Page 48 of Fated to the Frost King

A figure leaned forward on my left. Mirelda?

I studied her face for a moment, trying to decide why it felt wrong. Then I noticed the subtle circles beneath her eyes and the tight set of her mouth. If I didn’t know any better, I might’ve thought the old bat looked… concerned.

The moment she noticed my gaze on her, her expression snapped into something sharper, more familiar. The furrow inher brow smoothed, and she rose from the chair with her usual disapproving efficiency.

“You’re awake,” she said, voice clipped. “Finally. You’ve slept nearly two days.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it again.

“Maybe now that you’re alert your little pest will stop crying all day long.” She gestured to the huddled form on the pillow next to me.

I pulled Batty closer, grateful she was all right, and that she was not quite as chaotic as my last guests.

Mirelda made a sound like she disapproved of the moment but then propped me upright with surprising gentleness before shoving a tray into my lap. The soup she set down looked innocent enough—creamy, flecked with herbs, and smelled like actual food instead of the boiled despair she was so fond of.

I blinked at it.

“It won’t kill you,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “The healer says you can return to your chambers tomorrow if you tolerate it.”

“I—thank you?” I muttered, still thrown by the lack of barbed commentary.

She fussed with the blankets next, tucking one around my legs in a way that made it very clear she wasn’t fussing. Not really. Stars forbid she look soft.

“The guard is on the alert for attacks in the daytime,” she informed me brusquely. “And the king will no doubt be activating the wards. So we’re safe here now.”

I nodded, wanting to believe that as much as she did.

I glanced around the room again, cataloguing its angles. Rows of other beds lined the walls, each curtained off with translucent frost-charmed veils that muted sound and offered privacy. Pale blue light filtered through a skylight overhead,illuminating shelves of poultices, tinctures, and carefully labeled glass vials.

It was all too clean. Too quiet.

I dipped the spoon into the soup and took a cautious sip. It was… good. Of course it was. The universe was clearly trying to keep me off-balance.

I exhaled slowly. The warmth helped. But it wasn’t enough to stop the memory creeping in, sharp and vivid.

Turquoise eyes. A cool hand at my cheek. A presence like frost and fury standing between me and the monster.

I swallowed, the soup suddenly feeling thicker on my tongue.

Had I dreamed that? Surely I must have. Draven wouldn’t—No. That kind of gentleness didn’t belong to someone like him.

“What happened?” I asked after a moment, my voice tighter than I meant it to be. “I remember… a creature. In the gardens. Was that real?”

The corner of her mouth twitched downward. Her hands smoothed over the edge of the blanket again, this time definitely fussing.

“It was. You were attacked,” she said, low. “By a Mirrorbane.”

My pulse stuttered as my mind brought forth images of the frostbeast as it shifted from one form to another. A shiver ran through me, and I nodded.

“I remember that much,” I said. “But…what happened after? With everyone else? Nevara? Soren? Lumen?”

Mirelda’s eyes met mine, her expression unreadable.

“Breathe, girl,” she said, reaching to adjust the napkin on my tray. “All three are recovering well.”

Relief hit so hard I nearly dropped the spoon.

“They sustained minor injuries,” she added. “The Visionary and the Autumn Lord are well enough. The wolf left the infirmary this morning.”

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