Page 77 of The Prince and the Ice King

“Except yourself.” Reardon startled after he said it, remembering that the king didn’t have mirrors in his rooms, and he almost never left them at night. He didn’t look at himself any more than he let others look at him. “I suppose you haven’t seen yourself in them either, have you? Well….” Reardon tried to keep the mood light, spinning slowly. “What do you think?”

Invited now to continue looking, the king’s gaze pierced sharper, blue eyes sparkling in the depths of all that white. They were human eyes, the one part of him that remained so, and Reardon tried to imagine, thinking of Josie too, what his real face must look like.

He couldn’t quite picture it, but he didn’t mind that this was the only face he knew.

A low clearing of the king’s throat broke the quiet. “A tad large, but they won’t require much tailoring.”

“Oh, you don’t need to let me keep—”

“You chose those pieces out of everything I have. Call them a gift.”

“A gift? After the way I acted?”

“Ishouldbanish you,” the king said more seriously. “I should end all this right now.”

Worry buzzed up Reardon’s spine, and if it hadn’t been for his potion, he would have shivered. “Then why don’t you?”

“Because if I did, you couldn’t finish your endeavor to bring your mother’s killer to justice.”

The breath stole from Reardon’s lungs. He didn’t remember everything about last night, but he did remember telling the king that. “And my endeavor to break your curse,” he added.

For once, the king didn’t refute him.

He stood upright and gestured at the base of his throne, where Reardon noticed their book,Pillars of Virtue, resting in wait. “I had Zephyr fetch it from your room. Shall we read more on the ramparts, little prince?”

It was the best outcome Reardon could have hoped for—and he also had the pleasure of getting further in that story. Sir Waite and Sir Kent were fascinating heroes, each so different and yet equally capable, proving there was no one way to accomplish anything and compromise often solved a situation best.

Reardon liked Sir Waite more than Sir Kent, if he was being honest, and he didn’t fool himself over why. Waite portrayed a grouchy disposition to cover a deeply caring heart.

For the first time, Reardon stayed beside the king long past the lunch hour, since he’d eaten breakfast late, wanting to get as much time together as he could. But, like any day, once his first real shiver set in, the king dismissed him.

After grabbing a few leftovers from the kitchen to snack on until dinner, Reardon headed to his room to drop off the book, unsure how last night had ended in a win but not willing to question it. He received several stares from passersby as he trekked the halls—friendly ones but stares nonetheless—and wondered if it was because of how much he drank last night or the outfit that obviously wasn’t his.

He’d been without his weapons belt when he woke up, vaguely remembering it being removed, so he half expected to find his dagger missing again, yet the belt and weapons remained, waiting for him neatly on his bed.

Reardon traded the book for his belt but decided not to change out of the king’s garments. He might keep them after all.

His intended destination was the alchemist tower, but as he crossed the castle along the main landing above the large entryway doors, Oliver’s wife, Amelia, came bursting inside, frantically looking for someone, anyone, it seemed, but no one was in the immediate vicinity.

Save Reardon.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, hurrying down the steps.

“Thank goodness,” she said, rushing forward to meet him and grasping his arms once they collided. “Shayla caught a pair of trespassers sneaking over the wall left of the gate. She’s trying to hold them back, but we must warn the court.”

“Zephyr!” Reardon called, causing Amelia to sag, as if in reprimand at herself for not thinking of that first.

A few beats passed, but then Zephyr appeared like always. “You know it’s rude to assume—”

“Shayla’s fending off trespassers outside. Tell the others,” Reardon interrupted, not waiting for a response before he nodded resolutely to Amelia and took off running out the main doors, grateful once more that he had his belt.

The cold air made Reardon shiver, since his protection draught had long since waned, but he hurried onward regardless, left as directed toward the wall on the Shadow Lands side of the castle.

It was just at the far edge of the ice garden that he spotted them: Shayla with her twin daggers drawn, circling a pair of men dressed simply but each armed with a sword—and clearly wearing Emerald’s colors.

“Stop!”

Shayla didn’t look over her shoulder, eyes glued to the men, but the soldiers both glanced at Reardon, immediately showing recognition.

---