and dressed andsmilingas he gave his customary bow from in front of the throne.

Stomping forward with booming tremors, Jack fell upon Reardon like the monster he was, getting closer than he would have dared withone of his subjects. “Do you know how easy it would be for me to end you right here?” he bellowed, frigid breath in Reardon’s face.

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