Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
IVRAEL
S ometime well after middark the night before the prince and his entourage are due to arrive, I sit up straight in my bed, my hand already wrapped around the hilt of the dagger I keep under my pillow, the one that matches my father’s sword.
My heart pounds so hard I can hear nothing else for a long moment.
Nothing moves in the darkness—not even after my heart rate slows and I’m no longer listening to the sound of my own blood racing through my veins. I wait for my senses to go off high alert—but they don’t. Whatever has awakened me is still pricking my intuition.
Starfrost Manor is almost pitch black, even though moonlight from the second moon, not yet set, still streams through the casement of the window.
I slip out of bed and pull on my breeches, not taking the time to lace them fully. From the valet stand where I draped my clothing the night before, I pluck a belt and sling it around my waist, the dagger’s scabbard hanging empty at my side.
I’m not willing to give up the weapon. Sometimes simply holding a dagger can be a deterrent to others who might want to harm you. Besides, old habits die hard.
Slowly, I make my way toward the stairwell, then down the main stairs. Nothing in the house moves.
At the foot of the stairs, I make a circuit through the first floor, checking all the public rooms.
Then I shake my head, annoyed at myself. I know where the trouble is. Trying to convince myself otherwise is simply going to lead to more problems.
Rather than checking any other spaces, I move toward the kitchen. Outside the main door, I press my ear against the wood.
The baron’s voice is the first thing I hear. “You are a sweet little rabbit, aren’t you?” he croons. “I can see why the duke wants to keep you to himself.”
Rage bubbles up inside me, acidic and strong, burning through my veins like molten iron, poisonous and deadly.
Every instinct screams at me to tear the baron’s hands from her body, to freeze him solid where he stands. But I force myself to remain still, to maintain the control that has kept my plans intact for so long. If I lose that control now, I risk everything—my people, my kingdom, my chance to save my world.
Even if that means allowing the baron to damage Lara? a tiny voice inside me mutters. The voice sounds like my father’s—the same tone he used when asking if I truly understood the cost of power.
A violet haze washes across my vision, and my stomach twists violently. Ice spreads through my veins, crystallizing my blood even as that same voice hisses, No.
Never that. I might be willing to sacrifice her life when the time comes, but I will not allow anyone else to harm her.
The possessive fury of that thought should frighten me, but I’m beyond caring.
Still, I need to hear what the baron wants. Need to know if he suspects anything. So I force myself to stay hidden, to listen as he interrogates her, though every word from his mouth makes the ice in my blood crack and splinter with barely contained violence.
“Tell me,” Svalkat continues, his tone sliding into something darkly intimate that makes my hands ache with the need to rip him into a thousand bloody pieces, “why did Ivrael come after you? What was it that you offered him?” His tone turns musing, as if he’s savoring the moment.
“I don’t know what he wants.” Lara’s voice emerges breathy and low, trembling in a way that makes my hands curl into fists. “I didn’t offer him anything.”
“Of course you didn’t,” he says sarcastically, and I hear the rustle of fabric as he moves closer to her.
“Let go of me,” she says, her voice so hoarse I can barely hear her. The fear in those words sends cracks spreading through my careful control.
Violence swims through my bloodstream, a tide of killing frost that first makes my limbs go weak with its intensity, then hardens them to steel. I imagine all the ways I could end him—slowly, painfully, until he begs for the mercy of true death.
“Please don’t do that,” she begs. And then she whimpers.
The sound shatters something vital inside me. I don’t know exactly what he’s done—but that broken noise tears through every barrier I’ve built, every justification I’ve made for keeping my distance. In that moment, I don’t care what information I might gain by listening longer. Don’t care about my plans or schemes or the greater good.
All I care about is getting his hands off her. All I can think about is how many pieces I can shred him into before someone stops me. How much pain I can inflict before his screams match that helpless sound she just made.
My careful control splinters, and the predator I keep caged inside rises to the surface, hungry for blood.
