Chapter 16
On the outside, the grounds were a vision of ice and glass.
I tried to take it all in, my eyes darting wildly as I clattered across the frozen moat, using every muscle to make sure I didn’t slip and tumble off into the frigid waters below.
Vines broke through the snowpack, creeping up the fortress’s glistening walls. White-and-blue banners topped the battlements, flapping in a piercing wind. A clear chute rose out of the turrets towards the back, cutting through the mountain’s highest peaks.
Ice led to tile as we passed through the gatehouse into a courtyard of ivory stone. The castle’s many buildings and curtain walls curved around it. A large willow tree loomed in the center; from here, I couldn’t tell if it was carved from ice or if the glassy leaves were natural.
A servant carrying one too many baskets of laundry dashed in front of me, stepping on my toes. I quickly moved, just to knock into a group of elves who, judging by all the pearls and silks and upturned noses, had to be part of the royal court.
“Sorry!” I squeaked, scurrying away.
A sudden and very welcome blast of heat thawed me to my bones, the air inviting and electric despite the frost-laden rose bushes and the silver sky above.
Pulling off my borrowed gloves, I flexed my fingers in the warmth, the feeling returning slowly.
The castle was enormous, glassy towers sparkling in the afternoon light, the tallest of its spires lost to a blanket of mist. My head kicked back. I couldn’t even begin to count the floors, the royal banners draped over every white marble railing that wasn’t in the clouds.
My gaze dragged to a shadowy corner, as if a magnet were pulling it, to an unassuming set of stairs leading down. Tendrils of darkness seeped out from its depths, the stones around the entrance slick with ice. Shivers broke out across my body, despite being across the courtyard.
What was that place?
Just as I took a step towards it, a guard appeared, slamming the cellar doors shut. Only then, at the clang of the metal, did I realize I had made it halfway to that corner in some sort of daze. I turned to find myself alone.
Hustling to catch up with Freyja and Gunnar, I fought my curiosity each time a hall splintered off from the courtyard, wrestling against the impulse to stop and examine the giant willow as we walked beneath its sweeping white branches.
A trio of elves inconveniently stopped to gawk in the middle of our path. Funny enough, their stares weren’t pointed at me—the completely out-of-place stranger—but the two I’d arrived with.
One of them rushed forward. I jolted away, and my elbow grazed a branch hanging over the path. Ice crystals cut into perfectly shaped leaves dangled off the peppered bark, clinking together. I reached out to steady it.
The glistening foliage was cool against my skin as I wove my fingers along the stems.
“Uh-uh.” Gunnar’s deep timbre echoed through the court. “No touching. Either of you.”
Face flushing immediately hot, I retracted my hand, and the rogue elf faltered back. They watched me with wide, jealous eyes as I rejoined Gunnar and Freyja.
“You need to be restrained.” Freyja’s tone was flat, unamused.
I couldn’t tell if she was joking.
Gunner didn’t acknowledge either of us. Not until we reached the far end of the courtyard and halted at the bottom of a stone ramp.
“Crampons off.” He unzipped the bag he’d been lugging around for three days straight. I unclicked my extra footwear and tossed them in.
The clink of metal on metal echoed in the hollow space.
“River, your backpack,” he ordered.
I happily dropped that.
Two other elves, in chain mail and slitted helms with sigils on their chest plates, appeared at the top of the ramp, coming straight towards us, moving in perfect synchrony.
Even the sheaths at their hips swung in tune: one knife, one long sword.
The tip of a battle ax peeked out from behind a shoulder.
We were being greeted by knights armed to the teeth.
Great.
On an abrupt halt mere inches from us, they raised their gloved hands in salute.
I shifted my arm to return the gesture, only to reconsider midway, tucking a nonexistent hair behind my ear with a cringe.
Freyja and Gunnar didn’t hesitate to greet them back, immediately launching into fervent conversation after—in Icelandic, of course.
Through their layers of steel and the heavy accents, I didn’t glean much.
But it didn’t take an understanding of their language to know what they were talking about: me.
Especially when Freyja pointed right at me, switching to English for my benefit. “This is her.”
At her cold smile, I blanched.
One of the guards grunted. The other’s head swiveled towards me. Neither spoke a word. They returned to formation, one clanking iron foot in front of the other, marching back the way they came. Wiggling his eyebrows, Gunnar followed, lips raised in that classic smirk I’d come to know and expect.
Freyja nudged her head in their direction. “Go on, you.”
