Page 63 of Fated to the Frost King

And, of course, I was trapped inside with the blizzard’s favorite progeny.

I tugged my fur-lined hood tighter, though it did nothing to guard against the chill in the air, or the one across from me. I could practically feel the frost radiating from his cloak, from the set of his shoulders, from the scowl fixed permanently on his face.

He hadn’t looked at me once since we left the palace.

Which was fine. Preferred, even. If he did look at me, I might throw something at his chiseled, arrogant face, just to see if I could make that expression flicker.

Would he remain just as stoic while I writhed in pain? Would he nod with that same unruffled expression as the mages explained why each slice into my skin was a necessary evil to achieve a better end?

I supposed I only had myself to blame for forgetting who he was, even for a fraction of a moment, all because he didn’t let something else kill me before he could use me to my own ends.

I had known better. Hadn’t my uncle always made sure I stayed alive, too?

He was the one who taught me thatsafewas relative. Onlyalivewas absolute.

Outside, the enchanted lamps along the road flickered like they were rethinking their posts, barely holding back the encroaching darkness. The trees bowed low under the weight of ice, their limbs creaking in protest like they, too, were ready to snap.

I jumped at every shadow, dread curdling in my stomach until I could make out the shape of Draven’s wolves instead of a Mirrorbane.

Though, lately, Lumen had felt less like the king’s and more like mine. Even outside the Hall of Stars when Draven and I were together and he could have chosen to be between us, he had stayed on my side of the hallway, like he wanted to make his allegiance known.

After our encounter with the frostbeast in the gardens, I could hardly stomach knowing he might come face to face with another one, or something worse.

Another jolt of the sledge had me bouncing off the seat. I bit down on a yelp as my elbow cracked against the wall. Batty hissed and fluttered up to the handrail along the ceiling, her claws gripping the handlebar to avoid another unwanted flight across the sledge.

The king, of course, was impervious to the ride. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch or react, just glowered ahead.

I was half-convinced this was his storm and he was doing it on purpose. Because why wait for the mages to torture me when he could start so much sooner?

“I don’t suppose you could make it stop?” I bit out the words, my voice slicing through the silence. “You know, maybe rein inthe weather a bit, keep the snow from flaying us alive. That sort of thing.”

The scowling intensified.

I gestured vaguely toward the swirling white chaos outside. “You are the Winter King, right? Or is that just a title they gave you because ‘Blizzard Bastard’ didn’t have the same ring?”

There it was, that furious muscle once again ticking in his jaw. “Is it your lack of mana that makes you so ignorant to its limitations, or is it simply a choice you’ve made to be uneducated?”

A bitter laugh scraped past my teeth.

“So you can’t control it,” I said with mock pity. “That must be difficult for you. I know how much you despise things you can’t control.”

His expression darkened, and he leaned forward, lightning zapping from his body to mine.

“And where would we be, without my control?” His eyes flashed with something I couldn’t read.

I clenched my jaw, not sure if he was taunting me about having no choice in coming here or referring to the Winter Court. Not willing to respond to either.

Batty let out another disgruntled squeak before hiding her face behind her wings like even she was tired of this back and forth.

I turned back to the window, abruptly tired of baiting him. If I kept looking at my husband’s unyielding features, I was liable to be the one who lost control. So I focused on the view, even though the snow blurred everything.

For a moment, the storm thinned just enough for me to glimpse the Velgrun stags pulling our sledge. They were still beautiful, damn them. Snow-pale, antlers gleaming with crystalline frost, their steps graceful and unwavering, despite what the jolting sledge might suggest.

One of them tossed its head, exhaling a puff of mist like it was enjoying itself. Too calm. Too sure. Like they knew they were made for this.

A feeling churned in my gut, bitter and unfamiliar.

“I don’t think they like it,” I lied, watching them longer than I meant to.

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