Page 23 of Fated to the Frost King

“That is…” I scrambled for a lie. “None of your concern,” I finished loftily.

Her lips parted in ire. “It is if it poses a risk to his majesty.”

I blinked, wondering if sneaking in a venomous creature to do away with the king was a common assassination plan. Perhaps I should have thought of it, though it had never occurred to me to treat the Frostgrave King as mortal.

With an exasperated sigh, I opened my hands, revealing my contraband. “I daresay a baby bat poses no threat to the king who massacred thousands of fae with a single breath and has spent the better part of the week fighting monsters.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but I barreled over her.

“You did say the king wanted me to dress for dinner? Something appropriate?”

My bargain was clear. My compliance for your silence.

Her gaze flitted to the tiny snowfiend, who had once again raised her wings to cover her face. One heartbeat passed, then another, while I mentally prepared to wrestle my disagreeable maid for the dubious privilege of keeping a rodent in my rooms.

At last, she cleared her throat. “Yes. He was very particular.”

A smile curved at the corners of her lips, far more unsettling than any scowl she had ever given me.

I suppressed a shudder, setting Batty on the arm of a chair before I followed Mirelda into the closet, not quite trusting what she would emerge with.

I hadn’t been inside the closet yet, but it appeared to be just as sentient as the tub, if not a little moreso. It presented one sparkling choice after another, obeying when Mirelda flicked her hand to the right or left.

Finally, the closet brought forth a gown of storm-gray silk, soft as snowfall and threaded with the faintest shimmer of silver. The fabric moved like mist, the long, flowing sleeves trailing with every breath of air, weightless and treacherously delicate. Curled along the neckline and hem was subtle embroidery, swirling with winter sigils that almost glowed when the light struck just right.

The bodice would fit snugly, laced in the back with a ribbon the color of sleet, and most importantly, the skirts were still flared enough to conceal my weapon. Still, it was hardly warm.

Mirelda tilted her head, studying it for a long moment before she gave a curt nod of approval, like the vindictive wench that she was.

With the thought of facing the king already dragging icy fingers along my spine, the last thing I needed was to be shivering my way through dinner and have him accuse me of being afraid. Or worse, fragile.

“That would look lovely draped in fur, don’t you think?” I said pointedly, not remotely concerned if it was true.

The closet went still, not so much as a whisper of fabric intruding on the newfound silence. Was that merely a reflection of Mirelda’s attitude, or had I managed to offend the closet itself?

My maid surveyed me with narrowed eyes, and I stared back like I had nothing to hide.

“Fine,” she said after a beat.

After only a moment of hesitation on the closet’s part, a fur stole flopped at my feet, much the way a carcass might drop fromthe mouth of a predator that found it distasteful. A matching arm muff followed in much the same fashion.

Mirelda smirked, but I still took the win, begrudging as it was.

Once I had dressed, behind the screen, away from her, she combed through my waves with quick, practiced fingers, then swept smoky pigment along my cheekbones and eyes. A deeper shade of midnight blue was pressed to my lips, and my lashes were painted with kohl so dark it gleamed like obsidian.

Delicate chains of silver and twilight crystals draped around my throat and wrists, cool against my skin.

By the time she was done, I had nearly tricked myself into a strange sort of calm. Not peace, exactly, just the cold acceptance that the day was happening, with or without my permission.

Mirelda made the final adjustment, settling a crown onto my head that was far more impressive than the delicate one I had worn for my portraits. It was silver and ice-forged, spiked like a ring of spears, and just heavy enough to remind me it wasn’t mine by choice.

I turned to the mirror. The version of myself looking back was far more composed than I felt. Every inch of me looked the part. Regal. Untouchable.

A beautifully packaged lie, not unlike the Frostgrave King.

The air shifted like I had summoned him with my thoughts.

The temperature dropped. A gust of rage swept into the room just before the distant slam of a door echoed through the hallway.

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