Of Snow and Sapphire: The Weather Court Gem Series
1. One
Ice prickled her fingertips, the cold a relief against her snowy skin—a reminder of everything she had to lose. She dragged her cobalt claws against the arm of her frozen chair, an indent forming and disappearing as the ice molded back just as quickly as it melted. The simple touch of her fingers bore insurmountable powers, even now, when most of the land’s magic had faded over the past year.
She weathered the meeting with her back straight, as her advisor droned about the housing efforts in the western lands of the Snow Court. Production had come to a stop since the ice started melting. Not surprising news to hear. It had already been seven months since she was crowned Queen Ludelle of the Snow Court. Seven months since her parents had died in that unfortunate accident at sea, and, now, only one month away from her Undertaking.
“All eyes will be on you, Queen Ludelle. You know that during a ruler’s first Undertaking, they always decide their consort. Choosing wisely is how the people will know that you care about the wellbeing of this court.”
Ludelle lifted her chin, looking down at Balvan, her obnoxious royal advisor who had nothing better to do than pester her about the obvious. “I am well aware of what happens in the Undertaking, Balvan. I do not need you to serve as my reminder.”
He tidied up the overwhelming array of papers strewn astray on the table, his delicate hands wizened by time. Balvan always seemed to be carrying those precious sheets with him, like a child and its protective blanket.
“It’s actually exactly what I’m meant to do. It’s my job to see you succeed,” he reminded in a familiar, deadpan tone. “I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve breathed.”
He was right. At Ludelle’s twenty-three, Balvan had decades over her. He’d served as an advisor to her father, and even to her grandmother for a short time after her first advisor stepped down. The Snow Court appreciated his counsel every year by celebrating his labor and guidance, as workers were relieved of their jobs for time to spend with their families. Ludelle thought it a bit much, but she appreciated his help, nonetheless. She had needed it when she’d been so suddenly crowned, but she’d never admit that to him.
“I have been preparing for my Undertaking since I was a child. I am more than ready to take this on.” She lied through her teeth. The Undertaking varied for each ruler, so she had no idea what hers would entail. Her father’s first Undertaking as King consisted of having to kill a massive snow creature, saving her mother in the process—a joyous occasion, as the people fell in love with her mother’s cunning personality. Every year after, her father would go into the woods to vanquish another creature, and in doing so, replenish the Snow Court’s powers for the year.
“Are you prepared to finally get married?”
Ludelle ground her teeth. Balvan knew that to be a sore spot for her. She had avoided any advances from nobles her entire life and had refused to entertain the possibility of accepting their hand in marriage. Even though the Undertaking would determine her future betrothed, she still had a choice in the matter. It wasn’t about who was on the other side of it, but how willing the ruler was to get to them. It was a test from the Weather Gods to prove how dedicated their ruler was to the court, and how much one was willing to sacrifice to keep the court afloat.
The problem was the expectation from other nobles that she marry one of their own. Every one she faced reeked of dishonesty, disloyalty, and desperation for a seat of power. Fractals began forming on the skin of her palm as she ruminated on the greed of the nobles and the thought of how quickly they would bend a knee to warm her bed—not in the name of adoration but in the pursuit of higher station. That was the sacrifice of her role, she supposed. The burden she must carry.
She shattered the amalgamated ice that had formed around her fingers when she unclenched her hand.
“I will do whatever is necessary to guarantee that our powers do not dwindle; that our court remains strong. Do you doubt me?” she asked, a threat underlying her words.
“Not at all, Your Majesty. You have just been awfully silent about your potential prospects.” Ludelle started to protest, but Balvan interrupted her by pointing to one of his hundreds of papers. Truly, how did he manage to keep everything organized? “Here is a list of everyone I deem suitable and everyone I have invited to tomorrow’s ball. From there, you will need to narrow it down.”
He stormed off, not sparing her a second glance. Taking that as her cue, she exited the council chambers with the list now stuffed into the pocket of her dress, lined with the finest furs. Though her blood ran blue, she still needed the warmth.
Her chambers were at one of the highest wings of the castle—second only to the divine temple room made for direct prayer and connection to the Weather Gods. She weaved through the halls, passing by guards stationed along the walls. She made sure to avoid the games room, knowing that her ladies in waiting would be there, perhaps even a few drinks deep. She didn’t have the energy for their mischief today.
“I take it that went well?” A playful voice called out to her. Zimyn leaned against a wall, the cross of his arms accentuating the toned biceps, sheathed by icy scales. All members of her guard were bestowed with this frozen feature and as Captain of the Guard, Zimyn’s armor loomed with an iridescent glow; an alluring contrast against his light brown skin. When he first earned them with his new title, he had complained about the pain caused by the sheets of ice entering his skin. He bled, and Ludelle wrapped him up each night until they healed.
“I am in no mood for your antics, Zimyn.” She continued on her way, her heels clicking against the frigid floor. She never slipped—a perk of being born in the Snow Court: ice didn’t faze her, or any of her people.
She ventured through the long halls, the walls around them plain. Not even a single painting was hung. Just like the ice around them, the castle was cold, with so little life.
She could hear Zimyn following her, so she sped up, hoping to avoid him. Unfortunately for her, his long stride swiftly swallowed the distance.
“Another conversation about your Undertaking?”
“Is it that obvious?” she spat back.
“Well, it is the topic of the season. Everyone is gossiping about it. What horror will the Queen need to face? Who will she marry?” The second question came out more harshly, his light tone turning rigid.
