Page 41 of Fated to the Frost King

Two courtiers stood near a veiled arch of frost-covered roses, speaking just low enough that they clearly wanted to be overheard.

“They tried contacting the Archmage himself,” she continued. “But, by then... Well, the father found him the next morning.”

I turned slightly, just enough to glance in their direction, and just enough for the wind to shift, carrying more of their words straight to me.

“Even the body knew it wasn’t right,” the other courtier replied, and I saw red.

“I warned her there was something wrong with that low-born from Summer. It was in the blood.”

A brittle laugh. “And now it’s out of it.”

My ears rang and bile coated my tongue. Of all the things to make light of, the death of a child.

My hand twitched toward my dagger as I wondered idly whether I was as free to perform executions as my husband was. I wasn’t sure if I was capable of murder, sanctioned or otherwise, but it tore at something in my soul that people so callous roamed freely while Hollow children were chained and disposed of.

My rage boiled up in me, my nails digging into my skin with the effort of physically restraining myself from shoving them over the wall.

Then Nevara’s voice broke through the sound of chaos and pain in my head.

She and Soren had continued walking after I froze, but they must have noticed I wasn’t with them because now they were circling back toward me. It took more effort than it should have to school my expression. Though she couldn’t actually see my features, something in the stiff set of Nevara’s shoulders made me wonder if she felt the shift in my energy.

Or perhaps she had Seen something shift in my future because I had never felt stronger about finding a way out than I did right now.

The frost-crusted path crunched beneath my boots, every step feeling both too loud and not loud enough. Nevara didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. The quiet press of her silence allowed me the space to collect the scattered pieces of myself.

Soren must have sensed the tension, too, because his voice came next, low and even, shifting the atmosphere like a hand gently turning the page of a story.

“To your left,” he said, his voice softer as he leaned closer to Nevara, “a line of trees stands like sentinels. The trunks are pale as bone, their branches lifting like they’re praying to something older than the stars.”

She didn’t respond, but her fingers brushed the length of her carved staff—slow and thoughtful. Like she was grounding herself. Or maybe listening.

“One of them is even fruiting this afternoon,” he added. “The pomes are gleaming with a shade of gold that feels like the warm glow of sunlight on your skin, or the taste of honey warm from the comb. And when the wind moves through them, they hum. Like a lullaby you can’t quite remember.”

I glanced toward the tree in question. Sure enough, golden orbs swung from the branches, shedding light in rippling pools across the path. I hadn’t even noticed the sound until he named it, but once I did, I couldn’t unhear it, gentle and eerie.

He kept describing, and she kept following, despite her guarded expression. Her chin tilted toward his voice, like she could catch the shape of the world in the space between his words. And maybe she could.

Had he done this for her before? Described things she couldn’t see, not with her eyes?

It was surprisingly intimate, in a way that had less to do with romance and everything to do with being known. My chest pinched with something I didn’t want to name.

I barely registered the feeling when a scream rent through the air. I flinched from the sound, my ears ringing, my heart pounding like a war-drum, when another one followed.

And another.

Unearthly screeches followed, the kind of sound that scraped down the spine. The kind that didn’t belong in a place like this.

Lumen lunged in front of me with a low, savage growl, his massive form tensed as his hackles raised. His glowing eyes locked onto the path to our right.

Where everything was red.

The trees, the glowing flowers, even the stonework of the fountain no longer sparkled with snow and ice.

They were all stained crimson with blood.

Chapter 16

Draven

---