Page 15 of A Bride for the Winter King
My heart falls in my chest at my mistake. “No, but I’ve studied… My mother would blush if I ever made the mistake of calling anyone afairy.”
During my short tenure as the Shadow Court librarian, I’d handled some of the rarest, most treasured volumes in the realm. But I was still only a sprout—a second-tier trainee. I wasn’t allowed to read most of the precious collection, yet. Though, I didoccasionallypeek ata few of the books’ secrets before sliding them back into the stacks.
Because of the restrictions placed on mortals and the rampant secrecy between courts, my general knowledge of Faerie is vast, but the specifics are still mysteries.
Poppy tucks her long brown braid inside the flap of her cloak and nods as though I’m making enough sense for her to pardon my cleverness. “Your mother was an archer, yes? That’s why you went to school in the new world?”
“Absolutely,” I lie.Gods…I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth.Good job, Lori.At this rate, you’ll be found out in less than a day.
Chapter 6
Ivory Tower
ELIO
Music blares down the stairwell of the tower as I hammer the white and black keys in a soothing, familiar tempo. The smooth ivories glide under my fingertips, cold and familiar, my soul never quite at peace but here, lost in the melody.
From the highest window of a castle frozen in time, I see them spread around the gardens below, crawling all over my lands like ants… Another year. Another wedding.
A fresh round of the curse that started in this very room.
I haven’t slept in the baldaquin bed by the window in decades, and yet everything is still here. Wilted daffodils bow to my misery, Iris’s hoop earrings still laying on the bedside table. I know what the other courts—even my own subjects—whisper about me.
They say I’m desperate to forget my first love.
They say I’ve gone insane.
They’re not wrong.
I slam the key cover down and retreat to the depths of the icy tunnels and secret passageways running under my castle. Inhere, I don’t have to hide who I am and take solace in these last few moments of clarity.
For the next seven days, I’ll have to speak like a man. Dress like a man. Eat like a man and smile to the cameras. Fuck a pretty girl to appease my people—and the powers that be.
A girl I’ll only end up killing. My kingdom needs a queen, and so I marry. Every year I marry, and suffer.
Every year, I lose her all over again.
This endless curse is meant to punish me for what I’ve done—with no hope of release. As Winter King, death shall never come for me. For me, death never ends.
Chapter 7
Snow White
LORI
Fresh, powdery snow peppers the roofs and turrets of the Winter castle. The stone fortress is perched at the foot of a snow-peaked mountain range, cradled between steep cliffs and the bustling city beyond the gates. The busy streets of Tundra, the Winter capital, are mere footsteps away from the castle. It’s wild to witness that kind of proximity between the High Fae and the ordinary people considering most of the Shadowlands’ citizens were barred from the grounds of the Shadow Court for decades.
The Spring brides drag their feet, taking in the splendid view. A gigantic frozen lake made of turquoise ice shines in the distance, smooth as a mirror. Awed whispers and delighted gasps buzz through the ranks as we walk along the parapet to the stairs leading down to an interior courtyard. Inside the castle grounds, the dramatic scenery is quickly replaced by secluded gardens that shield us from the icy wind.
A maze of cedar hedges crawls deeper and deeper inside the Winter stronghold, and Sarafina guides us through its corners and curves without hesitation. “Never enter the labyrinthwithout an escort. It protects the king’s private gardens from uninvited visitors and stretches all the way to the mountains. Many powerful Winter Fae have lost their toes and fingers after getting lost in this maze. You’d never make it through on your own.”
On the other side, steep rooftops create walls of packed snow around the inner gardens that extend past my head.
A dark frown obscures Seth’s face, and I follow his gaze to the three uneven towers reaching out to the cloudless sky. The tallest of them is a little crooked, its blue stone shingles laden with ice instead of snow. I halt and blink a few times, my gut in knots. For whatever reason, the lonely window at the top gives me the major creeps.
Up ahead, Sarafina spins around to face us. “This is Winter’s sacred tree, the only Hawthorn in existence to produce the infamous frost apples. If you’re lucky enough to make it to the top three, you will receive one of these apples, and the healthy, long-lasting life that comes with it.”
I’m at the back of the pack because of my quick stop and tilt my head to take a good look at the tree. Compared to the Shadow Court’s Hawthorn, Winter’s sacred tree is small and brittle. Ice coats the white trunk and branches, making them twinkle in the sun.
