Page 31 of Fated to the Frost King

It was an effort not to bow under the crippling weight of his ire, but hadn’t I faced down furious males before? He might never respect me regardless, but he sure as hells wouldn’t if I backed down now.

Especially not when we both knew I was right.

He let out a bitter huff of air, close enough to ghost along my cheeks. His gaze flitted to my lips for a fraction of a heartbeat before he slowly backed away, removing his hand from the wall.

He straightened to his full height, shoulders tense, still standing entirely too close to me. Just when I was certain he was going to turn and walk away without speaking, his lips parted.

“There’s been an attack.” His mouth twisted as if the words tasted like ash. “And yes, word will certainly spread of it soon.”

I stopped short.

“Unseelie?” I asked, the blood draining from my face.

He shook his head.“Frostbeasts.”

Was that better? Worse? The Unseelie were known to take slaves, but the monsters liked to play with their food before consuming it. Both fates were worse than just death.

“Where?” The word came out a whisper.

Not near Wynnie. Anywhere else.

“A village. Up near Icereach Pass,” he answered, his tone losing some of the venom that it had held before.

Wynnie’s estate was to the south, days from Icereach Pass.

Relief washed over me, powerful enough that I felt like a monster myself. Someone’s sister or parent or child had been hurt. Was it wrong to be so grateful that it wasn’t mine?

“How many of them died?” I asked cautiously, not sure I wanted the answer.

Whatever had happened was enough to call the Lord General away from his dinner.

The king hesitated for a moment, long enough to fill me with dread.

“All of them.” He forced the words between clenched teeth.

The air fled from my lungs.All?

“How—”

“It was a pack of Tharnoks,” he answered before I could finish my question.

My stomach twisted.

Even in their bare sketched form in my compendiums, Tharnoks were living nightmares. Towering, grotesque creatures with wolf-like bodies covered in clotted obsidian fur and icy-slicked scales, but they usually haunted cemeteries, tombs, old burial grounds.

And…they hunted alone. Always.

I met the king’s eyes, finding fury and bitterness…but not surprise. Tharnoks hunting in packs wasn’t unusual for him, even though it should have been.

Something was deeply wrong in the Winter Court, maybe all of Aerivelle, and I had the ominous sense that we were only just beginning to feel the cracks.

Chapter 12

Draven

Apack.

I was still consumed by the simple word. Enraged by it.

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