Page 82 of Of Rime and Ruin
I pull my mount closer and lean to hear him better. “A dead body?”
“No, Your Majesty. Several grimoires on curses—the same I’ve been wanting to retrieve from the original city library. They will be immensely helpful in my research.”
“In her cell? Why? How’d they get there?”
“Curious, isn’t it?” He reaches into his cloak and tilts a stone tablet from the pocket within. He pats the book and grins. “A stroke of fate, the goddess shines brightly upon us! I started reading this morning, and I think I’m onto something. A cure is in sight, Sire.”
The idea twists through me, fragrant and intoxicating. I could be rid of this curse. I could be whole again. I could return to the person I was twelve years ago—before my world descended into darkness.
What would that feel like?
Hope flares, dangerously fast. I tamp it down.
“Well, keep reading,” I say. “A hunch isn’t good enough, Lucas. I need certainty.”
He nods. “Of course, Sire. I thought you’d like to know.”
Sudden cold pierces through my body. Every scale rises in alert. Someone shouts from the rear of the group, and I glance over my shoulder in time to see the princess slump from her mount and topple into the snow. She lands in a puddle of fur, unmoving.
My heart plummets. The world zooms in, blurring at the edges, until all I can see isher.
Her body crumpled so easily.
Is she dead?
Without another thought, I yank the reins, turning my mount. The snowbear grunts from the urgent pressure of my knees in the saddle. We plunge through the snow to reach her, lumberingpast the long line of confused hunters. Blood roars in my ears, urging me faster, faster.
Her snowbear grunts, plodding forward a few paces before it realizes it lost its rider. Its large head swivels in confusion. The hunters near her cry out, leaping from their mounts and trudging through the snow. As they pull her face from the snow, I glimpse her expression, blank and weary.
Relief twists my lungs.Alive.Her nose dapples with the beginnings of frostbite.
I should have known better than to let a sun-drencher ride solo on the Frosted Plains. I should have left her at home instead of dragging her along to feed my selfish whims like a goddessdamn fool.
The mount halts at my command, and I leap from the saddle. Cold seeps through my snowleathers, crunching the ice beneath my feet. As I approach, another sound clarifies—the rapid chattering of her teeth.
The hunters lift her onto her feet, and her knees wobble beneath her, knocking together. She moans and her gaze drifts aimlessly. Her plump lips are pale, ashy. A perfect picture of hypothermia.
My heart punches hard. Hot.
Anger. Fear. Panic.
My fault.
“She’s too cold, Sire,” one hunter says, to state the fucking obvious.
“Give her to me.” My growl pierces the morning, and the princess’s gaze snaps to meet mine. I reach for her, arms spread wide. War rages in her eyes—her pride rears against her shame, her need—until finally, good sense wins out. With a weak step, she tumbles into my embrace.
I squeeze her against me.That’s a good girl.
“Fetch the healer,” I bark, whipping my cloak with a snap of leather as I pull it around her. I catch her wrist in my hand and press my finger to her pulse. It batters pathetically against my touch, slow and feeble.
Didn’t she think to wear a fucking hat? She’s not invincible. Her body is poorly suited for the harsh climate. She’s too warm. Too fragile. And she’s wearing nothing more than a sweater, leather pants, and the frostcat cloak.
Goddessdammit, why didn’t I give her a hat, too? Or a fucking scarf? Gloves? The cloak is warm, but it’s not enough.
Useless, stupid king.Anger flares in my stomach, and I clamp my teeth to tame it, tugging my cloak tighter around her small frame. She’ll just have to share mine.
I peek through the opening of my cloak-tent and frown at the crust of snow on her hair. Her fingers splay wide on my chest. With a shiver, she tucks her nose into my bicep, an icicle piercing straight through my sleeve.
