Page 92 of The Prince and the Ice King

“Oh, um… it had to be mended once. A year ago, actually. When a certainsomeonesnuck into my room his first night, I hit him with it.”

“What?”

“After that thief all those years ago, she was scared!” Barclay defended. “Luckily, I wasn’t knocked out and hastily explained that I’d only gone to her because she seemed the most likely to listen about my visions and that they’d already shown me the castle’s secrets. I was scared too, but while she kept me at a distance at first, she listened and agreed to keep my secret from the others until my two weeks had passed.”

“It was the smart thing to do,” Josie said, “but I also missed having someone around at night. I asked Barclay to come back every evening so I could keep an eye on him. That was my original intention, but he’d tellme stories about Emerald, about his experiments, about his favorite tales and songs, his dreams and fears, his visions, even the ones he had about me. I was smitten long before I realized.” She kissed him lightly again, lingering this time far longer.

Familiar, she’d said. That story of a slow decline was familiar to Jack too.

“The night Barclay’s two weeks were up, when he was officially initiated as a subject of the Frozen Kingdom,” Josie continued, “I stole him away for the rest of the evening and never regretted it.”

They stared adoringly into each other’s eyes, Reardon overcome with that longing look again as he made his way to the tunnel exit. “Good night, my friends. I am very happy for you and agree wholeheartedly—no regrets.”

Jack was so weighted down with guilt from Reardon’s unwavering faith in him that he almost forgot he was currently standing in the tunnels Reardon was about to enter.

Nearly stumbling over his own feet, Jack hastened away, never before so relieved that there was no ice trail the way he had come from.

Reardon

That night, Reardon thought the king sounded out of breath when he opened the door to lead Reardon into his chambers.

Eager to see him, Reardon hoped.

They kissed and touched and lay together, writhing as one with tangled limbs and inelegant, hurried enthusiasm. Reardon loved nights like that as much as any other ways they were together.

Afterward, they continued to lounge in bed, while the king read the next chapter ofPillars of Virtue. Usually Reardon did the reading, but oh, the king’s voice was lovely and lyrical.

Reardon thought his planned singing seduction might no longer be needed, with how attentive and sweet the king was being, but when the chapter concluded, Reardon was still pushed out the door.

The next night, he had no more excuses, because Nigel was ready with his tale and had made Reardon promise that he’d perform his too—even if the only person who’d know would be the king.

Anticipation made the day inch by. Reardon’s thoughts were distracted when he was with the king that morning, and far worse once they parted. Dinnertime came too slowly as well, though once it did,Reardon felt inspired when he looked at Branwen and Caitlin sitting together hip to hip.

The sun had already set, so the pair had entered the banquet hall together. Each iteration of the experiments in the alchemist tower brought Reardon closer to discovering the potion that had killed his mother—and Caitlin’s husband—and with that success, it seemed theice maidenwas melting just as Reardon hoped to melt the king.

Ten years Caitlin had been tethered to a ghost, called “widow” like a lifelong title, but with the mystery soon to be solved, perhaps she was finally letting go and opening her heart to Branwen.

Reardon relaxed as he watched them with a growing smile.

Just as Nigel arrived in a flurry, literally dragging Zephyr behind him.

“I’m not hungry—” Zephyr tried to protest, but Nigel tugged him along anyway.

“Yet I, my love, am hungry for the room!” He let go of Zephyr only after they were in the center of the hall and jumped straight up onto one of the empty benches to get onto the table, commanding everyone’s attention. “I have the most epic of tales to tell today. Unparalleled and dramatic and spanning ages, this story is one of heartache, deceit, and love conquering all.

“Who cares to hear it?”

The usual chorus of cheers and encouragement rose at the thought of Nigel telling one of his tales, while Zephyr tried to hide his amusement by scowling and crossing his arms.

With leave to begin, Nigel started a slow stomp on the table to get the crowd pounding out a beat, and the trill of a harpsichord filled the hall. Everyone turned, Zephyr looking especially stunned, to discover Wynn sitting at the instrument in the corner—which was usually up in the music room.

Josie stood from where she and Barclay sat across from Reardon, revealing her lute tucked beneath the bench. As she joined in Wynn’s song, Reardon and Barclay rose as well for their parts that came later, and Nigel began his verse to the continued beat of the crowd.

“The lovers yet to know their path begin our tale quite broken: a scoundrel found to hide his ears—” He tapped his own pointed tips. “—and a spy with wants unspoken!”

Zephyr turned his head to hide a laugh.

“The spy was once of noble blood and meant to give an heir, but hence he was sent from his home for cravingbroaderfare.” Nigel winked, spinning about with his usual flourish. “So too the scoundrel once was jeered at if his tricks were proved untrue. Then sent away as magic-born, a half-elf given due.

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