Page 105 of Fated to the Frost King

I shook my head, throwing on a soft nightgown before going to my study to see what massive tomes it had in store for me today. I inhaled deeply, still soaking up the comfort it offered…even if my love of books was floundering a bit under the weight of the endlessly meandering musings of the self-important fae who had recorded our great nation’s history.

But tonight, there was something different.

A small book, bound in deep blue leather, sat alone on the center shelf. I picked it up, almost hesitant to flip through its pages for reasons I couldn’t name. Instead of the elegant script of a palace scribe, the writing was spiky and hurried, some words squashing to the very end of the page.

I squinted, trying to make out the unfamiliar text.

I feared for Lord Velric’s life today when he went to kiss my hand in front of the king. I reminded my husband that my ring would burn through my finger—and singe his—if I was unfaithful, but the bond makes him more possessive every day my belly grows.

My lips parted. I turned the page to find a date scribbled at the top and more of the same style writing, this time about an irritating courtier. It was a diary…of a Winter Queen, by the sound of it.

I had never had the luxury of putting my secrets down in writing, lest they get me and my family killed, but this queen had no such qualms.

I carted the book back to my bedroom, which was less abhorrent now that Mirelda had taken to keeping the fire burning high. Of course, there still wasn’t a shred of color. Even the wolves blended in seamlessly with the fur rug.

I settled underneath my mountain of blankets and read the words of an actual queen. And I prayed to whatever part of the Shard Mother that cared, to go a single night without nightmares.

As usual, she didn’t listen.

Chapter 35

Everly

Astorm rolled in. Snow swirled in the dark, lashing like whips against flesh, punishing. Endless.

A guttural scream ripped through the air, raw and primal. It didn’t belong to a king. It belonged to a malebreaking. Mana surged from his chest in a violent tidal wave of frost and fury that twisted the snow into bladed tendrils. The sound of it howled like a wounded god, as if the land itself had been cleaved apart.

The entire world was frozen in the time it had taken for the scream to echo off the mountains.

Where there had been a battlefield moments ago, now there were only corpses. Their eyes were wide with fear, limbs twisted in final, desperate movements.

I spiraled through the air, no more than haze and frost, drawing closer to one of the corpses until it morphed into a face I saw every day in the mirror. Pale blue eyes frozen in terror, navy locks forever askew.

Darkness fell, and from it came the monsters.

Tharnoks, Mirrorbanes, and worse, all lumbering through the storm on clawed feet and shrieking in hunger. One by one, they exploded into shards of ice.

But each time a frostbeast fell, two more appeared in their place.

Balance,Nevara’s voice echoed over the shrieks of the dying.Mana demands a balance. But you never considered the cost.

I looked down at my hands—no,hishands. They were trembling.

And they were empty. Always empty. Because no matter how much he gave, no matter how much he destroyed, it would never be enough to undo the one thing he couldn’t take back.

I wrenched myself awake. Before I even opened my eyes, I sensed it. The colossal wave of power that ripped through the palace like a snowstorm.

My husband had returned. And he was trapped in his own sort of hell.

Batty shuffled into me, and Astra let out a low whine.

“He’s fine,” I tried to assure her, even as I tasted the lie on my tongue. “Just…dreaming.”

Outside, the wind howled loud enough to rival one of the wolves, emphasizing my empty words. The temperature dropped in my rooms, a frigid gust of air waging war on the flames in the hearth.

A hollow ache formed just behind my sternum, feeling suspiciously like the first kernels of guilt.

Which made no sense when my husband’s nightmares were of his own making.

---