Page 38 of Fated to the Frost King

Like the Solarium, its walls and arched ceiling were made entirely of glass, offering a sweeping view of the snow-capped peaks beyond. Frost patterns bloomed across the panes like delicate etchings, catching the pale light of midday.

Small tables dotted the space, each set with silver teapots, fine china, and stacked trays of delicate finger foods. Courtiers lounged in elegant chairs, sipping from porcelain cups and murmuring behind napkins while they cast subtle probing glances my way.

A servant rushed over. After greeting me with a bow—something I wasn’t sure I would ever get used to—he led us to a table near the back of the room. Which offered even more time for the courtiers to stare while I waged my own war with a pocket-sized skathryn, probably looking like I was performing some ritualistic dance.

Finally, I sat stiffly, trying to adjust the drape of my gown, unsure of where to place my hands, my attention, my unease. I hated how awkward I felt. How out of place.

And then?—

“Ladies,” a warm, familiar voice sounded. “How fortunate for me to stumble across such resplendence at lunchtime.”

Soren Redthorne appeared beside the table with that ever-casual grace, his amber eyes gleaming with amusement as he pulled out a chair for himself.

“Stumble implies you weren’t hunting us down,” Nevara replied, one iridescent brow arched like a drawn bow.

Soren’s grin widened. “Ah, but I prefer to think of it as fate,” he said smoothly, lowering himself into the seat between us with practiced ease.

I hadn’t missed the king’s warning, nor the jealousy with which he delivered it.

Of course Autumn Court were schemers. If Winter was all icy smiles and cold brutality, then Autumn was daggers in the dark. Daggers of flame, of course, since the ones forged from steel were forbidden in every Seelie court.

But hailing from Autumn didn’t mean that Soren was a terrible person, and even if he had been, my husband would have been the last person who could judge. Besides, I was at least mostly sure that Nevara would have warned me.

So I nodded a greeting instead of telling him to leave, happy for one more ally, even if he did have his reasons.

He set a large amber bottle on the table, unlabeled and stoppered with a dark-grained wood. When he uncorked it, smoke coiled from the neck, scented thickly with cinnamon and something darker beneath it.

“Of course, I would never presume to speak with more authority on Fate than one of her chosen vessels,” he added, gaze slipping to Nevara. “The Shard Mother’s voice, herself.”

Nevara gave him an irritable blink. Still, she inhaled, slow and deliberate, before releasing an appreciative sigh.

“Well, the Shard Mother is partial to aged Emberkiss whiskey,” she allowed.

Soren chuckled and poured out three glasses with a ceremonial flourish. He pressed the first one into Nevara’s waiting hand and handed another to me with an exaggerated wink.

I was beginning to see that everything he did bordered on dramatic, but he had a self-deprecating air that made it less grating than it would have been. More like he was gently poking fun at himself along with the rest of the world, and he was letting you in on the joke.

I accepted the drink cautiously, more aware than ever of how closely everyone seemed to watch. Courtiers passed and paused, pretending not to stare. My wolf-escort still sat silent near the wall, his glowing eyes tracking every movement.

I held the glass in both hands, letting the warmth seep into my fingers as I brought it up to my lips.

Naturally, that was the exact moment a small, silvery head popped out of my sleeve, nearly making me spill the contents all over my gown.

Batty blinked up at me with a display of innocence I didn’t quite buy, then promptly sneezed. An indignant puff of snowflakes wafted over the rim of my glass as heat bloomed up my neck.

Shards.

But Soren didn’t even blink. “I see we have a critic.”

“She’s not usually so opinionated,” I lied, brushing an ice-flurry off my wrist.

“Strange, I could have sworn I’d Seen otherwise,” Nevara countered evenly, taking another sip of her beverage.

Shards. It was a sobering reminder of all the secrets she held. I didn’t know how she decided what to tell the king, nor what all she had glimpsed, but I suddenly realized how foolish it was to think I could plan an escape.

So we were back to bond-breaking crystals then. Or the even less likely route of convincing my husband.

Soren’s low laugh pulled me from my thoughts.

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