Page 16 of A Bride for the Winter King
Beautiful, but barren. Almost sickly.
Sharp, deadly icicles hang from the network of gnarly branches right above our heads, and I gawk at their terrible beauty.
A handful of blood-red leaves hang on despite the frost, and tiny white apples dangle from a dozen branches. Some of them are bigger and slowly ripening into a deep, midnight blue.
Frost apples. The reason why mortal women flock to this mind-boggling contest in droves. The real treasure they covet. Asix percent chance to taste the proverbial fountain of youth and see their lives expanded by centuries. No wrinkles. No sickness.
The one in fifty chance of actually marrying the king and dying at his hands is seemingly forgotten. A long, healthy life is all mortals dream about, but I wouldn’t take a bite out of the creepy fruits to save my life.
An ice statue stands behind the tree and marks the location of a sleek glass coffin. Sarafina breezes past the roped-off path leading to the tombstone, but I pause.By Morpheus…
A handful of brides stop near the macabre display, but none of them dares to walk past the ropes. I catch up with them and slip inside the restricted area.
“What are you doing?” Poppy whispers.
“If they didn’t want us to see her, they wouldn’t have put her in a glass coffin in the middle of the gardens, no?” I answer playfully. I want to take a closer look at the dead queen, but if I’m to break the rules, I might as well not be the only one caught on the wrong side of the ropes. “Come on. Let’s steal a peek.”
My companions exchange nervous glances.
“You’re going to get eliminated,” a girl whispers, giving us a wide berth.
“Who cares? No Spring seed makes it past the first round, anyway,” Poppy says as she joins me on the path.
The cheerful way she declares us out of the contest before it even starts shakes my confidence, and I promise myself to give Seth hell later for not mentioning that huge asterisk.
Daisy scoffs, her arms crossed awkwardly over her chest because of her thick fur coat.
“You chicken?” I taunt her.
The blonde digs her heels in the snow. “Not at all. But I stay away from corpses as a rule.”
Aster skips to my side of the ropes. “I’m game.”
Snow crunches under my boots on my way to the sepulture, Aster and Poppy quick on my trail. Under the most disturbing and crooked Hawthorn tree in history, dead in the center of the Winter King’s inner gardens, Iris Lovatt lays in her glass coffin, entombed for all eternity. Her hands are clasped over her stomach, the bright red shade of her lips bringing chills to my spine.
A hiccup quakes my throat as I draw closer.
Holy shit!When Seth had told me I was a ringer for the late Winter Queen, I’d hoped it was one of those “I knew a woman of Indian descent who looked just like you” type of scenario.
But the color of our skin is actually the one detail that’s not exactly right—her being super dead and all. Well, that and her pointy ears. Aside from that, the dead queen laid to rest at the heart of the Winter gardens, wrapped in pristine white fur and laid on a bed of white feathers, could be my twin.
A sudden, cold sting creeps around my ribcage, and my abs clench. Seeing an almost perfect copy of myself in a coffin was bound to poke at old wounds, and I sink my nails in my palms, waiting for the insidious flash of pain to subside.
Acid simmers at the back of my throat as I examine the bronze plaque at the base of the ominous, see-through grave.
True love transcends crowns, blood, and flesh. It doesn’t care for common sense and doesn’t play by the rules. Love has no masters, only slaves.
- Elio Hades Lightbringer
Sarafina claps her hands a few times to attract our attention, the royal chief of staff now standing inches behind the ropes. “Brides. Come with me, please. This isn’t part of the tour.” Her voice holds a sharp edge of reproach, but Seth bites back a smile.
Smothered giggles escape Poppy and Aster as we rejoin the ranks of the guided tour, but my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, parched and dry.Did they take a close look at Iris? Aren’t they going to say something?
The sun-filled gardens suddenly look completely different. No matter how much white snow they sprinkle over the earth, this is the kingdom of death. Their king’s specialty. So much death, he’s drowning in it.
Wife after wife, the first one on display for everyone to see.
My father used to say thatin death, we are alone. But this burial site screams for attention with the glass lid, the perfectly-preserved corpse, and the subtle coat of rouge on her cheeks. It’s too vivid. The Winter King probably walks by every day to gaze upon a woman who looks like she’s only sleeping. Like she might wake up at any moment.
