Page 124 of The Prince and the Ice King

It was at the sound of a wild, hysterical howl that Reardon looked up, seeing the court members first, floating above the chaos to rain down their elements or offer support, but then, soaring through the air from beyond the castle walls, came the source of that war cry.

Nigel, flung as if from a catapult—no, a trebuchet—hurtled into the throng with his own sword and dagger drawn. Reardon thought him absolutely mad, coming down far too fast, only to hit a cushion of air and float gently the rest of the way down like the wind had caught him.

The wind had.

Reardon watched as Nigel joined the others, brought into the battle by his love, who floated with the rest of the court to keep from touching anyone directly.

“Don’t you see? They wish you no harm if you’d only stop!” Reardon tried once more as he rode that much harder forward, reaching Jack at last and sliding so swiftly from his horse that the jostle pitched him to the side, and he nearly fell into the snow.

“Reardon!” Jack rushed to him, almost forgetting himself and grasping Reardon’s shoulders before he stopped.

He couldn’t touch him. If he did, Reardon would turn to ice like the awful garden of evildoers in the courtyard. The same courtyard where Lombard stood, right where he needed to be upon the cursed grounds, looking back at Reardon with a nasty grin.

“Ahh!” Reardon dropped to his knees, his cloak falling open to reveal the dagger, glowing and burning inside him with a white-hot pain even worse than before, as Lombard’s lips began to move, speaking his promised incantation.

“Reardon!” Jack cried again, dropping to his knees in kind to be closer to Reardon, so that, with the snow beneath and Jack right there in front of Reardon, all he saw was white.

And Jack’s beautiful blue eyes.

Far beyond the gates, up on the ramparts, Reardon caught a glimmer of Barclay, looking distraught and trying to call to him over the battle. Reardon couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He understood now what the vision meant. He knew what he had to do to save them all, even ifallmight not mean him.

His friends were all around him, some above, all fighting so hard while trying not to cause harm to their attackers. The fighting seemed to quiet, though, and Reardon couldn’t be sure if the Emerald soldiers were stopping or if the pain of Lombard’s spell was making him deaf and blind to everything but what was right in front of him.

“I… love you,” Reardon choked out. “You. L-Lombard tried….”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jack said. “I love you too. What has he done to you?”

“Promise me.” Reardon cringed. The pain was growing so excruciating that he knew his time was short, but he had to ensure that he saved Jack and the others like he’d promised.

“Reardon, we need to—”

“Promise.”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Forgive yourself. B-believe… you’re a good… king… and move on.”

Tears tried to form in Jack’s eyes, but when they crested his cheeks, they froze. “I showed everyone my face.”

The pain forced Reardon forward onto his hands, yet still he smiled, because hearing that gave him a brief, stuttering beat of peace. “I’m glad… but say… y-you promise.”

Reardon could hear Lombard now, though he didn’t think anyone else could. The voice seemed to come from the dagger, echoing into his head, words he didn’t understand but that were unmistakably malicious.

More tears spilled onto Jack’s cheeks and froze like fissures. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” Reardon gasped, and using the last of his wavering strength, he heaved upward against the pain, reached for Jack’s face with both hands, and kissed his icy lips.

Jack

Jack couldn’t express the horror of having Reardon kiss him, knowing what would happen.

It was unfairly slow, Reardon able to pull back and smile before the ice washed over him, freezing every part of him, sword belt and cloak and all—but not the dagger.

Thudding to the cold ground, the dagger was the only part of Reardon spared, because it was enchanted and had no place killing him anymore or fulfilling whatever sorcery Lombard had planned.

Reardon was already dead.

A howl exploded from Jack, so earthshattering that he almost expected Reardon to crack. The wail echoed long after he’d stopped releasing it, but afterward, everything else was silence. The soldiers, Jack’s subjects, they’d all stopped fighting, staring in wonder and horror at the frozen prince and the monster who would mourn him.

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