Page 52 of Fated to the Frost King

Unease was curled low in my gut by the time Mirelda and Lumen led me to a set of towering doors. They were flanked by two frozen trees, their branches arcing up and over the frame to form a familiar symbol.

A rune.Heart—or love? Was that meant to be ironic?

The king didn’t strike me as the type to decorate with hearts, unless they were freshly carved from the chests of his enemies and mounted as a warning. I swallowed hard, forcing the image away, but it lingered alongside the growing list of things that didn’t feel right.

The halls had been empty all the way here. Silent, too. That alone might have been enough to put me on edge, but then there was the low hum of mana pressing against the edges of my senses, bleeding from behind the ornate doors.

And the gown thathehad apparently chosen. Swaths of sapphire fabric threaded with silver, far too formal for an average day at the palace, punctuated by the icy crown.

“What is this?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. “Where are we?”

Mirelda’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t answer. Not verbally. Instead, her gaze shifted to something,or someone, just behind me.

I turned slowly, pulse ticking just beneath my skin.

Not that it was necessary for me to catch sight of my husband when his power was already assaulting my skin. But, it was edged with something darker today, something that felt a lot more like his mana from our first meeting.

It did nothing for my nerves.

Draven stood at the end of the corridor, surrounded by all four of his other wolves. A crown of jagged frost gleamed atop his head, and he was dressed in formal finery that matched mine too precisely to be accidental; deep blues and silver, all sharp lines and harsh elegance. He looked like winter had tailored him from its coldest storm.

My breath hitched in my throat as I was assailed by a memory of the last time I had seen him, outside of my hazy infirmary imaginings.

The garden. The blood on the snow. And his figure emerging from the ice like a wrathful god set on vengeance.

I hadn’t forgotten about his casual slaughter of my family, nor the many sins laid at his feet since then. But the usual disdain I felt for him was slower to rise to the surface today, buried under those memories of his body standing between me and the Mirrorbane.

The memories, however, did nothing for the fear. Neither did the way his gaze locked on mine, colder and even more distant than usual.

“Where are we?” My voice was quieter than I meant it to be.

He studied me for a long moment, like he was hearing all of the things I wanted to ask him. Not justwhere are we, butwhy are we here? Andwhy are you so shards-blasted furious right now?

“This is the Hall of Stars,” he answered at last, the deep timbre of his voice rattling my bones. “The room we will use for the Heartstone Ceremony.”

Something stirred at the back of my mind, a whisper of memory, scraping at the edges, trying to claw its way free.

“Heartstone?” I echoed, more to myself than him, sorting through the crowded shelves in my mind.

Though I preferred fiction and monster tomes, I had devoured every book in my father’s library out of sheer desperation. Even the dusty, dry histories.

History of the Courts. Of ancient mana. Ceremonies…like the one I had been dreading. With the queen’s mana.

My heart lurched.

“No,” I said sharply, the word escaping before I could stop it.

Draven blinked once, slowly.

“I understand that you were raised by your commoner mother for most of your childhood,” he said, voice smooth as frostbite, “but surely your father explained the importance of the ceremony.”

“Of course, he did.”

Of course he hadn’t.

The only thing my father ever told me was to keep quiet and stay out of sight whenever he came home, but I needed to stall for time while I tried to think of a way out. Still, I understood the general concept.

It involved infusing the land with your mana, forming a symbiotic connection with the kingdom you ruled. But it shouldn’t have been so soon.

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