Page 87 of A Bride for the Winter King
“What about you, Wendy? You’re already immortal, and many of our viewers want to know exactly why you joined the pageant. As you know, you’re the first Fae to do so in decades.”
Wendy offers him a wide, beauty-queen smile. “I just thought Winter Fae shouldn’t hide from their birthright, Paul.”
“Is that the whole truth, though?” Paul motions to the empty wall behind him. “Let’s take a look at some footage we recovered from the mountains. There’s no audio, but I think the images tell a clear story.”
A projector sparks to life. The zoomed clip shows Wendy by the entrance of the mine, helping one of the Tidecallers secure the last of his cargo. The two of them share a quick hug before he flees, and Wendy lies back next to the other unconscious girls on the floor of the mine.
“Wait! It’s not—I didn’t—” Wendy stammers, her knuckles white over the armrests.
Paul shakes his head with a reproachful scowl. “Guards, please escort Miss Frost to a holding cell.”
While the cameras capture every moment of Wendy’s arrest, a stage technician removes her chair.
Daisy grips my hand. “I knew it,” she whispers only for my benefit.
I draw in a deep breath, vindicated that Wendy was working for the enemy, but I’m not sure what role she was supposed to play, or why she looked so disappointed to see me earlier if her mission had already failed.
“A formal investigation will determine the extent of Wendy Frost’s involvement with the revolutionist group known as the Tidecallers.” Paul turns to the side camera. “But first, let’s welcome the Winter King to the stage.
My spine stiffens, and I grip the rose tighter. Elio climbs the stairs two at a time and sits on the other side of Paul, his chair brightening from dark teal to a soft blue as it ices over.
I try to cross his gaze, but he’s pointedly not looking in my direction, focused on Paul as he unbuttons his jacket. Adrenaline rushes in my veins, the poise and nonchalance of the Winter King making me doubt he’s the same Elio I’ve come to know.
“My king, can I ask you a few questions?” Paul asks with a sheepish grimace.
“Fire away, Paul. It’s important to be transparent. Now more than ever.”
Paul nods several times, his rehearsed, conspiratorial grin sending shivers down my spine. “In the spirit of transparency, let me show you the rest of the footage we recovered.”
Elio opens and closes his mouth, his frustration evident. After a deep breath, he grits his teeth and gives a reluctant incline of the head. “Alright.”
“Here.”
Sharp whispers erupt from the crowd. Paul seems to be going off script, and my heart hammers in my throat as another clip lights up the wall behind us. I see myself trying to help Elio to his feet before he points an ice shiv at my neck, and the image freezes.
“Let’s pause here.” Paul licks his lips, drawing out the suspense to rile up the audience. “If I may ask, what happened right before this? You were bleeding?”
“The apparent leader of the Tidecallers tried to kill me, but Lori stabbed him, and he vanished,” Elio explains.
Inaudible conversations rise from the sea of courtiers, the High Fae now gossiping openly among themselves.
“Had Tidecallers been spotted in Wintermere before this?” Paul asks.
Elio gives a decisive slice of the head. “Never. The only knowledge I had of them before facing them on the mountain came from history books and the scary Faen tales I heard around the campfire growing up.”
The language used leaves no room for interpretation. Fae can’t lie, so this serves as both the pageant’s finalist round and a political inquiry. Everyone watching from home will know that the Winter King isn’t in leagues with the rebels crawling about his glacier.
Paul nods emphatically. “And what were they after?”
“Power. They carved out scales from one of Wintermere’s sacred dragons and stole precious jewels from the mines. They tried to abduct the brides—most likely to harvest their magic, too.” Elio pauses and looks straight at the cameras before adding, “While most of the rebels were found dead after the avalanche, I want to send a clear message that any individual found to have participated in this attack—whether within this court or not—will be severely punished.”
He’s in on Paul’s televised stunt after all.
Paul inches forward in his seat, his linked hands braced over his knee. “You look angry with Lori here. Was she involved in the attack?”
“No.”
The projection resumes, showing Elio with a bloody lip and me in my white silk dress as we argue, before he kisses the life out of me…
