Page 2 of A Bride for the Winter King
The squishy mud ices instantly beneath the soles of his boots, and the gardens glisten under the afternoon sun, most of the water in a fifty-foot radius now frozen solid.
My skin tingles all over, numb from the cold, as I take in the shape of his lips and the sharp angle of his jaw. I press my own mask in place to shield me from his hypnotic thrall and yank my full-face scarf over my long black hair.
According to the High Fae, death’s never been so nicely wrapped up in a chiseled, angelic bow than under the command of Elio Lightbringer. I didn’t give enough weight to this gossip, the High Fae known to exaggerate, but I truly don’t understand how his rotten core could be overlooked in favor of his godlike aesthetics.
The cruel face of the reaper he sent after my dad’s soul is branded in my memory, deeper than any spider could hope to burrow. The impatient curl of the monster’s lips as he barked for me to step aside and the sting of his cold hands when he peeled me off his body haunt me.
The details live in my memory as heartbreaking and vivid as the day my father died. I remember how my tears iced over my cheeks, and the numbing grip of grief that didn’t leave me formonths.
All because of this power-hungry, soulless king…
If the Winter King knows I’m there, cradled in shadows, he doesn’t let it show and turns his mask to the trio of blackbirds fluttering above our heads. After a few, long seconds, he starts walking again.
The man accompanying the king is wearing a reaper uniform, but with golden accents instead of silver. He holds one arm high in the air as the platoon reaches the shade of the Hawthorn. “Halt.”
The soldiers stop near the Shadow King’s balcony and widen their stances, their arms now tucked behind their backs. I gape at the Winter King, unable to move from my hiding place.
Anger simmers at the back of my throat, and I tighten my grip on the hilts of my trusty daggers.What are those creatures doing here, on our lands? Why couldn’t they stay within the limits of their ice city where they belong?
I’m almost mad enough to march over to them and air out my grievances, but a flash of brown hair stops me as Cece sticks her head out of the gym.
The fifteen-year-old girl stares at the reapers, and her hazelnut eyes widen. With her rosy lips parted in wonder, she appears eager to step onto the ice and introduce herself to our deadly visitors.
I dash across the trail to stop her. “Cece. Cece, go back inside,” I order quietly.
A white puff of air rises between us, her entire body shaking from the cold. “What are they?”
The distinct pressure of a powerful Fae gaze prickles the hairs on the back of my neck. I wrap an arm around Cece’sshoulders and pull her back inside the safety of the large training gym, closing the door behind us as quietly as possible. “Reapers,” I whisper.
“As in grim reapers?” She twists in my grip and cranes her neck around to glance at them again.
“Yes.”
Nell runs in from the opposite side of the room. A hood covers her white-blond braid, and a long dark cape reveals a glimpse of her wedding dress. Three pieces of black silk are woven and braided through the dress’s sparkly bodice, and the off-the-shoulder ivory neckline makes her look like a fairytale princess—a true Shadow Queen.
“You’re already dressed?” I check the clock on the wall and realize my melancholic run made me lose track of time.
“I couldn’t just sit there, waiting. I keep thinking something horrible is about to happen.”
“You and me both.”
Nell peers through the diamond-meshed walls, the reapers barely visible between the thick branches of the barren bushes that crowd the sides of the gym. “Crops! They were supposed to come tomorrow.”
Cece tiptoes closer to the wall with a dangerous smile. “They’re so beautiful. Especially the tall one…”
“Beautiful?” I shake off the urge to scream and focus on her older sister. “You knew about this? And you didn’t tell me?” I breathe.
Nell’s eyebrows pull together. “I thought you knew. Damian said that they come every year after Morheim.”
A hiccup quakes my throat, and I shake my head from side to side. “Believe me, Old World. If I’d seen an army of grim reapers before, I’d remember.”
Nell squints like she’s seeing me for the first time today. “Hey… Are you alright?” Her gaze falls to my side. “Is it the bite again? Has it ruptured?”
I shake my head. “It’s fine.”
But she reaches for the hem of my jacket anyway, and I hold up my arm to allow her to double-check. The tips of her cold fingers trace the angry patch of flesh, a crust of dried blood and fibrin still obscuring the center of the bite.
“The scab is stuck in this state, but it’s not worse than it was,” she says, her voice heavy with relief.
