Page 70 of Fated to the Frost King

The cold bit into my cheeks, into my lungs. I pressed my face into the thick collar of his cloak, my forehead resting just above his collarbone.

Even though I knew he was about to give me over to torture, that he was only keeping me alive for his own ends, his scent still grounded me. I took a deep breath, inhaling juniper and freshly fallen snow, something wild and crisp with a maddening thread of warmth just beneath it.

Step by step, he carried me higher up the mountain. Each movement was steady, deliberate, like he could walk this path in his sleep. The wind continued to scream around us, but the whispers of the Voidtouched began to slowly fade away.

I focused on the rhythm of his breathing, on the heavy thud of his boots through snow and stone. My fingers curled tighter around the fur of his collar.

Time stretched, unraveling slowly until each heartbeat blurred into the next. My legs were numb, my arms aching from the simple act of holding on.

After an eternity, the whispers faded completely, and the wind shifted. The air grew still, warmer, even.

Then one of the wolves let out a low yowl, and Draven stopped moving.

“We’re here,” he said, voice low.

But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t force my eyes open or stop myself from gripping his neck like he was the last raft in a whirlpool.

“It’s safe,” he said, pulling back the hood of my cloak.

The sun seared across my skin, far brighter than I was ready for, and instinct had me burrowing my face deeper into my husband’s neck before I could help myself.

I half expected him to throw me bodily into the nearest snowbank, but he waited with all the patience I didn’t know he possessed until I forced one eye open, then another.

Batty gave a chirp of warning from inside my hood, like even she wasn’t sure if we could trust him.

Slowly, I untangled myself from him, touching my boots to the ground and taking a look around for the first time since we encountered the Voidtouched.

We were on top of the world. Clouds drifted below us, in between the mountain peaks, while the sun felt close enough to reach out and touch.

Straight ahead of us was the Sanctum.

Just like that, whatever spell I was under with Draven was broken. He had brought me here. He was no different from my uncle, doling out pain and protection at will.

I stepped away from him, examining the structure that had served as a tomb for so many fae like me. It stood at the top of the world—tall and frozen, carved from the very mountain. Its towers shimmered with ancient mana, draped in runes that pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat older than time.

It was far too beautiful for the horrors it housed.

The ones that were waiting for me.

Chapter 25

Everly

The doors of the Sanctum opened with a heavy groan, the sound of ancient hinges and massive stone dragging across the silence in warning.

I swallowed another wave of panic, letting it settle like a stone in my stomach. It was a familiar feeling, at least, even if it did grow heavier by the hour.

Two white griffons flanked the entrance, silent and still. They shimmered like snow under moonlight, far too pristine to be natural, and their long, sharp talons looked like they could carve through steel. Pale blue sigils pulsed along their wings and chests, etched directly into skin and glowing up through their feathers.

As we approached, one dipped its head low. The other followed, crouching with a low, breathy chuff, less threat, more… acknowledgement, maybe? Deference, for the king at my side.

Draven didn’t react, didn’t break stride. He just walked past them like he owned the Sanctum. Technically, he did, I supposed. The structure itself belonged to Winter, and on some level, so did the fae who lived here. But mages didn’t trulyanswer to one court or clan. Seelie, Unseelie, they all answered to the Archmage.

Ice trailed from the hem of his cloak like a second shadow. The wolves moved with him, tails high and steps silent, though each of them shot a warning look toward the skybeasts.

I followed, unwilling to test the griffons’ patience, or hunger pangs, by being the lone straggler.

The air inside the Sanctum was painfully still. Frost and runes glimmered like diamonds from towering walls. It was somehow more open and more terrifying than the smaller shrines I had been to before.

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