Before she could respond, a figure bounded towards them. Zimyn backed towards the wall, giving Kotyn space. Ludelle’s snow leopard circled before bumping her head against the Queen’s hand, asking for a scratch. Ludelle gave into her demands. Her soft fur brushed smoothly through her fingers, the movement methodical and calming, and Kotyn nuzzled her head into Ludelle’s hands, asking for more. It slowed Ludelle”s racing heart. For some reason, just being around Zimyn flustered her, even if they had been friends since childhood.
“My marriage prospects are not your business nor anyone else’s for that matter.”
He chuckled, then stopped when she shot him a reprimanding look. Stepping closer to her, he bent down so that he was eye level. “Who you choose to marry will forever impact this court. The people have the right to be curious.”
Her body became stiff as his warm breath tickled her face. Even crouched down, his tall and wide stature eclipsed her, the closeness of his strength causing heat to pull to her center. They often found each other in these precarious situations, a thread pulling them together before it was snipped. But they could not take that step. At least not yet.
“And if I decide I will not marry at all?”
He brushed back strands of his sky blue hair that teased in whisps over his handsome face. “You know it doesn’t work that way.” Sympathy oozed from his voice. He understood the pressure of making choices for the sake of others. His father, the former Captain, had happily retired from his station, which meant Zimyn had been expected to take his father’s place—and he did it so proudly. “You have traditions to uphold.”
She looked into his glacial-blue eyes, the color so unlike her own. Hers were completely white, save for a silver pupil—a royal’s eyes, passed down to her. With the responsibility to replenish the court’s power permanently branded into her, it served as a lasting reminder every time she looked into the mirror that her people were depending on her.
Zimyn gulped, and she tracked the way his throat bobbed. This was becoming too overwhelming for her. She pulled away before they made a mistake out in the open halls where anyone could see.
“Of course. We must follow tradition,” she said, as she smoothed her dress of its wrinkles. “Come Kotyn, it’s time for dinner.”
Her private chambers offered a view of her Court; the mountainous expanse a comfort to her heart. The peaks in the distance were hers. Homes dotted the land, each filled with lives that were her responsibility. Small snowflakes fluttered, and Ludelle stopped herself from thinking about what would happen if she failed her Undertaking.
Without ice running through her veins, her people would perish because the snow would melt away, and the land would become a giant grave, the mountains without its people.
She couldn’t let that happen.
Ludelle had continuous bursts of power throughout the year that she used to sustain the court, but even she had to preserve it as best as possible, as it was a limited resource.
Taking off her crown, one inherited from her grandmother, Ludelle placed it safely on her vanity. The pretty jewels that adorned it stared back at her, but she turned her gaze to herself in the looking glass. Kotyn got comfortable on the Queen’s bed, resting on the edge as Ludelle pulled the pins from her hair and shook out the white waves. Kotyn purred, her eyes falling shut without worries. Would it be considered pathetic to be jealous of a large cat?
Unable to rest, Ludelle headed to her study and fished out the list of names that Balvan had given her. As she read through the list of suitable nobles, each name seemed to only be worse than the one before.
Aeden, who hailed from the west, had tried making unseemly advances towards her at every ball. Ludelle ended up slapping him on one occasion, causing a ruckus and a harsh punishment from her mother. Then there was Mitah, who had attempted poisoning Kotyn because he believed that a Queen should not have a pet, instead her sole purpose to produce and care for the future heir. That would never work. Kotyn would eat him in his sleep, while Ludelle gladly watched. Then, Cirrus, of course. The Lord that cared more for his clothing and appearance, than the wellbeing of anyone.
Tomorrow. She would worry about it tomorrow, during the ball.
She crumpled the paper, turned it to ice, and threw it against the impenetrable walls, creating an explosion of fragments, which would just fuse with the castle floors over time—her powers becoming a part of her surroundings.
Ludelle remembered her mother’s words, ones spoken only days before her parents had passed. You are useless without a husband; choose wisely.
Ludelle tapped her fingers against the desk, growing impatient with everything. She just wanted this all to pass.
“Looks like a bad time,” Helena—her cousin—said, as she made her way to Kotyn and smacked a kiss on the big cat’s forehead. The beast didn’t even twitch.
“What can I do for you?”
Helena pulled off her leather gloves, revealing the same pale skin as Ludelle’s, except hers was peppered with small freckles. “I just wanted to check in. Balvan announced the ball to all your ladies in waiting. Liatris actually jumped from her seat in glee.”
Ludelle snorted. “Sounds just like her.”
Helena stuck her tongue out. “Don’t be that way. All of us ladies are just trying to find any source of joy, these days.”
Ludelle watched the sun, hidden behind the clouds, go down for the day. “I’m fine.” Ludelle finally responded to her cousin’s question.
“Do you know who you’re picking?” Helena asked hesitantly, as she brushed her fingers through her straight, blonde hair.
“I have an idea.”
“Well, as long as it”s not Aeden. I heard he went hunting recently and got attacked by a wolf. At least, that’s what he claims.” Helena inspected her nails, not claws like Ludelle’s, but Ludelle knew that Helena sharpened them enough to make sure they could inflict pain. “Witnesses said it was just a large branch that he walked into because he wasn’t paying attention.”
“It’s not Aeden.”
“Wonderful,” she smiled, as she headed towards Ludelle’s closet. “Now the more important question, what will we be wearing?”
Helena rifled through her cousin’s clothes, throwing gowns on the floor that caught her eye. Ludelle followed her cousin, knowing exactly which dresses would suit them both.