I swing the door open on its well-oiled hinges, slipping into the room behind the Baron.
Lara’s gaze flickers toward me, but she makes no other sign that she’s seen me.
Good. She may not trust me—but even she seems to realize that I’m a better option than Baron Mib Svalkat .
The baron has her pinned against the corridor wall, his knee pressed between her legs, one hand around her throat.
Ice sweeps through me, my frost magic rising. My veins grow cold, hardening my heart against pity. And then I hold the point of my dagger up to Svalkat’s neck.
“Touch her again,” I say, my voice snapping and popping with the strength of my mother’s Starfrost line. “I dare you.”
Svalkat spins around, releasing his hold on Lara. The dagger scrapes against the skin of his neck, leaving a bloody welt.
“Go to Adefina,” I tell the girl. She turns to dash through the back of the kitchen toward the cook’s quarters, stopping only long enough to snatch a jar from atop a shelf. When she opens the jar, her small, winged Starcaix erupts from it, chattering wildly.
“Come on,” Lara insists, ducking through the door.
The raya pauses and turns back to stare at me intently, and then points at the baron. “Kill him.”
Before I can respond, Lara pushes back into the kitchen long enough to grab the raya, and then dives through the door once again, this time with Kila in hand.
Svalkat tries to speak as soon as Lara and the raya are out of the kitchen, but I push the knife in harder against his neck, and he stops. A wind from nowhere swirls around my ankles, bringing with it the cold violence I’ve wanted to slide into the baron since the first time he looked at Lara. I lean forward until I know my frozen breath will brush against his face and whisper, “Move again. I fucking dare you.”
The baron drops his gaze to the floor. Hoarse with fear, he rasps out, “My apologies, Your Lordship.”
I’m about to blast him with my power, but at the last moment, I change my mind, some part of sanity reminding me that if he dies here, more Icecaix will be sent to learn the truth of his death. And I cannot allow that. I don’t have time for petty investigations.
However, if he walks away with a terrifying story of my wrath, it will only enhance my terrifying reputation.
Slowly, I sheathe my dagger, considering for a moment which direction to take this. Meanwhile, the baron watches me, hoping my anger is dissipating, his cunning gaze for once offering him nothing more to grasp hold of.
But the longer I think about what to do, the more certain I become of one irrefutable fact. Baron Mib Svalkat might deal in information. He might buy and sell tidbits that can hold people’s lives hostage.
We may both be Icecaix—but he has limits I don’t.
I am the High Duke of Starfrost Manor, and I deal in true power.
I reach out and tap my forefinger to the baron’s hand.
“That’s a lovely ring,” I say. Somehow, I manage to keep my tone pleasant.
The baron’s gaze flies to the ring and then back up to my eyes, his expression confused.
“It’s your family crest, is it not?”
“It is,” he says warily.
“May I see it?”
“Of course.” He reaches up to twist it off, but I shake my head and tap the ring, again using my forefinger.
This time, though, I put my power behind the touch, sending waves of cold through the ring and into the baron’s finger. His eyes widen, and he swallows. I watch him as the little color remaining in his face drains away, true pleasure coursing through me at his expression.
Svalkat’s whimpers catch in his throat as the cold seeps deeper, crystallizing blood and marrow. I press closer, savoring his fear as I clamp my hand over his mouth and slam him against the corridor wall hard enough to rattle his teeth. Tears well in his bulbous eyes and freeze instantly, tiny diamonds of terror clinging to his lashes. My smile stretches wider as I lean in until my lips brush his ear.
“Touch what is mine again,” I breathe, letting ice coat each word, “and I will freeze you from the inside out, one organ at a time, until you beg for death. This is your final warning.”
His frantic nodding vibrates against my palm, but I’m not finished. I maintain the pressure over his mouth, watching frost spread beneath my fingers as his skin turns blue-white. Only when the numbing cold reaches deep enough to silence his muffled sounds do I ease back slightly.
