Page 49 of Fated to the Frost King

A breath shuddered out of me.

Lumen was okay. They all were. I leaned my head back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling, letting that knowledge settle in my bones. My fingers curled around the edge of the blanket, grounding myself in the fabric. Warm. Real.

“Good,” I whispered.

Silence stretched for a beat.

“And the king?” I asked like he was an afterthought, like I hadn’t done anything but dream about his sudden appearance on the ice, or the way the frostbeast had dissolved into ice.

But I hadn’t seen what happened after.

I didn’t look at her when I asked. I just listened for the telltale shift in her breathing.

Sadist that she was, she took her time adjusting the tray again. She straightened the blanket, then smoothed out a wrinkle that wasn’t there, before finally sighing.

“The king was not injured.”

Was it relief coursing through me, or the urge to punch her in her smug face for drawing that out for so long?

“Of course he wasn’t,” I scoffed. “What I meant to ask was how his Majesty arrived so quickly.”

Was it his own mana or an effect of the rings?

Mirelda pursed her lips, but answered. “He travels through the ice, when he needs to, of course.”

Of course, like everyone knew that. Perhaps it was a book on Draven I should see about finding.

“And now?” I asked.

Mirelda hesitated again, studying my expression. She cleared her throat.

“In his study,” she said tersely, her lips pursing. “And His Majesty instructed me to inform him the moment you woke. So, I will be taking my leave of you now.”

It was an oddly abrupt departure, even for her. Maybe she wasn’t as assured of our safety as she wanted to be, either.

I gave her a small nod. “Thank you… for the soup.”

Her eyes softened, just for a moment, but she didn’t say anything else. She only gave a tight, strange dip of her head and swept out of the room, skirts whispering like snowdrifts in her wake.

The door shut behind her with a finality I felt in my bones.

I leaned back against the pillows, the warmth of the soup settling uncomfortably in my gut now. Sleep pulled at my limbs, but my thoughts refused to quiet.

A frostbeast had breached the walls. During the day. I squeezed my eyes shut.

What did that mean for the palace? For the kingdom? What did it mean for my sister?

The panic that gripped my chest earlier threatened to return. This time, it wasn’t the kind that clawed and tore. It was quieter. Heavier. Like a blanket soaked through with ice water, pressing down until my lungs forgot how to work.

I needed to tell Wynnie. Now. Somehow. She had to know something was wrong. She needed to be careful… to be aware.

The thought pulsed over and over again until exhaustion finally dulled the edges of it.

My body was still too heavy, and my head throbbed with a slow ache that made forming full thoughts difficult. I would write tomorrow. First thing.

Just as soon as the world stopped spinning.

I let my eyes drift shut and exhaled slowly, trying not to think about frost-kissed shadows and burning blue-green eyes. Trying not to wonder whether it had really been Draven’s hand brushing my hair away.

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