Page 55 of Fated to the Frost King

His gaze bored into mine, intent pulsating from his power and his aurora eyes.

You will walk to the stone or I will drag you there.

I didn’t respond, and he very nearly did just that, the iron grip of his hand propelling me down the aisle in small, reluctant steps. Somehow, he still managed to make it look intimate, even after I had publicly declared I was suffering from Heartstone Ceremony induced bubble-guts.

I cast about for another excuse, anything. My breaths were coming in ragged pants now, my stomach churning in truth.

Maybe I could actually faint?

No, he would probably just douse me with ice-water and insist on going through with the ceremony.

I was damned if I did. And damned if I didn’t…

Resignation settled in my bones. I tried to offer myself what comfort I could.

Wynnie wasn’t here, at least. Not to see me humiliate myself so publicly, nor to be a target for the king’s anger. I would tell him that she never knew the truth. I’d deceived him for this long, and he was the King of Winter. Surely he would understand how I tricked another backwater noble…

It would work. It had to.

We stopped just short of the stone—a word that seemed far too small for such a huge crystal. Pale, gleaming light refracted from the inside, bouncing off each facet, each perfect imperfection, to look like a sea of stars.

And something inside of it, in the center where ancient mana swirled and pulsed like galaxies, called to me. Begged me to look closer. Begged me to jump into its depths headfirst and lose myself to the raw power that lived there.

I shivered and took a step back, my better senses taking hold of me once again. I glanced up at Nevara, knowing she couldn’t see my eyes, but hoping she could sense the desperation inside of me.

Would she hate me when she learned what I was? Would I lose the only almost-friend I’d ever had? Or did she already know?

Her expression stayed fixed ahead, but the corner of her lips twitched downward.

“Really,” I tried one final time, looking between her and the king. “I wouldn’t want to insult the Shard Mother by being too hast—” I didn’t get to finish before Draven’s hands came around mine, one massive arm on either side of my narrow frame. Heat enveloped me, crackling in its intensity to the point of pain.

At least I would be warm when death came for me.

That was the last conscious thought I had before the king’s hands pressed mine into the waiting stone.

The surface flared to life with a crack of thunder, frost erupting in a burst of light and power. Webs of shimmering ice carved themselves into the altar, spidering outward in intricate sigils that pulsed like veins of ancient ice, alive and ancient and watching.

A shockwave of cold rolled through the chamber, rattling the stained glass and sweeping through the crowd like a warning. Gasps echoed as the sigils deepened, glowing brighter with every heartbeat.

Shards of crystalline mana burst into the air above the altar, suspended by unseen threads of power. They spun and danced in an impossible current, refracting an iridescent sheen that shimmered in shades of pale blue and lavender.

Snow fell upward in defiance of gravity, pulled into the display, each flake catching the spectral light until it looked as though a galaxy had unfurled within the hall itself.

Gasps rippled through the chamber as the frost surged higher, blooming like a frozen flower, each petal etched with glowing runes.

For a single, breathless moment, I almost believed it had been my mana. That the Shard Mother had finally blessed me after all this time.

I didn’t even know if that was possible. Hollows rarely survived long enough to find out.

But it didn’t matter because I recognized that mana. I’d felt its weight crush against my skin, had been capsized by the fury that fueled it.

It belonged to the king. Obviously.

Had he known mine wouldn’t work? Had he planned for the Heartstone to tear more power from his soul when mine failed to appear?

Or was it all just a display, something to salvage the spectacle before I embarrassed him further? Worse than my questions were the courtiers’ narrowed eyes. The ones seated closest to the dais weren’t watching the Heartstone.

They were watching our hands, the way that his still covered mine.

---