Page 66 of Fated to the Frost King

My lips parted, a scoff escaping them. “At least you won’t have to worry about that for long.”

The sober reminder effectively doused the room in ice. I hadn’t realized how his power had vibrated the air between us until the sensation abruptly vanished.

I let out a curse under my breath, pacing over to the fire. Draven followed, leaning against the wall near the hearth, armscrossed, eyes on the flames. His silence pressed against my skin, oppressive and cold, like the storm had followed him inside.

“We’ll hike to the Veilreach Sanctum at first light,” he announced like nothing at all had happened.

I didn’t respond. Just sat on the fur-draped bench and began unbuckling my boots. A knock sounded on the door, heralding the arrival of dinner. It was simple stew, hearty and flavorful enough to take my mind off the uncomfortable night ahead.

By the time we were finished eating, I was tired enough that I almost didn’t care that I would be sharing a bed with the Frostgrave King.Almost.

Until he slid into bed first. Without his shirt.

It was worse, somehow, being forced to join him instead of the other way around. He probably did that on purpose, leaving the far more awkward part to me. All that was left was to pretend I was unbothered.

So I slipped off my outer furs and slid beneath the blankets, still dressed in my traveling gown and facing firmly away from Draven. My heartbeat pounded, and my muscles clenched from the cold, but I managed to keep my teeth from chattering.

The heat rolling off him was infuriating. Unfair. The bastard radiated warmth like a walking furnace, though he already had his mana to stabilize him. Meanwhile, I was freezing and the one trekking to my torture and eventual demise.

I really did hate him.

I hugged the edge of the bed, cocooned in my side of the blanket. And still, the warmth licked at my spine, pulling me toward him.

I did not move closer. Would not. I stayed right on my edge.

Butshards, I was freezing.

I had been cold before, though. This was nothing for me. Nothing compared to tomorrow, and nothing compared to the abject humiliation of letting him know I was suffering.

Resolved in my mind, I forced my racing thoughts into submission, falling into something close to sleep.

I should have known Fate wouldn’t be so kind as to let this last night be peaceful.

The battlefield was endless. Wolves and panthers attacked from the ground while winged fae shot through the air. One by one, they froze and shattered.

But more always took their place.

Blood soaked the earth, shredded bodies littering the snow. Some of the corpses wore the uniform of the Winter guard, but there were others. Tattered remnants of pale blue dresses on forms too small to be soldiers.

Morta Mea.

Another shiver racked my body. The Unseelie pressed in until they were all I could see, enormous black wings towering over my small form. They were coming.

They were coming forme.

Wind howled somewhere far away, and with it a wolf that sounded both forlorn and familiar. The sound was eclipsed by a patient voice. Too calm. Too rational for the pain that accompanied each bland assurance that this would be the last test. The last lash.

Everly.

That voice was neither patient, nor calm. It was unrelenting authority, tinged with the barest edge of…concern? Urgency? Frustration?

I couldn’t place it when it was still so far away, eclipsed by the screams echoing in my mind. My mother’s voice morphed intoone that was pitched just a bit higher, a female with more panic than rage.

A desperate shriek sounded, growing more and more pitiful like the wailing of an anxious baby skathryn.

Then blood in the snow. Talons digging into pale, pale skin. A crimson crown buried under a mountain of frost, of grief.

Warmth seeped across my skin, searing into my bones. I nestled into it, trying to thaw the serrated shards of ice that splintered through my skin, lodging all the way into my bones.

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