Page 11 of The Yuletide Fairy's Curse
Kolfrosta swallowed thickly. “No. I made the mistake of speaking with you. You weren’t anything like I thought a spoiled daughter of the royal family would be. You had a kind heart. I tried to tell you what your parents were up to, and you cried and cried.”
Like a child, Dalla thought with shame. She had been twenty-six, older than her father was when he ascended to the throne, and she had wept like a baby. Her tears may have saved her life.
“It was then that I realized how little they cared for you,” Kolfrosta continued. “How little affection you held for them, and how little was returned. They did not keep you abreast of their tyranny. You were just a woman.” She looked down. “A woman with a heart as soft as mine.”
Dalla closed her eyes. Hearing herself described like this, she felt like a fraud. She had spent years hiding away from politics, avoiding the cruelty of her family herself. She had not meant to subvert the tyrannical reign of her family. She’d only meant to survive, and when the time came for her to take over, she had thought the goal of survival should extend to everyone else.
“Why doyoucare?” Dalla said. “How does the suffering in my world concern you?”
Kolfrosta took a step toward Dalla, and Dalla stood her ground even though she had to look up to meet Kolfrosta’s gaze. “I think we have much in common, Dalla,” said Kolfrosta. “I think you can’t stand to see people suffer any more than I can.”
As if they had a mind of their own, Dalla’s fingers crept forward and took hold of Kolfrosta’s cloak. Kolfrosta’s breath caught; her eyes widened; the snow flurrying under her skin stopped and then started again.
Kolfrosta leaned forward. Dalla stretched herself up on her toes.
Inches away, it occurred to Dalla to wonder if this was a good idea. But she might not remember anything tomorrow.
She balled Kolfrosta’s cloak in her fists and tugged. Kolfrosta’s eyes became heavy, half-lidded, the dark irises reflecting the same desire Dalla felt.
Dalla kissed her first.
Kolfrosta’s lips were warm as wassail and soft as freshly fallen snow. Her hands wound around the back of Dalla’s neck, pulling her in, and Dalla stumbled forward into her. She pushed, nudging Kolfrosta deeper into the room, and then pushed again. Kolfrosta’s knees fell out under her and she landed on the bed.
Dalla drew back, breathing heavily. Kolfrosta sat looking almost meek, watching to gauge Dalla’s next move. With Kolfrosta’s cloak open, Dalla could see the translucent shift underneath. Every curve on display. Dalla so badly wanted to feel every inch of her body.
“I dream about you,” confessed Dalla. “I have dreamed about you ever since I first saw you.”
Kolfrosta licked her lips. Her eyes were alive, alight with some emotion Dalla couldn’t place. “You haunt my dreams too,” she whispered.
Dalla pictured her dreams reversed: herself biting Kolfrosta’s neck and drinking her blood, stealing her away in the night. Butthat couldn’t be right. Dalla posed no threat to Kolfrosta and the immortal fae life she lived.
What did Kolfrosta see in her dreams?
“Why?” Dalla asked.
Kolfrosta’s eyes were bright as if with tears. “Perhaps some things are better left in our dreams.”
“How would I have left that kind of impression on you? I’m like any other human.”
At this, Kolfrosta laughed. “Sure, you are.”
“What does that mean?”
But Kolfrosta shook her head. “Meet me in the courtyard, will you? I have to get ready. Please feel free to stop in the dining hall and get some food if you need any.” She pushed her cloak back up over her shoulders, covering herself.
“Very well,” said Dalla.
Whatever connection they’d felt was clearly over for the moment. How far would they have gone if Dalla hadn’t opened her stubborn mouth? As she was escorted out, Dalla wondered if it would have been better not to say anything at all.
CHAPTER 8
The servants escorted Dalla back to her room and brought in more clothing to wear—more white fur and blue silk, the colors of the snowy season Kolfrosta commanded. The effect of wearing her colors was made worse when Dalla tried to exit the room and found the door once again locked.
Very well, then. A reminder that she was a captive here, and that kissing her captive did not make Kolfrosta less of a captor. Dalla knew how to take a message: she was being put in her place. She strapped the dagger back onto her belt.
She had half drifted asleep when someone shook her awake. The servants led her down the east stairs and through the door at the bottom between the staircases—a door Dalla had assumed was for the servants to come and go easily.
The sight that met her gave her pause: an enormous open courtyard with another dazzling tree in its center. The tree was decorated normally, Dalla noticed—shiny bits and tinsel, the kinds of things people back home would have used in their Yule decorations. Not a mystical memory bauble in sight.
