Page 66 of Of Rime and Ruin
My heart swells, threatening to punch through my ribs.
And like a complete idiot, I smile.
“Pour the tea, Deirdre.”
Chapter twenty-eight
Nahla
Forthefirsttimesince I left home, I’m properly warm. A fireplace crackles at one end of the dining room. Beneath the table, I dig my toes into the soft fibers of a furry rug. All thanks to the gentle female who found me wandering in the hallway, wrapped me in furs, and plopped me before the biggest pot of tea in my life. Four cups in, and I feel myself again.
How an asshole like the Frost King could keep staff like Deirdre is beyond me. She’s much too nice, and I suspect blackmail. No other explanation holds water. In the matter of an hour, the kind housekeeper warmed me, cheered me, fed me, and got me thinking that I could stay here forever and we could be friendsif it wasn’t for her asshole king.
My shoulders slouch at the thought of him, ruining my peace.
The king, standing now at the doorway, looks like he’s been hit by a fleetwhale. Frost crusts his hair, thawing to slide down his wind-bitten face. There’s still snow on his cloak, and a pair of leather pants peek through the gap in its furs.
He sheds the cloak, hanging it from an iron rack near the door. I slide my gaze along his frame, noting the tapered slope of his waist. The slant of his shoulders. His skin is creamy white where it peeks through his shirt collar.
“Nahlani Mahelona,” he greets me. A smile twists his mouth, devilishly handsome, and my stomach flips. “I see you’re alive and well.”
“Yes,” I say, from my seat becausefuckcurtsies. “With no thanks to you, Aethan Nastrond.” His full name feels foreign in my mouth. I lick my lips to clear the aftertaste.
His smile falls as quickly as it appeared. He steps into the room, followed by the friendly housekeeper. Him, a tower of ice. Her, soft and motherly, her gray hair hardly clearing his shoulder.
The king pulls out the chair across from me, scraping the legs across the floor. I cringe at the squeal of the wood. The large table stretches between us, on it Deirdre’s teapot and my cooling mug of tea. Three candles burn low in the center candelabra, dripping wax.
He watches me, frosty eyes unblinking. Deirdre pours tea for him, adding a cube of sugar. He takes it and stirs, eyes never leaving my face. “Porridge, Deirdre.”
“I won’t leave Her Highness alone with you. The poor girl thinks you’re unpleasant, Sire, and you’ve yet to prove her wrong.”
I smirk.Unpleasantis not exactly what I told her. The king’s eyes tighten, and I hope he knows I meantasshole. I mouth the word at him, just in case.
His eyes darken. Still, the king stares. A chill traces the base of my neck. I touch my cheek, searching for crumbs and finding none.
“I’ll take her to her room first, if that’s okay with Your Majesty,” Deirdre continues.
My heart soars. I could kiss her right now.A room?No more frozen cage. No more boredom. No ceiling tunnels or cranky Vaughn.
No more visits from the Beast.
The emotional whiplash is fierce. Joy and pain twist together, ripping through my chest.
He’ll be all alone, without a friend. The aching sadness in his mind was clear at our parting—and the guilt pierces me now.
But he told me to get warm. Practically pushed me onto the beach.
I shouldn’t feel badly.
And yet…
“Her room?” the king echoes, his stare unwavering.
“Yes, Sire.”
He frowns. “Show her in a moment. I’ll take the porridge first, please.”
The housekeeper doesn’t move. She stands next to him, wringing her hands. She frowns and shoots me one last worrisome glance. “If he comes after you, love, just whack him. I’ll take the heat.”
