Page 22 of The Prince and the Ice King

“His gaze was just so….”

“Intense. I know.”

They both shivered, and after another tight squeeze of Reardon’s hands, Barclay let him go.

“Sometimes, in my dreams,” Barclay said, “I see a world where magic is used openly everywhere, where people love openly whoever they want. I like to think that’s the future, and not too far off.”

“Maybe it is,” Reardon agreed. “Good night, my friend.”

“Good night, Reardon. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Reardon didn’t bother lighting any candles or lanterns when he entered his room, finding his way easily enough in the dark. The idea of sleeping in a real bed reminded him of his exhaustion, and he barely took the time to strip before he climbed under the covers.

The quilt smelled like lavender. They really had done everything they could to make the sacrifice feel welcome, even if they were cautious of anyone new.

As Reardon closed his eyes and started to drift off, he wondered where the elementals had gone when the sun set and what they did during the night. One of the many mysteries he had to solve, he supposed, and come morning, he’d be ready to get to work.

Jack

Jack stood in the same passageway he’d watched the prince from earlier, seeing the bed clearly through the hole he’d made by removing a carefully chosen stone. His goal wasn’t to peep, and it was far too dark to see much of him undressing anyway, but the faintest flash of bare skin made his chest feel warm—and nothing felt warm to him anymore.

The young prince was just so beautiful. And he had a voice to match—one that had enchanted Jack, so much so that he hadn’t dared speak after the tale Reardon sang for fear of his own voice breaking, even if the words had painted him as the villain.

Jackwasa villain, worse than any bard’s tale could say. His people were too forgiving, but then, none of them had been there in the beginning, only those who carried the curse with him.

He’d been keeping his eyes on the banquet hall and knew the moment when Reardon and Barclay left, but now the prince merely slid into bed, planning nothing untoward but slumber.

Jack had to admit that Reardon seemed earnest with no ulterior motives, but there was no ending to this experiment where over two-hundred years of dissenting beliefs was resolved by a single hopeful boy made king.

Turning from the even breaths of the prince, who had already fallen asleep, Jack replaced the stone and moved quietly back down the passageway to his chamber. He knew where his court members were, but for him, there was nowhere else to go but back to his icy halls.

He shivered as he crossed into the main room, a sensation that made him smirk, and then continued behind the throne to the other door, the one on theleft, where no one else was ever allowed to go.

The next morning, Jack was shocked—and possibly a little irritated—to leave his private room, just after the crack of dawn and planning to sprawl himself across his throne dramatically before calling for the young prince, only to discover Reardon already waiting for him.

“I expected a chronically late and ambivalent young royal, and yet… here you are,” Jack sneered, crunching one clawed hand onto the armrest of his throne.

Today Reardon was dressed in complementing green and blue, accentuating the hue of his eyes, with the contrast and bright light of the sun making his auburn hair far redder than before.

The boy was a royal, gorgeous, and seemingly smart and talented—surely he had to have glaring faults hidden away, or was otherwise secretly daft or entirely full of himself. Yet, despite the haughty smirk he wore as he bowed low in Jack’s presence, his eagerness seemed genuine.

“Majesty,” Reardon greeted as he finished his bow. “Widow Caitlin left several draughts in front of my door to keep back your chill, so after scavenging for some quick breakfast, I came straight here for our inaugural audience. Princess Josie assured me you would be ready.”

“I’m sure she did,” Jack grumbled. Gripping the side of his throne more tightly, he made a show of easy strength by swinging himself up onto it with a loud crash and burst of icy wind that made Reardon shudder.

The prince remained undaunted, however, and steadied himself with a shake of his hair. “I understand certain things have been kept fromme. Barclay is loyal to you, aside from sharing what he deemed safe, but I intend to learn the rest, as I told you.”

“You will know me, and I you,” Jack recounted. “So far, I have learned that you are equal parts bold and meek, completely ignorant of my kingdom, an admittedly impressive bard… and quick to blush.”

Reardon’s cheeks went instantly scarlet.

Ignorant again? Jack wondered.Or merely bashful?

“One would think you’d be used to having attention on you, little prince.”

“N-not volatile attention.”

“You sure? Not everyone is tolerant of princes, not even your own people.”

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