Page 48 of Slaying the Frost King

“I don’t need to die, then?” Eirah whispered, disbelief etched on her features. She brought her hands to her mouth and let out a quiet sob of relief.

“No, for you have more to give, little bird.” Morozko blinked away the remnants of the vision and grabbed his discarded trousers, then yanked them on.

Eirah ran a hand over his shoulder, her cool fingers centering him. “What must we do?” she echoed. “What did you see?”

He swallowed roughly, trying to assemble his thoughts. “I know why you’re here,” he rasped. “As I’ve said, you’re instrumental in all of this.” He motioned with his hand to indicate their predicament. “You and I will create a demon to rival the changelings. An army of them will rise to keep them at bay. They’re slain by fire, and it’ll wipe them from our realm until they can regenerate beyond the seal. We need to whip the mortals to free them. And you are, indeed, the first witch.”

Eirah placed the back of her hand against his cheek. If she was mortified by what he said, she hid it well. “You’re feverish.”

“I know what I saw! And I’m fine. It happens the closer I am to a pivotal moment.” He grasped onto her wrist, his fingers gentle. Did she not believe him? He frowned, but then again—

“I believe you. Your visions haven’t been wrong before, right?” When he said nothing, she nodded. “It explains their fear of fire. What else did you see?”

“A stone. You imbued a stone that could track them down, that removed the guesswork from it all.” He shook his head, clearing his mind further, then grabbed his shirt and yanked it on. “And to expel the changeling from a child, we have to whip them.”

Her eyes widened in horror. “What?”

“That’s what I saw.” While Morozko wasn’t keen on the idea himself, he also didn’tseeanother way. “Do you have another idea, then?”

Eirah sighed, shaking her head. “Do you know how much time we have left?”

“I don’t.” He chewed on his bottom lip, mulling over what he’d seen. “I never know when precisely things will take place. There are hints in the now, happenings that point toward the unfolding of it all, but never a precise moment.” He paused, frowning, then paced back and forth.

“Wearing a hole in the ground won’t put a stop to this. Sit down before you keel over.” She closed the distance between them, took his hand, and led him to their bedrolls. “Tell me how we can plan for this. Tell me what we can do in the meantime.”

She didn’t say it, but she may as well have.You’re the king. You must lead us.It wasn’t her thoughts, only Morozko’s inner turmoil rising, screaming at him to protect what was his.

With a sigh, he lowered himself to the fur blanket. “You know, I never wished to be a king.” Why he felt compelled to tell her this now, he didn’t know. Perhaps because she was the first person outside his servants to ever truly care for him. “I never wanted the responsibility or power. I wanted to remain hidden, far away from my mother’s wickedness and the intrigue of court.” He curled his fingers into his palms and sneered. “I hated it then, and I hate it now.”

Eirah knelt beside him and settled a hand over one of his fists. Her eyes searched his face as if penetrating through all his hidden layers. “You are the king Frosteria needs, for you have a heart that isn’t made of ice. That is what sets you apart from the queen, Morozko. Although, you do like to let us believe it is sometimes.” Eirah’s lips tilted up at the edges.

Her words ignited an inferno in his chest, blazing furiously to the point his breath hitched. She couldn’t know what the words meant to him—to know that he wasn’t as abominable as his mother eased an ounce of his torment.

When he didn’t respond, Eirah used her finger to turn his face toward hers. “A thank you would suffice,Your Majesty.”

Morozko lowered his gaze to her lips, which were still reddened by his kisses. A complex emotion he saw no use in defining blossomed inside of him, and he leaned in, his mouth skating over hers before he deepened the kiss.

His tongue glided along hers, slow and sensual as he savored the taste of her, the feel of Eirah as she moved into his arms. Morozko embraced her and withdrew his mouth from hers, then buried his face in the crook of her neck. “What we need to do is no straightforward task. I’ve done nothing like this before.” He chuckled darkly, inhaling Eirah’s floral scent. “It seems to me that is becoming a recurrence.”

“Then, how do we go about creating a warrior who can rival a changeling?”

Morozko pulled his head back, eyes locking with hers. “Precisely how magic is carried on.”

Eirah cocked her head, quirking a brow. She looked the part of an owl.

“With blood.”

20

EIRAH

One of the things that horrified Eirah the most about Morozko’s visions was the way a changeling would have to be removed from a mortal child—whipping them until the demon left.

“What are we waiting for?” Eirah said, hope igniting within her chest. “Let’s perform the blood spell.” Her gaze fell to Morozko, his brow slick with sweat and his body slightly swaying as if he would collapse again. Worry filled her at seeing him this way, not himself. “But first, you need to drink and eat something. We don’t need you becoming any weaker.”

“I’m fine,” he growled, but it lacked the bite he usually possessed.

Eirah tilted her head to the side, watching him stumble as he shifted forward. “Take a moment to strengthen yourself, and don’t be stubborn. Do you want to die before we can help Frosteria?”

---