I could release him now. He is Icecaix—his body will heal, regenerate what the frost has damaged. But that’s not enough. I need to carve this lesson into his flesh, leave a mark he’ll never forget.
My father’s blade slides free with a whisper of steel on leather. Svalkat’s eyes roll wildly in their sockets as panic floods his system. Frozen tears crack and fall from his lashes like broken glass.
I flip the knife in my hand, and for one beautiful moment, hope flares in his gaze—hope that shatters as I slam the hilt against his brittle finger. The crack echoes through the corridor like breaking ice on a frozen lake.
His finger splinters like ceramic, disintegrating into a shower of frozen meat and bone that patters against the floorboards like macabre rain. His ring hits last, spinning on the wood with a musical chiming that makes my smile stretch into something feral. I stoop to retrieve it, admiring how the blue stone catches the light.
The ring is cold in my hand as I examine it, running my thumb across the center stone where tiny cracks now spider through the blue crystal. Power pulses within it, weaker than it should be—like everything else in our failing world.
“Hmm.” I shake my head with exaggerated disappointment. “The craftsmanship isn’t nearly as fine as I’d thought.”
Flipping my knife with deliberate slowness, I use the point to lift the ring, letting it dangle from the blade.
When Svalkat reaches for it with his uninjured hand, I pull it back. “No.” Violence threads through my voice. “Take it with the other one.”
His eyes widen in horror as my meaning sinks in. The mangled stump where his smallest finger used to be oozes sluggishly, blood freezing before it can drip to the floor.
“I said, take it.”
His damaged hand shakes violently as he extends it. The ring slides onto his fourth finger, scraping against frozen flesh. A small sound escapes him—not quite a whimper, but close enough to make my smile sharpen.
“Now.” I lower my voice until he has to strain to hear me. “Get out of my home. If I ever see you in Starfrost Manor again, I’ll take the whole hand. Piece by frozen piece.” I flash my teeth in a predatory grin. “And I might not stop there. Understand?”
He lets out a sound that might be assent.
I release his throat and step back, watching him sag against the wall. “I trust I won’t need to explain this to Prince Jonyk myself?”
He shakes his head frantically, his face a sickly gray-white.
“Go.”
At the single word, the baron pushes himself away
Outside the kitchen, the sounds of his retching echo through the corridor, accompanied by the soft patter of frozen vomit hitting the floor.
I allow myself a small, satisfied smile. The message has been received.
Next time, I won't be so merciful.
H alf a click later, violence still sings in my blood as I stalk through the upper halls. The scent of Svalkat’s fear clings to my skin, and frost trails in my wake, crackling across the floor with each step. My body hums with unleashed power, with the dark satisfaction of putting the baron in his place.
Lost in the heady rush of dominance, I don’t register the soft footsteps behind me until a floorboard creaks in the gallery. Instinct takes over—the predator in me still too close to the surface—and I whirl, slamming the intruder against the wall with lethal precision.
Only then, with my forearm pressed to her throat and my knee wedged between her thighs, do I realize it’s Lara I’ve trapped. The recognition hits like lightning through my veins, but I don’t release her. Can’t release her. Not when her pulse flutters against my arm like a captured bird, not when the heat of her blazes against my frost-chilled skin .
Instead, I press closer, fitting my body to hers until there’s no space between us. The darkness that drove me to maim Svalkat transmutes into something equally dangerous but far more primal.
Mine , everything in me growls. She is mine .
Her eyes are wide, glinting in the night. Her pupils have dilated to allow in every bit of light possible, and I suspect she still cannot see me very well. But I can see her perfectly—every flash of emotion across her face, every rapid rise and fall of her chest.
“Where are you going, princess?” The words emerge as a growl, rough with the violence still coursing through me. “What are you doing here?”
She freezes against me, and every predatory instinct I possess flares to life. I’ve rarely demanded answers from her, never actually forced her to respond. But tonight, with Svalkat’s blood still frozen on my hands and possession burning through my veins, I can’t maintain that restraint.
