Page 33 of The Frost Touched Queen

I could read it in his tone how on edge he is now, so close to getting justice—anxiety getting the better of him.

He needs reassurance and I fully intend on giving it to him.

I scan my surroundings, until I find exactly what I’m looking for. Ever so quickly, I march to a nearby fallen tree branch in the ground. After close inspection, I thank the gods that it’s not too wet from the snow for what I have in store for it. I break a good chunk of the wood apart with my foot, grabbing the better piece, intent on taking it back with me to the boulder.

But first things first.

With the remains of the branch, I go to my haunches and start a fire. Once the first flame catches on, I remove Atlas’s letter from my inner pocket and tilt it to the flame. The instant the fire flicks at it, I drop the letter onto the makeshift pyre, and stand back up to my full height. I wait until every bit of it burns to ash, Atlas’s words unable to be read by any other eyes but mine.

Then and only then do I return to my rock and get to work.

Every so often while I carve away, I feel the restlessness of the party up on the road, looking down the hill, waiting impatiently for my return.

She’s impatient.

But it’s just as Atlas wrote.

We’ve waited years.

Years!

She can wait a few goddamn hours.

Not that there’s much choice. Since I haven’t done this in so long, I’m unable to be as fast as I once was, only managing to complete it after a good solid hour of arduous work. When the final cut is made, I sit back and smile that it didn’t come out half as bad as I thought it would.

My grin widens when I walk back up the hill and find Atlas’s squire dripping in sweat, my soldiers with their swords still raised at him.

“Your Majesty.” He bows ecstatically, looking like the gods themselves have appeared before him. “Do you have an answer for my lord and liege?”

“I do,” I state, handing him the small wooden-carved boat I just made.

He looks at it as if it’s going to jump and bite him in the face.

“Your Highness?” he asks, confused, still perplexed as to why he’s bringing his king a child’s toy from me.

“He’ll know what it means. Now, best be on your way. Your king hates to be kept waiting.”

Not needing to be told twice, the squire bids farewell and runs to his horse, all too eager to return to where he came from.

I, on the other hand, am in no rush to return to my journey.

Riding on the same horse as Katrina has beenchallenging.

On my sanity.

My will.

And even my cock.

With the way her ass is always brushing up against it, she’s made sure to aim for the full trifecta, guaranteeing that I slowly go insane with each mile we pass.

My people and I will never be slaves to the north again.

Never again, Levi.

It’s Atlas’s letter that brings me back to my senses. It’s almost as if he knew I needed a little dose of reality. A reminder that our cause is so much bigger than us.

Even more important than our need for vengeance.

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