Page 14 of The Frost Touched Queen

“I had your men usher her to her tent, Your Majesty.”

“Good. This won’t take long,” I tell him and step outside, the cold wind that strikes my stubbled cheeks the cruel reminder that I’m on her turf and not my own.

That will change, though.

I’ll let her rest for the night, but at the crack of dawn, we will ride to Arkøya.

As soon as her feet land on eastern soil, I doubt she’ll feel so empowered to strike fear in my men so easily. Let her see with her own eyes all the green meadows and valleys that compile my kingdom, completely untouched by snow and hail. Let’s see how strong she is without her high mountains to protect her or her harsh winds to freeze us to the spot.

No.

Katrina will be utterly defenseless in the east, unable to pull strength from her winter elements. Let the melody of spring wrap itself around her frigid heart in a vise grip and smother it once and for all.

With restored determination to meet the ghost of winter past, I walk through camp in the direction to her tent. When I finally reach her door, I grin menacingly at the four guards standing post outside, their fresh faces telling me that they have never witnessed the horrors of battle for even a day.

Not that it surprises me.

For as long as he was alive, King Orville preferred to sacrificemycountrymen and call them to arms whenever there was a war to wage. It was only after his so-called reckoning seven years ago, that he kept his own battalions guarding his fortress up north, preferring to solely let my men bleed for his greed.

That was his first mistake.

For men who have never witnessed their compatriots die in front of their very eyes or felt the heat of a sword slice into their skin are not soldiers—just very ineffective bodyguards. A weakness that I am all too happy to exploit.

Take these men before me, for example. I could snap their necks as easily as I could break a twig in half before they even realized what was happening. But to start Katrina’s visit with me killing her men sets a bad precedent.

I’ll have plenty of time for that afterward.

“Tell your queen that I’m here for an audience with her,” I state as amicably as possible, while inside I cringe at the fake pleasantry.

If I had it my way, I wouldn’t even have bothered to tell them to step aside and would have just marched right on in. But if I’m to play the role Katrina has cast me with—of her potential suitor instead of her rival—then best keep up the facade for as long as I can stomach it. Something tells me I’ll grow tired with the pretense before I reach my home soil, though.

One soldier heeds to my order and rushes to alert his queen of my presence, while the other three try to look imposing by staring me down. My jaw tics in aggravation at their blatant disrespect, but I don’t raise a hand against them. I’m here for their queen. She’s the only one I truly want to see on her knees.

“Her Highness is ready for you,” the soldier says upon his return.

I give him a curt nod and strut right on in, holding in my smirk when I see that in little over an hour, Kat has taken all the liberties she could to make her tent fit for a queen, apparently not content with the humble accommodations I left her. White bearskin rugs are all strategically placed around the floor, accompanied by a vast display of candles, white veils and pillows adorning the tent with a large bed at its center, already made for her royal head to sleep on. Unlike outside, this winter wonderland is warm and inviting.

But none of it holds a candle to the silhouette staring at the open flames of a fire pit in the corner of the tent. Katrina’s back remains to me as I take in her feminine features. Diamonds, reminiscent of frozen teardrops, are embedded in her long pale braid. It hangs down low, pointing to the small of her back, making the jeweled lace slash that hugs her slender hips that much more prominent. As I take one step closer, I realize that she’s taller than I remembered her to be, looking all grown up in a snowy white dress.

She’s winter incarnate.

“Kat,” I call out, needing her to turn around and face me, so that I may see if there are any other changes to her that I’ve missed.

But when she does, my heart stops, freezing in my chest.

Cold, dead gray eyes pierce me to the spot.

“There is no one here by that name, Levi. You will address me as your queen, for that is who I am to you. Nothing more. On your knees.”

Chapter 6

Katrina

Without me even laying eyes on him, I know the precise second Levi steps foot inside my tent. Levi manages to completely suck out all the air from the room, alerting me to the danger I’m in, in more ways than one.

The small hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end as I feel the weight of his stare on my back. My heart jackhammers in my chest as I hear his footsteps slowly approach me from behind. I steady myself to remain remotely still, not wanting to turn around until I’m absolutely certain I have my wits about me.

I need this first meeting between us to go off well, to make it clear in his mind of who exactly is in charge here. But that small girl that once believed this man—this stranger to me now—could do no wrong, has suddenly resurfaced, eager to reunite with her long-lost friend.

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