Page 26 of A Bride for the Winter King
The loud conversations, the raucous commotion of the dancers… everything fades under Elio’s scrutiny. His ungodly eyes widen, and his brows pull together in a deeper and deeper frown.
A cold, slithering sensation laces up my spine.
The serene face of the dead woman exposed under his Hawthorn tree flashes in my mind. How shocked he must be to see a fragment of it amongst the guests—a living ghost of his beloved.
A man sits at the bar between us and blocks my line of sight, breaking the spell. Ragged breaths quake my ribcage as I grip the skirt of my dress. Magic bubbles beneath the surface of my skin, but I desperately rein in my shadows not to blow my cover and wade back into the crowd gathered on the dance floor.
I skirt around a boisterous Fae couple, my fingers clenched around the modest train of the dress. Behind them, a pair of double doors beckons.
First a sharp left to avoid a burly man.
A quick right to slip between two Winter brides.
Tiny shadows drape over my shoulders, followed by a burst of speed.
Almost there.
My pulse throbs at my temples as I dash to the exit and risk a glance behind me. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of platinum-blond hair, and my heart screeches past my feet.
Just when I think I’m going to make it out of the ballroom unscathed, a confident hand shoots out of the mass and curls around my lower arm. Thorns of ice scatter along my skin at his touch and force me to a halt, blue lines creeping over my wrist.
I stifle a gasp and spin around to face the Winter King.
With a puzzled look—perhaps the madness-induced confusion of a man who doesn’t know if he’s dreaming—Elio Lightbringer peels the masquerade mask off my face and lets go of me with a start.
The sting of frost melts from my arm as his lips part, and the muscles in his neck tighten in ropes of emotion, flicking in and out of view.
My neck hurts from the effort to look away, but my body is not listening to my commands and glares right back at him, the way no one should stare at a stranger.He looks about to pass out.
I open my mouth to speak, but the storm passing over his immortal face short-circuits my rational thoughts. For a brief moment, the ice in his eyes vanishes, revealing a deeper turmoil—an ocean of turquoise waters, endless and cold. An abyss of regrets.
His tortured gaze finally drops to my dress, and his jaw clenches. He balls his fists and scouts the ballroom for an answer, looking about ready tomurderme.
Seth slithers to my side and offers a quick, fake-as-hell bow to the Winter King. “Ah, Elio. How do you find my favorite candidate? She’s exquisite, isn’t she?”
The king punches my sponsor without a shred of warning, and Seth is shoved about five feet back. The storm princetumbles to the sleek white marble tiles with a loudthump, bringing an unlucky guest with him on his trajectory.
In the background, I hear the commentators reel at the violence of the blow, and the music actually fades away this time, all eyes on us. Disappointed whispers and questions buzz through the brides and courtiers.
Paul raises his voice. “By the spindle, did you all see what just happened? The king picked a fight with one of the sponsors. Who’s the girl standing between them, Sara?”
“Let me see. Her name is Lori, and she’s a Spring seed presented today by Seth Devine.”
Paul rushes through the crowd. “Seth Devine… Why am I not surprised? But what is she wearing? A wedding dress?”
As if on cue, the fabric of my dress ices over. The Winter King holds my incensed gaze as he rips the skirt and train to shreds. The frozen silk crumbles in his grasp, and I’m left gasping for breath in my corset, unable to speak, run, or fight—a first for me.
The old-fashioned undergarments and fishnet stockings shield me from the prying lenses of the camera zooming in on my awestruck face.
The Winter King freezes all the nearby electronics like they’re weeds defiling the beauty of his pristine gardens, and the eyeballs rain down in a cacophony of metallicthudsaround us.
“I don’t know who you are, where you come from, or how Seth managed to get you here, and I don’t care,” he whispers in a low growl that ices the heart, his chest heaving. “You drop out, and you drop out now, or I will turn your life—or what little’s left of it—into a very special kind of hell. Is that clear?”
“Crystal.”
He spins on his heels and stomps beyond the roped off section, leaving the ballroom in four strides.
Paul sticks a microphone under my chin. “What did he say, Lori? What did the king say to you, and why did he punch yoursponsor?” He glances away from the cameras and meets my gaze.
