Page 120 of The Prince and the Ice King

“I think this calls for a toast!” Nigel stood, raising his glass, to which everyone followed. “Not only for our king’s handsome face, of course, but for whatever tomorrow brings. Hear! Hear!” he cried, and again, everyone echoed him.

“Hear! Hear!”

“Also!” Nigel said before the growing mutters could rise to a normal dinner din. He set his goblet aside and moved to approach the head table, bringing his hands behind his back where Jack couldn’t see and then bringing them out again with a flourish. “I believe this belongs to you, Majesty. No idea how I acquired it.”

Jack’scrown—glittering silver with inlaid sapphires.

He hadn’t seen it in decades. He’d grown more used to his crown of ice.

Josie rose to take the crown and gently placed it upon Jack’s head. It weighed more than he remembered but felt strangely… right.

“What say you, Majesty?” Nigel bowed. “Shall I spin a tale?”

Only one came to mind, since it was the beginning of this adventure and seemed fitting to be part of the end, whatever tomorrow brought. “Let’s hear once more of the fletcher,” Jack said, and a cheer rose up like always, with Oliver bowing his head from where he’d reclaimed his seat.

Fitting indeed.

Even more so the next day when it was Oliver, the first sacrifice, who sounded the alarm.

Chapter 13

Reardon

If Reardon thought thelong journey home from the Frozen Kingdom was more grueling than he’d remembered, then doing the same journey once more with a mystical dagger plunged into his chest was the worst torture he had ever known. At least this time he had the comfort of a wagon, though every bump in the road made him wince.

The only thing that would be worse was if he failed to catch up to Lombard in time.

Reardon and those who’d chosen to join him couldn’t push onward without resting, however. They camped briefly the first night and were doing so again before the final leg to the castle the following morning. If Reardon had calculated correctly, they were set to arrive right on Lombard’s heels. He wished that gave him comfort or eased his pain as he lay down, trying to rest.

This time, he had asked for space, because he hated to see the discomfort on his people’s faces when they looked upon the dagger or saw him cringe. He tried to keep it covered, but anything touching it, even just his cloak, made the pain worse.

He lay beside a fire with the dagger aimed upward at the open sky. Eating and drinking was a chore as well, but he’d choked down what he could. Now he longed for his exhaustion to let him sleep, if only for a little while, so he could forget how much his heart hurt—from so many things.

“Your Highness, I fear I know the answer, but I must ask… is there nothing that can be done to ease your suffering?”

Tilting his head, Reardon took in the visage of the elven guard who’d helped him, the first to speak up and bolster his fellows to do the same. Lombard had taken most of the guards with him, and Reardon had had to leave some in Emerald, but his company was still made up of a great multitude, just mostly artisans, shopkeeps, and farmers.

Watching them all beyond the elf who stood before Reardon reminded him of his first night at Jack’s castle. He’d been awed then to see so many elves and half-elves, to see men cuddled close to men andwomen holding hands with other women. Now he was seeing that same miracle in his own people.

He tried to smile at the guard, who was handsome without his helmet, his elven ears still prominent without whatever glamour had hidden them. He was tall and dark and stoic, with a poise to his stance that spoke of the honorable man he was. He’d even fetched Reardon’s sword belt from the palace before they gathered at the city gates and left, though Reardon doubted he could put his swords to much use in his sorry state.

“I wish I knew,” Reardon said. It still hurt to speak, but it didn’t hurt much less to stay silent. He glanced down his body at the dagger, bejeweled and beautiful, a once treasured possession. “Lombard said… I’d die if I tried to remove it. Perhaps… that is what I should do. If I die before he completes his plan, he can’t succeed.”

“Highness.” The guard stepped closer, as if ready to stop him.

Reardon didn’t bother lifting a hand to try. “If it comes to that, I might have to… but not yet. I need to reach those gates, to be sure everyone is well.” He clenched his eyes shut, and a tear streaked down his cheek.

The guard still hovered when Reardon opened them.

The guard. The elf.

“I don’t know your name,” Reardon realized. “I usually remember everyone in the castle. Are you new?”

“I was a city guard until recently. Robert, the man I love, is a city guard as well. I feared we were more likely to be caught if we worked too closely together, so I petitioned to serve as a castle guard instead. I’ve only been assigned there a week. My name is David, Highness, house of Zheck.”

“What a week,” Reardon remarked. “Your love knows of your feelings and lineage?”

“He does.”

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