Chapter 3
Climbing the all-too-familiar steps, taking those very same turns, brought with it a nostalgic sandstorm. Before entering, I stood in front of the lofty double door and repeated the same two sentences in my head.
Do not look at him. Do not talk to him.
Easy.
I knocked, gently, my knuckles carefully hitting the wood, before making my way in. “Hello?” I called, my voice—which I deemed appropriately loud enough for Fae ears—close to a whisper.
I placed the jar of water on the side table, noticing leather bags piled beneath it and metallic twin axes on its surface.
The iron handles felt cool against my fingertips, despite the air around me feeling rather stuffy.
I felt stupid now to have given in to the myth that iron hurts Fae, and damn me if I didn’t slip on an iron band around my index finger.
Stupid. Especially since I had watched Faern, also a Demi-Fae, often touching things made of iron without ever flinching.
I made my way across the room, the carpet silencing my footsteps. My head swayed left to right as I took it all in. So many memories. My thoughts snatched me to my first day here, the day I first entered Semuel’s rooms.
“I thought all the princes and princesses resided in the west wing,” I commented as we climbed the second flight of stairs on the east wing.
“All but one. What can I say? I like my privacy. Plus, I’m closer to the stables.” Then his voice turned into a whisper. “But most of all, I am far away from my mother’s coaxing about it being the right time to find a nice lady companion.” Fifteen-year-old me had chuckled at the last comment.
I gaped upon entering his room.
I felt small in this spacious chamber with high, vaulted ceilings and walls made of sandstone and stained glass.
Sunlight reflected in vibrant patterns that scattered across the lush maroon carpeted floors.
To our left was a bed big enough for four, and next to it, an eight-door wooden wardrobe.
Across from the bed was an oval dining table.
And to our front, I beheld a grandiose work desk stacked with piles of books.
When was my gape going to end?
In the right corner stood a tall mirror, its solid frame made of orange wood, intricately carved with delicate shapes of olive tree branches.
Semuel walked us left, and we entered another room.
A bathing chamber, covered floor to ceiling in dark blue tiles.
The bath selfishly occupied a large proportion of the room, yet I almost missed it, with its pellucid water—a mere reflection of the glossy tiles.
I flinched, startled, as my own reflection leapt out of the gleam. I let out a sheepish laugh, different from Semuel’s amused snort. The invisible tall mirror showed me he moved behind me, and I turned around wearing a wide smile.
We moved back into the main chamber. “Just wow. All of this is your room? Room, or rooms? They’re even bigger than the dorms of the orphanage.”
Semuel chuckled. “It is grand indeed. It is more of my father’s doing. He says all princes’ and princesses’ rooms should look like such. A reflective facade, he calls it.”
“All thirteen princes and princesses have rooms like these?” I asked.
“Yes, and most of my nieces and nephews have similar rooms as well.”
Behind the desk was a window. I moved near and peered through it.
“Oh, look! That’s the high tower of Kalnar!
I can’t believe it can be seen from up here.
” Semuel moved closer and leaned over, perching his elbows on the windowsill.
I looked at his profile as he faced the view.
His complexion was a shade darker than my olive skin, his cheekbones prominent, and his lips thin.
Although none of his features were exceptionally striking, he was subtly handsome.
And when he turned to face me, his chestnut eyes appeared kind.
“Yes, the high tower of Kalnar can be seen from most of the rooms.”
“It took us two days by horse to get here; I surely didn’t expect to see any part of Kalnar from here.”
“It’s because Sharlam is on higher ground, and the high tower is…well, very high.”
“What’s that?” I asked, pacing towards the side table. “It’s like a lamp but it’s odd, and the flame…it’s—it’s white. How?”
“Can you keep secrets, Wild-heart?” he asked, emphasising my surname’s syllables.
“I can, yes.”
“Very well then. That is a pocket flame. It holds what’s known as the immortal flame.
” I looked at him in confusion. “An immortal flame…a flame that does not die. If I fold the case in two and lock it, the flame extinguishes, but when I open it again, the flame reignites as if it remembers that it was there and wishes to be there still.”
“How is that even possible?” One day in a building outside of the orphanage and I had already seen too many new things.
“It was made by a powerful Fire Wielder, but it was somehow imbued with some other magic.”
“Whoa. Can I watch it? Reignite?”
“I’m sorry, Wildheart, but I promised I would let it burn. It burns in remembrance of the flames Ilma endured—endures still.”
I nodded in understanding.
“I was your age when it happened. I remember my father and his companions, including my mother, my eldest brothers and sisters, all frantic about the attack. My mother wept when she heard about the beheading. Most of my younger siblings cried that night in fear of our family becoming Naar’s next target.
When I crossed paths with the immortal flame, I was so drawn to it, I could not withhold myself from buying it.
And when I opened it for the first time, it reminded me of them, and so I made a promise. ”
“It’s very beautiful,” I told him, my tone gentle.
For a while, we looked at the immortal flame in silence.
“Prince Semuel?”
“You may call me Semuel.”
I nodded. “Semuel, when would you like your rooms cleaned, and at what times do you have your breakfast, lunch, and dinner?”
