Page 76 of The Prince and the Ice King

It must be past dawn, that’s why the king wasn’t here, but Reardon kept his eyes closed for several long pauses after removing the blindfold before he dared peek around.

The bedcurtains had not been drawn, but he had been neatly tucked in, left in the center to slumber through the night alone. There were no windows in these rooms, so he could not tell if the sun was up, but the lacking presence of the king made him certain. He took what time he’d been granted to take in the parts of the king’s chambers he hadn’t been able to see the other night.

The bedroom was as lavish as the study, leading into the bathroom through a large, open archway. Everything was silver, gray, and blue, with only faint accents in gold and everything else colored so coolly. He remembered the feel of this bed now, but seeing it for the first time brought back flashes of sensation that hadn’t included visuals before—the king’s hands, his fingers inside Reardon, his cock in Reardon’s mouth….

Reardon closed his eyes to stop the onslaught, but that only brought the memories up stronger, and his usual morning hardness pulsed between his legs for attention. That was not an option. He wouldn’t dare pleasure himself in this bed without permission.

Although an audience would be interesting now that he knew the king had watched before, even if he couldn’t meet the king’s eyes or have him in daylight.

The king must be furious with him, though Reardon immediately doubted that thought, given how gently he’d been treated.

Then he saw the note.

Scrambling for the end of the bed, Reardon snatched up the piece of parchment, precariously balanced at the edge of the mattress. The elegant penmanship matched what Reardon had seen in the verses he’d stolen.

Bathe and dress in what you wish. Your soiled clothes can be dropped down the chute. There are potions, food, and water on the table beside the bath. We will talk once you are finished.

It wasn’t signed, not that it needed to be, but Reardon’s stomach churned at that final sentence from more than just a belly full of spirits—which reminded him how desperately he needed to pee.

Lurching up from the bed, Reardon had to wonder if he was dreaming and had merely passed out in the dining hall last night. Here he was relieving himself in the king’s chambers, disrobing, and once again soaking in a hot bath already prepared for him with those same sweet-smelling oils. The dream didn’t fade, however. No matter what the king said after this, he was hardly treating Reardon like a stable boy.

The wardrobes were numerous, and Reardon couldn’t resist opening every single one. He’d already placed his old clothes down the… “chute,” which had a basket beneath it, but was otherwise a small door set into thewall that opened to a long dark drop like into a deep well. The washing room must be directly below. Everyone else left their clothes in baskets that were picked up by whoever was on duty that day.

Looking through the multitude of wardrobes for what to borrow, Reardon wondered what the king had been wearing the night they spent together, though he knew it had been a mere shirt and trousers, not any of the gorgeous doublets with glittering accessories he found.

There were many in shades of blue which, like the décor of the rooms, didn’t surprise Reardon—this had been the Sapphire Kingdom, after all—but none were embroidered with white gold or silver, which made him smile. He’d started making that secret garment in his own size since he didn’t know the measurements of the king, but seeing examples now, he knew he wouldn’t be far off.

It was easy to tell among the doublets, jackets, and cloaks what had been tailored for the king before versus after the curse; the signature look of the kingdom today was simple patterns in brilliant color. Any of the more luxurious articles would have been out of place, especially for Reardon to wear now, but there was a doublet in deep purple with maroon accents and matching embroidery that drew his eye.

He chose it without hesitation, a white shirt, and dark brown trousers.

Not wanting to languish too long, despite the king’s hospitality, Reardon fussed with the clothes and his damp hair, which was difficult without a mirror, before downing the potions left for him—first, a mild healing potion for his headache, and then his customary draught against the cold. He finished with much water, and finally, ate every crumb of food. When it was over, all that remained was to face the king.

The sound of yelling was not encouraging when Reardon neared the door to the frozen chamber beyond, but better than it being directed at him, he supposed. The voices became clearer the moment he pulled the door open, doing so slowly to not alert the figures outside.

“I didn’t pour the ale down his throat!” Branwen argued.

“You didn’t do much to stop him from pouring it down his own!” the king roared back.

“It was his first night with the secret out—second, technically. We always get the new offering drunk after that.”

“But most aren’t left on my doorstep,blindfolded. What if my door had been locked? What if I hadn’t let him in? He might have stumbled back to the staircase and broken his neck toppling down them!”

Reardon flushed at the obvious concern in the king’s tone. Branwen must have noticed too, because he snorted from where he stood only a few feet from the large, hulking Ice King.

“Didn’t seem there was much chance of that. And look—” Branwen turned to face Reardon, making him jump and clutch the door handle at being caught. “—seems we were right.”

The king’s gaze was just as paralyzing, his maw closing and his towering body tensing with tightly clenched fists.

Branwen’s snort caused a burst of flames this time, as he pivoted to leave. “Not bad, princeling. Next time, maybe you’ll even be able to keep up.” He headed off, ignoring the king’s shout after him.

It was difficult for Reardon to keep the smile from his face as he approached the king. “I am truly sorry for my behavior, Majesty,” he said, offering a low bow. “Please don’t blame the others. I didn’t make it easy for them to tell me no.”

The king dropped to all fours, but not to pound the ground or shake the throne room as he had many times before. He merely wilted, like he wished he could make himself smaller in Reardon’s presence. “That does seem to be your specialty.” Now that they were alone, he took in Reardon’s form with a dissecting stare, eyeing the clothing he’d chosen.

“I-is this all right?” Reardon stuttered.

“It’s fine. I’ve just… never seen anyone in those clothes.”

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