Page 54 of Fated to the Frost King

I dragged my gaze up to his frost-hardened features, then past him to the sea of expectant faces staring at us like we were their last hope.

The towering ceiling was made entirely of glass, probably to give a view of the stars the hall was named for. And the room was too large for the scant number of courtiers. So the king hadn’t just failed to give me notice. He had moved up this ceremony abruptly and chosen to have it with far fewer witnesses.

Shards.

The door slammed shut behind us.

Nevara stood at the far end of the chamber, cloaked in shimmering robes, her face painted in intricate designs. Silver starbursts bloomed around her eyes, streaking down her cheeks like stylized tears. She lifted her hands with quiet reverence.

“Come forward, My Queen,” she said, her voice smooth and otherworldly.

She didn’t quite look at me.Wouldn’t.

Panic slithered up my spine, cold and sharp, coiling around my lungs. I stared at the faces of the court, and notably, Soren, for all the king claimed not to trust him. It did nothing for my nerves.

My legs turned to iron. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, loud enough I was sure the court could hear it, and for one surreal second, I was convinced I might faint. Or vomit.Probably both.

Which was not the worst idea anyone had ever had.

My lips parted before I could stop them.

“Would that I could, Visionary,” I said, forcing a regal tone that cracked at the edges. “But I’m afraid I’ve been stricken with–”

I couldn’t very well say that I was going to faint without following up. Vomit, too, could be chanced. But even Draven wouldn’t risk the queen soiling her dress in the most undignified way imaginable during the kingdom’s most important ceremony.

I searched for a delicate way to phrase it. “--Ceremonial indigestion.”

The silence that followed was… profound.

Several members of the court, a small contingent of guards, and even Soren, all frozen in a single blink. Nevara’s lips wordlessly parted with something like horror or amusement before she regained her usual calm.

But the most notable hush was from Draven.

He didn’t move beside me. Didn’t breathe. He went so still, I could practically feel the murder brewing under his skin, could literally feel it cracking through his mana.

Perhaps I should have gone with something more innocuous.A twisted ankle? Mana whiplash? Chronic ceremonial anxiety? Too late for that now.

After an eternity, a flicker of a snort came from somewhere near the back that sounded distinctly like Soren.

My cheeks went hot. The king turned his head very slowly in my direction.

“And is that… a formal diagnosis?” he asked, his voice low enough to freeze air.

I cleared my throat. “It’s more of an instinctual knowing.”

He stared.

I stared.

The entire room stared.

I was going to die here. Not from exposure as a Hollow or a traitor. Just pure, undiluted shame.

I regretted everything. Every life choice, every step that had led me to this exact, mortifying moment, but it would be worth it if it actually got me out of this ceremony.

It didn’t, of course.

Draven’s expression didn’t so much as twitch. He carved his face into a mask of regal neutrality. “Worry not, My Queen. I’m happy to whisk you away should the need arise. But I’m sure you’ll prevail for the sake of our people. Perhaps it would help if I carried you?”

---