Page 15 of Fated to the Frost King

I saw a glacial battlefield, a sparkling crown coated in blood and half-buried in the snow. Children were frozen solid, fear contorting their small features. Winter soldiers trapped forever in the shock of being overtaken by their own king.

And the Unseelie Clans, united in an endless army of rage, blood still coating their jagged weapons or wings or fur underneath the icy shield that would serve as their tomb.

Once, I saw the Nivhallow heiress shatter, only this time, she wore my face. Then, over and over, I heard the Visionary.

Three.

Three.

Three.

Endless tolls of my own death knell.

Strangest of all, I saw myself, shivering in the queen’s suites while a deadly voice assured me that I should be afraid of him.

I was almost grateful when a perfunctory knock woke me from my halfway slumber, before I remembered that I needed to be on my guard. I bolted upright, ignoring the crick in my neck.

I doubted the King would bother to knock, let alone lightly, but everyone here was an enemy, in their way.

There wasn’t time to speculate further before the door eased open to admit the same maid from the day before, breakfast tray in hand. She headed toward the hall to the bedroom, stopping in her tracks when she spotted me in the chair.

“Was the bed not to your liking, Your Majesty?”

How she managed to inject so much disapproval into a solicitous question was a mystery for the ages.

I couldn’t very well tell her that the bedroom was too cold when my mana should have been enough to stave that off, let alone that the idea of fulfilling my queenly duties was enough to bring bile to my throat for so many reasons.

Besides, I was still reeling a bit from the fact that she was here with breakfast instead of someone summoning me to the throne room for death, so I settled on an awkward, noncommittal sound.

She pursed her lips, but didn’t comment.

Breakfast was far healthier than I would have preferred, especially if it was to be one of my final meals, but somehow I thought a plea for dessert would fall on deaf ears with this particular fae. So I choked down my boiled quail eggs and unsweetened porridge, thanking her despite her sideways glances.

As soon as I had swallowed the final bite, she tried to usher me into the lavatory.

I narrowed my eyes. “For what?”

“A bath,” she said, like she didn’t know damned good and well I had been asking what she was preparing me for. “Unless you’d like to dress…as you are, of course.”

She curled her lip, gaze flitting to my hair, which was wildly askew with pins still stuck in it from last night’s updo. I’d managed to remove the crown, but that was as far as I got before giving up and sleeping in my stupid constricting wedding gown.

“Dress for what?” I clarified flatly, not bothering to respond to her censure.

The estate servants had been full of disdain for their master’s bastard, so I was well accustomed to ignoring the slights.

“For your duties as Queen.” Was she being vague on purpose?

Or delicate?

Shards.

Hadn’t I just been thinking that it made no sense for the king not to consummate?

“Myqueenly dutiesthat consist of…?” I echoed in an effort to make her expound.

She huffed out a sigh. “I don’t have your full schedule, but his majesty has been called away on a Brakhound matter, and there are things for you to attend to.”

I furrowed my brow.

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