Page 64 of Fated to the Frost King

Envy.That’s what it was. For creatures that had somewhere they belonged when I never had.

Draven’s eyes flitted to mine. A flicker of something passed over his face before he turned away again, back to the window, back to pretending I didn’t exist.

The sledge rocked again. Harder, this time.

Still, Draven didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just sat there, staring at the storm like it owed him something.

Maybe it did.

Maybe it whispered the same taunts to him that it whispered to me. That survival was a choice, and we’d already made the wrong one.

Chapter 23

Everly

By the time the sledge rolled to a halt, dusk had bled into something darker, and even more cold.

We were at the base of the Shardspeak Mountain range, standing before what looked like the last outpost before the Mother had abandoned the mountains altogether.

The wind howled around the inn, raking frozen claws over the wooden shingles and rattling the frost-crusted shutters. Ice coated the eaves in jagged ridges, sharper and thicker than dragon’s teeth, and over half of the stone steps had been swallowed by snowdrifts.

To the left, the stable doors groaned as they opened, and a pair of cloaked figures moved through the dusk with practiced urgency, guiding the Velgrun stags toward shelter. Draven’s wolves followed them in, shaking the snow from their fur as soon as they crossed the threshold.

All but Lumen, who stared back at the sledge in question before Draven waved for him to keep going, blinking at me in annoyance like it was my fault his pet preferred me.

I didn’t wait to be helped down from the sledge. I climbed out fast, boots crunching into packed snow, my breath fogging theair. The cold hit like a wall made of sharp bricks, and I quickly covered my face to filter the frost from my lungs.

I shivered, tugging my cloak tighter around me. Every snapping branch and gust of wind set my nerves twitching. The inn itself looked safe enough, but the darkness curling at the edges of the trees said otherwise.

Monsters could still hunt in the day. We’d seen that firsthand.

But now the sun was setting, and remaining outdoors was feeling more and more like tempting Fate.

A shadow passed close behind me. Draven didn’t speak, just reached for the door and shouldered it open with an enviable ease, like he wasn’t actively working against the force of a snowstorm.

He held it open, and I was forced to brush against him as I slipped inside. Somehow tiny bits of lightning managed to zap from his skin to mine even through several layers of furs.

Maybe the mana of the bond was getting desperate now, but I had no intention of giving it what it wanted.

The warmth inside was jarring. A fire crackled in the hearth, and oversized plush armchairs sat in front of it, practically begging to be crawled into.

A lanky male with silver hair and pale blue skin lounged behind a counter. He snapped to attention as soon as he caught sight of Draven’s towering form.

He gave a quick bow. “Your Majesties, welcome. Everything is prepared.”

Draven must have sent word ahead. He nodded, and the male ushered us to a door at the top of a narrow stairwell.

The king followed without hesitation, but I was more reluctant.

Exhaustion weighed on me, but I didn’t want to sleep with the looming anxiety of the hells that were waiting for metomorrow. I tried to give my mind some small fragile hope to hold onto.

Maybe the storm would keep us from trekking up the mountain. Maybe it would destroy the Sanctum in some freakish, unprecedented blizzard and I would never have to stare into the bitter, cruel eyes of mages again.

Draven cleared his throat from the top of the stairs, impatience etched into every line of his icy features.

I held his gaze, taking one painfully slow step. Then another. Basking in the bare victory of inconveniencing him.

If I was going to die tomorrow, or worse, then I might as well take my joy where I could find it.

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