Page 40 of The Frost Touched Queen

Kat wants to have dinner with me?

She barely spoke two words the whole ride here and now she wants to talk?

Hmm.

I stroke my stubbled chin in deep thought, listing the pros and cons to such an invitation. The only way Katrina would even contemplate breaking bread with me is if she’s somehow smuggled poison into it. My safest bet would be to stay clear of her, but then that would defeat the purpose of trying to ascertain that she chooses me to be her lord and groom.

Tricky.

“My lord?” Inessa questions when I take too long to offer a reply.

“Were you expecting me to say something? Did you not just inform me that the queen will not take no for an answer? Tell me the hour and she shall have me there.”

“At sunset, Your Highness,” she advises.

“At sunset it is, then. Anything else I should be made aware of?”

When Inessa’s gaze discreetly scrutinizes the dirty riding clothes I still have on, I almost believe her brave enough to tell me to get a bath before dinner. But alas, Inessa’s humble station has taught her to keep her own opinion to herself or suffer the consequences. A maid telling a king he stinks and is in dire need of a bath is a sure-fire way to live out the remainder of your days in some dungeon.

“No, Your Highness,” she finally says, taking another bow and rushing off to tell her mistress the news.

It’s only when the tent is completely silent that I realize that Brick hasn’t said a word or even cracked a joke at my expense.

“Brick?” I call out, when I find my best friend in a daze staring at my tent’s entrance.

“Huh?” he stammers, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You look out of sorts. Are you okay?” I ask, starting to worry that my friend might have had a bit too much to drink.

“I don’t know,” he retorts, confused, still staring at the tent’s flap. “I’m not sure that I am.”

“Still upset that you didn’t get to meet the redhead?” I joke lightheartedly.

“Who?” he counters absentmindedly, while his eyelids blink rapidly as if trying to clear whatever fog has taken over his sight. “Oh, her? The redhead. Right. Yeah. No. It’s fine. No matter,” he adds, his tone not holding his previous excitement over the woman.

The fuck is wrong with him now?

“My king,” a soldier announces as he steps into the tent. “We’ve got him.”

Right.

I almost forgot.

“Bring him to me,” I command, walking over to a nearby chair to take a seat.

In no time at all, four of my most loyal soldiers appear with their prisoner. I let out an exhale when I see that the young boy in question must not have seen twenty springs if he’s seen a day. Still, loyalty knows no age. He needs to learn his lesson as well as be made an example of.

The boy, now stripped from his soldier uniform, wearing only his undergarments, doesn’t even resist being manhandled by his peers as they place him before me. Another telltale sign of his guilt. That and the fact that his head continues to hang low, unable to meet my eyes.

“Do you know why you are here?” I ask outright, but the boy is too ashamed to answer.

That won’t do.

I need to know exactly what he told Katrina’s handmaiden, down to the very last detail.

“Answer me!” I shout, slamming my fist onto the chair’s arm and splintering it. “Do you know why you are here?”

To this he nods, his whole body shaking in fear.

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