Not having any other choice, I fell in line.
Soon, red carpet replaced the pale stone beneath my dragging feet. A corridor arched around me, the walls lined with marble and gold and oil paintings, all the classic signs of royalty. It could only mean one thing: we were nearing the queen.
Nearing my judgement.
Shoulders hunched, I tore apart my cuticles, the familiar sting comforting.
Silver-plated doors carved with creatures out of fairy tales rose from the end of the hall, stretching from the floor all the way to the ceiling. They opened without any command on our approach, the gilded throne room peeking out above the knights’ feathered helms.
My pulse raged in my throat.
What was Freyja’s advice for the queen? Curtsy, listen, ask no questions, expect nothing, accept that I’m an enemy until proven otherwise…
We neared the threshold. My footsteps slowed, stopped. It felt like the werewolf tribunal all over again, except this time I had no friends here for support. I had no one to save me.
The blood rushed in my ears.
A grunt came from behind me, followed by a shove. I stumbled into the hall. Every eye fell on me. And there were plenty in here, all outright staring. Seriously, the entire royal elven line must have been gathered in this gold-kissed room.
I skipped over them completely, my gaze darting to the tall, muraled walls arching over the windows, the vivid colors, lines and brushstrokes spilling onto the ceiling.
We halted beneath a chandelier. It was carved out of ice, every tassel frozen solid despite the ceaseless warmth.
Breaking formation, the two guards strode to the foot of the dais, Gunnar taking a position next to them.
Freyja went straight for the throne, shoulders back, spine straight. Her boots hit every carpeted step with a firm thud. I could only imagine the intensity in her stare, and I was thrilled to not be on the receiving end of it, for once.
Pausing at the top of the platform, Freyja bent to the woman in the wooden seat—the wood similar to the peppered white bark of the tree with the icicled leaves—and kissed her, once on each cheek.
Bold, even for someone labeled the queen’s most treasured soldier, given the others stayed on the main level and fanned around her.
“Good to see you back in one piece.” The monarch’s voice was light in the air, lyrical like a songbird, honey incarnate, every word enchanting. With a toss of her hair, Freyja flittered to the side, situating herself into the only other seat—the one next to the queen.
That didn’t seem right for a guard.
With a narrowed gaze, I looked away from Freyja, readying myself to address the queen.
Every thought evaporated when I met her pale violet eyes.
They flared brighter, rooting me to the spot, sucking all the oxygen out of me.
A voice inside me screamed to look away, but it was so small, so faint, it was easily swallowed by the magic, by her beauty—a natural beauty as rare and moving as if she had been sculpted from the mountains.
My legs shook, knees giving in to an overwhelming pull to a kneel. I didn’t necessarily care to fight the urge. I had already forgotten where I was, what I wanted. I was ready to swear fealty. I was ready to give her everything.
And then the elf queen turned away, her strawberry-blonde strands whispering over her lap. It broke the spell, her glamour ceasing, my lungs and muscles spasming, my knees locking rigidly to standing. My next inhale was a wheezing gasp.
Mantle trailing behind her, the queen descended from the dais.
Her beaded silk dress hugged her tall, lithe frame, swishing with every silent step.
Her eyes pierced me, but they’d changed, darkened, more of a deep indigo now.
I couldn’t tell if it was scrutiny or curiosity that flickered in her gaze.
The guards looked tense as she approached me—muscles ticking in jaws, eyes locked on every movement.
I tapped the sides of my thighs. Should I smile? Wave?
One of the soldiers behind her shifted their weight, grasping their pommel.
I gulped. Nope, I wasn’t going to do a damn thing. I brought my hands together, and even that might get me tackled at this point.
A brilliant smile pushed the queen’s strong cheekbones higher. “Thank you, my gracious Eyes, for escorting our guest to the realm of the Huldufólk.”
Guest. That’s the last thing I considered myself—I’d been warned against it, actually.
Was this a test?
Gunnar and Freyja swept into bows so low their noses might’ve touched the floor. “It is our honor, Queen Hildur.”
Hildur. That name rang a bell. Freyja had said it when we announced ourselves to the giants.
And then she’d kissed the elf queen upon arrival.
Then she’d taken a seat next to her on the dais.
Our conversation in the ice cave played out in my head: father passed away, mother too busy, raised in the castle. My stomach dropped. Freyja wasn’t just the most treasured Eye of the Queen, she was her daughter.
She was the princess.