The scent of her fear mingles with something else—something that makes my blood surge hotter. Her breath comes in small pants, stirring the air between us. When her tongue darts out to wet her lips, I have to bite back a groan.
“I asked what you were doing,” I say, ice threading through my tone. “Don’t make me repeat myself again.”
She inhales sharply, and I imagine I can taste her on that breath, sweet and warm and alive. Everything in me wants to devour her, to mark her, to make her truly mine in ways that have nothing to do with ownership and everything to do with the way her body trembles against mine.
My cock hardens, and this time I don’t try to hide it. Instead, I press it against the soft curve of her belly, letting her feel exactly what she does to me. A small sound escapes her—not quite a whimper, not quite a moan.
“I remembered a duster I left upstairs this afternoon,” she finally gasps out. “I was going to get it.”
Lies. But tonight, I find I don’t care about her deceptions. Not when she’s warm and pliant against me, not when I can feel every curve of her body molding to mine. I’ve spent too long denying this hunger, and after the satisfaction of breaking Svalkat, my control hangs by a thread.
“I think the duster can wait,” I breathe into her ear. Unable to resist, I trace the delicate shell with my tongue. She shivers, and another small sound escapes her. The urge to follow that line down her neck, to taste every inch of her skin, nearly overwhelms me.
“Don’t,” she whispers, but her body arches into mine.
I pause, my lips hovering above her pulse point. “Don’t what?”
“I—I…”
“That’s what I thought.”
I’ve watched her tiptoe around my domain for the last year, sneaking in the dark, holding herself away from everyone else in Starfrost Manor—or at least trying to.
But everywhere she goes, she leaves parts of her behind. Her scent brushing against me, sliding along my pillow at night. A single hair drifting down the stairwell, caught by the eddies of motion in the air. The echoes of her voice disappearing past me.
She permeates my space, invading it, inhabiting it.
And I want more than anything to do the same to her. To press her against the wall, force her to open herself to me. To press my hardness against everything in her that is soft until she yields.
To slide myself into all her open spaces.
I let out an involuntary growl, and Lara gasps, her lips parting and her tongue racing along the edge so I can barely see it flickering in and out of her mouth.
Her skin seems to pulse with inner light—a shimmer so subtle no human could perceive it, but to my enhanced vision it’s like watching starfire beneath her flesh. Along her collarbone, tiny sparkles dance like the tears I’ve seen Starcaix weep. The sight makes my blood surge with recognition.
When I lean in, pressing her harder against the wall, her scent floods my senses. Yes, there’s the human element—salt and warmth and that intoxicating mortality. But underneath lies something ancient. Something that calls to the oldest, darkest parts of my magic. Power recognizing power. Blood calling to blood.
Does she feel it? This pull that’s so much more than mere desire? This recognition that makes every cell in my body strain toward her like ice yearning for flame?
I shove the thoughts away. I can’t afford to dwell on what flows in her veins. On how the magic in her blood sings to mine, demanding recognition. Demanding completion.
She is a means to an end. Nothing more.
But my body betrays me. I capture her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head as I release her throat. When my mouth claims hers, her gasp carries that damning sweetness—that taste that marks her as so much more than human.
I tease her with light brushes of my lips, withdrawing each time she strains toward me. Her whimper of frustration makes me smile against her mouth. When I nip her bottom lip in punishment, she moans, and something inside me snaps.
I plunge my tongue into her mouth, claiming, possessing, devouring.
Tonight I will have her writhing beneath me, whimpering and moaning, breathless, and oh-so-sweet against my mouth—hot, wet, slick as she begs for my touch, crying out my name as I mark her as mine.
Mine . The word continues to pound through me with each beat of my heart. No one else can ever have her.
No one else can ever touch her.
And for a moment, that possessive certainty wars with the knowledge of what I must eventually do to her. The conflict threatens to tear me apart—this need to possess her battling my need to sacrifice her.
But tonight, in this moment, with her body soft against mine, I can’t bring myself to care about tomorrow’s consequences.