He chuckled. “You see, I knew I made the right choice to hire you.” Then he nudged my elbow. “Let’s walk to my stables. I’ll let you know your duties on the way there. It’s only a half-hour walk south.”
I missed him.
“Hello?” my quiet voice called out again. Silence.
I hugged the towels against my belly and walked towards the bathing chamber, cautiously peeking my head through the open door. I saw nothing but dark blue tiles. All clear.
It felt a bit cooler in here, I thought, as I made my way towards the dresser and stacked the towels neatly at its centre.
I was about to leave when I heard a faint sound, a brief crackle that captured my attention.
I had barely taken a second slow step towards the dark blue bath, brow furrowed, when I realised that the surface of the bath was covered in a thick layer of ice.
The crackling sound amplified, and a heartbeat later, a beast of a brawny male appeared before my eyes.
He stood tall and fierce, ready to strike.
Water dripped from his sculpted, unclothed body, a lethal ice spear the shape of a stalactite clenched in his right hand.
My breath caught and I jerked backwards, my feet stumbling, my heart racing.
I quickly found the dresser at my back. I held on to its top, my breaths uneven, utterly stunned.
“Don’t you know not to sneak up on Fae like that?” the Ice Prince rumbled. The spear melted in his hand. The sound of a curtain of free-falling water echoed throughout the chamber.
I pivoted to face elsewhere, still holding on to the dresser top with my right hand. It was too late to realise that I should have turned to the other side, the one that faced the door.
“I—I knocked, and I called,” I muttered, head bowed towards my worn shoes.
Do not talk to him! Oh! And do not look at him.
Well, I had definitely violated the latter.
“I did not hear you knock or call,” he countered, his voice thick.
“Well, that’s probably because you were—” What was I supposed to say? You were cocooned in a giant ice cube? “I—I’m just here to leave the towels. I’ll go tell them to get you some food. Goodbye.” I locked my eyes on the tiles, bowed subtly, then pivoted awkwardly until I faced the door.
I scurried away, stopping only when I reached the first set of stairs. I rested my back against the wall and closed my eyes, catching my breath, focusing on making an impassive face.
As suspected, everyone was gathered in the kitchen, waiting in anticipation.
“You survived,” Ralfe commented, eyes gleaming.
“Tell us already, what does he look like?” Nadya asked.
“Would you say he’s a scary brute?” Tomas.
“Is he really big with strong muscles?” Sabriela.
“Calm down, all of you,” I breathed. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but he wasn’t in his room.
Now, if you are all so curious, why don’t you prepare a tray for him and go to his room yourselves?
He might be back soon.” I looked at Ralfe from over my shoulder and slid the tray along the worktop.
“What’s wrong, Ralfe? Are you afraid of him? ”
He narrowed his eyes at me and said, “Nice try, Delia.” And that was the last thing I heard before everyone fled like a flock of chickens being chased.
Fuck me.
I reluctantly made my way back to Semuel’s room, carrying the Ice Prince’s late-night meal, each step feeling heavier than the one before it.
I knocked—all right, I pounded on the door, and waited for him to call me in.
Nothing. I was about to knock for the second time when the door opened and I almost stumbled forward, clenching the tray.
I tilted my head up to catch a glimpse of his face, but then averted my gaze.
He was clothed now, although I must say he did not appear very princely.
Scruffy hair, torn shirt, and all. He moved to the side, making space for me to enter his room. Semuel’s room.
I set up his table, then made my way towards the dresser.
I took out a set of lavender-scented white bedsheets and made his bed, tucking in the corners neatly under the mattress and smoothing out the creases.
By the time I was finished, the plates were licked clean, and he had already moved on to polishing his twin axes.
I gathered the empty plates, and before exiting, I asked quietly, “At what time would you like to have breakfast tomorrow, Lord Hailin?”
“An hour after sunrise.” He did not lift his eyes from his weapons.
I still gave him a courteous nod before exiting.
With silent movements, I slipped into my bed, Nadya already in her own, her breaths uniform and deep. My mind replayed over and over what I had seen. It happened so fast—too fast—yet my brain somehow managed to conceive it in slow movements.
Had he not created an ice spear right before my eyes, I would have never guessed that he was an Ice Fae from Silch.
His skin was tanned, golden-brown like caramel.
And his thick, curly hair that reached down to his tapered ears was a shade or two shy from being called black.
I had somehow forgotten that during the teachings of history, we were told that the new King of Silch, King Ryvar Hailin, was a Demi-Fae with direct roots from the pale Fae of Silch, his mother, late Queen Akaterina, and the dark Strongmen from the south region of Sijar, his father, late King Rynn.
I wasn’t sure why I expected his younger brother to appear any different.
I tried to drift my mind elsewhere, but my persisting thoughts kept circling back to him.
How dare he? I thought. How dare he wear the body of a warrior who had fought a thousand battles and not at least carry one little scar to show it.
Silch didn’t fight for Ilma. He didn’t fight for Ilma. Coward. Traitor. Brute?
I tried to think of something else, someone else. Yet the last image I saw before drifting off to sleep was Lord Aegir Hailin’s menacing face, his glaring eyes, which I’m sure were green, staring at me—piercing—an ice spear in his grip, his thick arm poised to strike.