Page 94 of Fated to the Frost King

I was so transfixed on the narrowing gap between his body and mine that I almost didn’t notice a vibrating sensation on my left hand. I snapped my attention to it, honing in on my wedding band. Though it was a general bane on my existence, it was usually unobtrusive at least. Once, it had pulsed with cold, but it definitely hadn’t vibrated before.

Draven cleared his throat, regaining my attention. He had straightened to his full height, putting several more inches of space between us, and I was not disappointed.

I wasn’t.

“Your happiness notwithstanding, I do have a vested interest in your safety.” He flipped the dagger until he was holding it by the sheath, handing it to me hilt-first.

I reached for it slowly, wrapping my hand around the familiar hilt and letting out my first real breath since losing it. Whatever mana I had trapped on the inside damned sure hadn’t stepped in to save me when it mattered. My defenses were precarious at best, dangerous at worst.

This blade was the only thing that had kept me feeling anywhere close to safe from the moment my mother had pressed it into my hands.

I opened my mouth, then closed it, not sure what to say. I couldn’t bring myself to thank him for returning what was rightfully mine. Neither could I throw that in his face when it was technically illegal to own a weapon at all.

I settled for deflecting. “Not concerned I’ll stab you with it?”

He raised his eyebrows in a way that could only be described as cocky. “You’re certainly welcome to try.”

There was a dangerous undercurrent to the words, one that danced the line between threat and invitation.

My breath caught—just slightly—but it was enough. Enough for his gaze to linger a moment too long, for the air between us to shift from icy silence to something warmer and charged.

Before I could decide how to respond, he turned and walked away, the echo of his footsteps swallowed by stone and silence.

I was left standing in the corridor, still holding the blade… and trying very hard not to think about the fire he’d left behind.

Mirelda was already in my rooms, fluffing pillows like she needed to keep her hands busy. All the while she studied me from the corner of her eye.

Her gaze narrowed on the dagger.

“A gift from the king,” I told her. “Since my mana is being difficult.”

He had named her as one of the few people he trusted, and she had already overheard our conversation before we left.

It would make my life easier, not having to lie about all the reasons I couldn’t do things, but I also sensed that she had been genuinely bothered at the idea that I might not return safely…or alive.

Sure enough, her shoulders sank in the smallest amount of relief, and I couldn’t help but tease her. It was, if nothing else, a solid distraction from the attacks and the king and the strange energy still coursing through my veins.

“Were you…worried about me, Mirelda?”

She bristled at the very notion. “I was concerned for his Majesty, of course, and the implications…”

I smirked. “Yes, naturally. How silly of me.”

She huffed at my mocking tone, but I ignored her, grabbing a blanket on my way to my study.

“A letter arrived for you,” she called behind me. “It’s waiting on your desk.”

My heart skipped in my chest. The only person who would write to me was Wynnie. I practically sprinted the few feet to the study, pulling up short when I opened the door.

As it turned out, the blanket was wholly unnecessary. The room was warm, a fire blazing in the hearth. I almost smiled before I caught sight of my sister’s familiar handwriting.

It hit me like an avalanche, the physical longing I had to talk to her. Or shards, even just to write freely. There were so many things I wanted to tell her, things I couldn’t possibly entrust to a letter.

I ripped open the envelope, not taking the time to pry off the seal. Then I drank in her words, tracing the slopes and whorls of each letter as I read what she had written.

Batty climbed up onto my shoulder like she was going to read along with me, nestling herself into the fur of my gown.

Dear Evy,

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