Page 30 of A Bride for the Winter King
A black woman holding a large fan motions for me to approach. A big, textured wig forms a halo around her head, and a flashy jeweled topaz crown rests on top.
The Spring Queen, no doubt.
“Winter King, I present to you my niece, Iris Lovatt,” she says.
I twirl around to face the handful of reporters with a hand on my hip, my midnight-blue train scraping the stones. I smile and let them snap a few pictures, my spine straight as an arrow. Three other princesses have been presented, too, and are now standing to the side of the stage, but I barely spare them a glance.
“Thank you, Freya,” Paul answers in Elio’s place, using his host-extraordinaire tone. “Your niece is certainly the most beautiful rose.”
I throw Elio a wink over my shoulder, and his throat bobs in response.
My Lori consciousness is a mere spectator to the events—quite literally stuck in someone else’s high heels. The chill of winter frosts on my cheeks, but I can’t hear any thoughts or feelings coming from Iris herself even though I’m inside her body.
The Elio in the vision is radically different from the one I just met. His starlight tuxedo is more traditional, with tails and a crisp, white undershirt. He doesn’t look bored or jaded—but nervous, and his lips curl in a gentle smile.
“Who would you want to meet first?” Paul asks the king, the gray-haired host not looking much younger than he does in my timeline.
“The Spring princess,” Elio says too quickly, and a hint of red colors his cheeks.
I hold back a chuckle and march over to the Winter King with blazing confidence.
“Let’s take a walk.” I clasp his hand and pull him along toward the expansive maze behind the Hawthorn and away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi.
Elio tucks his hand in his pockets to keep me from touching him, his previous warmth replaced by a worried frown. “Why did you come, Iris?”
I nudge his side. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“If you only came to appease your mother’s ambitions, we should part as friends now. Just tell me.”
We stroll past the empty area of the gardens—the exact spot where Iris’s coffin is displayed in the present—and enter the network of tall cedar hedges, Paul and Freya walking ten paces behind us.
“Would I be here, if my feelings had not changed?”
Elio blinks a few times at my answer. “You?—”
I skip in front of him and turn the corner. “Yes, silly. I want to marry you.”
He gives chase, catching up to me in no time, and his timid smile from before grows bolder. “Why? You once said you’d never be caught dead with me.”
“Oh Elio, I was so young, then. You can’t hold that against me.” I hook my arm in his and pull him along. “Let’s lose the chaperones.”
He raises a brow.
“Hurry.” I kick off my heels and break into a run, zooming past a few tight corners at random.
“Iris! Wait!” Freya shouts behind us, but her command only fuels our escape.
I tag along as Iris and Elio weave through the twists and turns, each corner conquered driving us deeper into the maze.
Muffled giggles bubble out of our mouths as we reach a dead end. I push on Elio’s chest until he is tucked out of view in a secluded nook of the labyrinth and glance behind me to make sure we won’t be interrupted.
Our chests rise and fall as I lean closer to the Winter King, and he cups my cheek with a sigh. “This feels like a dream.”
“I only need to know one thing. You know what they say of Winter and its kings… I just need to know you haven’t become all dead inside. You won’t hurt me, right?”
“I’d never hurt you, Iris. Never.”
I stand on the tip of my toes to kiss his neck—the taste of him like shaved ice and apples—delicious, really, but Iris doesn’t seem in a hurry to kiss him on the mouth and reaches for his belt buckle instead.
