Page 28 of Fated to the Frost King

“Of course, Lord Soren,” said a familiar voice from the far end of the table, quiet but clear. “But let’s not interrupt their musings. I know our king will be quite eager to hear their thoughts on the parentage of his Fate-chosen queen…which should be…”

Nevara tilted her head toward the doors, “…any second now.”

She twisted her lips in a bare hint of amusement, knocking back the last of her wine in one fluid motion. She raised her glass for another, pretending not to notice the way she had silenced the entire table with a single line.

Just like with the emissary, I wasn’t sure if she was protecting me for my sake, the king’s, or her own mysterious designs.

But I was grateful anyway.

The Autumn emissary raised his glass to her with a quiet, “Hear, hear.”

I polished off the rest of my wine as well. In solidarity, yes. But also because I didn’t need Nevara’s gifts to know I was going to need it.

Chapter 11

Everly

The temperature plummeted only seconds before the doors swept open.

Cold poured into the dining hall in a slow, creeping wave. The silence deepened the moment the Frostgrave King stepped into the room.

The Lord General didn’t return.

Whatever had called them away was serious enough to keep the head of Winter’s Military, and to send molten fury surging through King Draven’s mana. The potency of the rage in his power had me tightening my hold on the skathryn, relying on her warmth to stave off a shiver.

The king swept a glance around the room, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“It would seem I missed a riveting conversation.” His tone was all casual lethality as he examined the courtiers one by one.

Some kept their composure admirably while others squirmed in their seats. The male who had taunted me paled to the point of translucence.

“Lord Floren?” the King inquired, for all the world as though he was asking a polite question rather than lobbing an accusation.

Though he addressed the male, his gaze darted to Nevara. She took a casual sip of her wine, giving a subtle dip of her chin.

“We were only…telling jokes, Your Majesty.” Lord Floren made a valiant attempt at confidence, but his voice was pitched an octave higher than it had been a moment ago.

“Such as?” The quiet authority in King Draven’s tone had my own hair standing on end, and it wasn’t even directed at me.

Lord Floren shook his head mutely, so the king turned his attention to the lady seated on the courtier’s other side, opposite his ashen twin.

The lady swallowed. “He…remarked on the queen’s parentage, Your Majesty.”

The king’s aurora eyes darkened to something closer to emerald. It was the only warning before frost laced across the table, making its way directly toward Lord Floren.

The male let out a pained groan, wincing as he clutched his arm. Beneath his grip, blackened veins spread along his skin like inky fractures spiderwebbing across a glass.

His breath fogged the air, his ragged exhales puncturing the uneasy silence. Crystals formed along his lashes and the smooth strands of his midnight hair. He curled his fingers tight against his chest, nails a sickly shade of blue.

My stomach twisted. The last thing I wanted was to witness another fae turning into one of the king’s macabre ice statues. I had more than enough nightmare fodder for one lifetime.

“As he said, it was only a jest,” I said quietly. Pointedly.

The king tilted his head to face me, slow and deliberate.

“An insult to their queen is an insult to me.” His voice was low, but it echoed through the room like a clap of thunder.

It shouldn’t have bothered me that everything came down to his power, his pride, but something curiously close to disappointment snaked through my chest. Not that I wanted him executing people at the dining hall table on my behalf, either.

---