Page 75 of A Bride for the Winter King
The royal chief of staff plasters an affable smile on her lips, the extra cheer in her voice reminding me of the tone she uses when she’s speaking to the cameras. “I arranged for Lori to sleepin the guest’s wing tonight. I’ll take you there.” She moves to open a third, unexplored door, but Elio beats her to the punch.
“No need. I’ll show her myself. You go ahead and get things started.” He motions for me to lead the way.
I offer the two women an awkward wave goodbye and tiptoe past Elio and into the hallway. The hairs at the back of my neck rise to attention when he slams the door behind us.
“What was that about? What do you need to discuss without me present?”
“I’m not sure,” he answers darkly.
I brace my hands on my hips and pause in the dimly lit corridor, unhappy with his answer. “You mentioned the Tidecallers, but I thought they were extinct?”
“Rebellions are never truly extinct,” Elio says tersely as he walks past me. “They simmer down, spreading silently through the cracks of rotten politics until they gather enough momentum to flare up again. The original Tidecallers were driven beyond the Breach to the Islantide, but their ideology endured. For centuries, their followers have been scuttling about the realm in their name.”
I fall into step with him, my brows pinched in confusion. “I thought Tidecallers worshiped the Mist King?”
“That’s a common misconception,” Elio clarifies. “Tidecallers were mostly soldiers who wanted the endless wars to end. They believed that a new King and Queen should be elected every decade, so no one would ever amass as much power as the Mist King once did.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” I quip, forging ahead.
The corridor opens up to a round staircase landing, revealing a dizzying view of the tiny streets of the Ice City below. We’re at the very top of the fortress, and a sudden bout of vertigo blurs my vision.
“No, it wasn’t such a crazy plan,” Elio admits. “But harvesting and wielding power became addictive. Some crowns aren’t meant to be survived… There was no guarantee that an elected monarch would willingly relinquish power once he had it, or that others wouldn’t kill to steal it. The war grew more intense and violent with the spread of the jewels, so Mist Fae technology was outlawed, and all known jewels were destroyed.
“After the Summer King ordered the massacre of the Mist Fae, the rebel factions were pushed to repopulate the Islantide, never to return to the continent. Since then, every boat that tries to cross the Breach is blasted to dust on sight.”
I crane my neck around to look at him, and the menacing look on his face flips my stomach. He’s the same man who plunged into a torrent of ice to find me, yet the vibe rolling off him is morepredatorthanprince charming. His fists clench at his sides like he’s at war with himself, at odds with me, and daggers drawn with the rest of the world.
My bare feet test the feel of the cold marble, instinctively checking for its porosity and grip.
In case I need to run.
Chapter 30
Don’t Blame Me
LORI
Darkness burns within the center of the round staircase, running at least twenty floors down. Shadows lick my skin as I trace the shape of the decorative wrought iron banister and start my descent.
Elio nips at my heels. The large windows on each of the landings light our path, but there’s no torches or lanterns or electric lights to speak of. I glance at him over my shoulder—a mouse taking a stroll in front of a panther.
“So many shadows in your ice fortress…” I trail off.
“You must feel right at home.”
“How could anyone feel at home on death’s stoop?”
“I do.”
The steep and narrow round staircase allows me to glimpse up at him as I skip to get ahead, the two of us now on opposite sides of the tight circle. Him lingering on higher ground, me feeling even more like a prey as we continue our descent.
An enigmatic smile glazes his lips, but he doesn’t try to bridge the gap between us or engage in further conversation.
The Winter King is wearing black from head to toe, his hair about the only thing making him look human at all. The blonde locks have dried up since our soak, and they curl behind his pointy ears, softening up his lethal look.
After a couple more floors, I’m simply shaking with anticipation and stop on the next landing to look out the window.
From this height, the winding streets and tightly-knit townhouses of the Ice City are more visible, and I rest a hand on the glass. Painted signs wave in the winds above the shops and restaurants. Snow shovels are planted near each set of stone steps leading to the grim reapers’ homes, stacks of firewood partially hidden under black tarps to protect them from the weather.
