Prologue #2
Dropping my gaze again, I acknowledge that he has an amazing upper body too, which is a highly inappropriate thought for this instant, not to mention my new position.
As Princess, I never saw a lot of men, the ones I did being suitors from Ander Son’s Way, Camelot, and Neverland, who all cowered when they witnessed my powers.
None of them ever looked as unbothered as this man does, and he’s shackled in the palace dungeons, being tortured by my father.
He sneers at my parents, and I study the strength in his jaw. He really is too handsome for his own good, and I am ashamed when I wonder why any of my past suitors couldn’t have looked like that.
“You lie,” Mother snarls, moving closer, snapping me from my thoughts.
None of them seems aware that I’m here, eavesdropping, and I press myself further into the wall to try and keep it that way.
I’m surprised Mother can move at all. I thought with the stiffness in her body and her lack of breathing, that she was too far gone into her curse to move.
Mother’s voice grows louder, echoing in the quiet dungeon, like the volume will get her point across. “Merchants said you fell from Icicle Pass. Your body should be broken on the icy grounds below or sucked beneath the waters of the frozen lake. You shouldn’t be alive, peasant boy.”
“I’m aware,” he says dryly, and I have to admit, I expect him to have a little more self-preservation.
He’s shown no respect for my parents’ royal status, and I don’t foresee that changing.
If he is a peasant boy, he might not yet be aware that I’ve taken over the throne, depending on what part of the Frostlands he hails from.
“I didn’t ask for anything,” the man continues in a bored tone, and I peek back around the corner.
I’m the Queen for Gods’ sake, and I should be able to walk in and announce my presence.
But this interrogation will likely shut down if my parents know I’m here, and I want to be informed before acting.
“Falling from the pass wasn’t part of my plan. ”
I grasp onto that, wondering what plan he might mean, when Father lashes out.
The King Emeritus’s dark hair swishes as he dives forward, forcing the sharp tip of the icicle into the man.
Finally, that sarcastic facade fades. The unimpressed look on the stranger’s face turns to one of pain, and the cries I heard before fill the room again.
He’s the one suffering. He’s tied up, yet my parents are interrogating him like he’s done something wrong. He has white hair and a distinct tolerance to the cold…
My eyes swivel to Mother, who moves stiffly. Her curse is slowly working its way through her body. I’ve heard of Mother’s insane musings for years, the things she whispers to Lady Hartsell when she believes I’m not listening, but surely that can’t be why they brought him down here themselves?
“Perhaps we could harness what the moon gave to him,” Mother says in a cold, calculating tone. “He could be a vessel, Andor.”
“He is nothing but a burden, Sned,” Father argues, shaking his head. “So long as he has the gift, you cannot. If we must cut it from his flesh and blood, so be it.”
“Cutting could damage the gift,” Mother snarls. “I need the ice magic and all its strength. This is a pointless pursuit otherwise.”
Father turns all his attention toward her, leaving the icicle protruding from the man’s arm. “I will not allow you to harm Neve. If this is the only other alternative, we will take it by whatever means necessary.”
Stiffly, Mother lifts her hand. I’m still trying to process what he said. Why would Mother wish to hurt me?
In her hand, she holds something I can’t quite see. Father hisses a breath, but that’s all I can make out.
“A spinning needle?” the man asks, spitting as he speaks. He’s bleeding, but it doesn’t seem to be causing him any more pain than before. His body doesn’t appear to be giving into the pain, which is… strange. “Are you planning to sew the Queen a new dress?”
A needle?
Father growls, raising the stained poker. He slashes it across the man’s chest instead of stabbing it into his flesh like the icicle, which remains eerily in place as the seconds tick by.
The stranger grunts, and Father leans in. He’s close enough that I can still make out the stranger’s blue eyes over the top of Father’s head, his height alarming compared to the former king. “Do not speak of my daughter, peasant.”
Over his head, the stranger’s eyes latch onto me. I can’t keep myself hidden any longer, not with curiosity and horror warring inside me. Those oceanic eyes fixate on mine, and despite all the things my parents have said, he doesn’t appear very monstrous.
There’s no rage in those blue eyes.
Clearing my throat, I decide to take matters into my own hands. Watching this unfold is making my stomach roll, and, even if my parents keep going, this doesn’t seem to be going anywhere fast. I have to tear my gaze from the stranger before I speak. “Daddy?”
King Emeritus Andor whips his head around, gray eyes going wide as he takes me in. It causes the icicle to rip free from the man, who groans in pain. “Neve–Queen Neve. What are you doing down here?”
“A queen does not see to the interrogations herself,” Mother says disdainfully, shooting me a look I can’t quite gauge. Father is worried about me being here, but Mother seems angry. “As the King Emeritus and Queen Dowager, let us deal with this technicality for you. Be on your way, Neve.”
Is she really trying to dismiss me?
Eyes widening, I glance toward the man. He’s breathing heavily, but that seems to be the extent of his pain despite the bleeding wounds.
Even the spot Father ripped the icicle from isn’t gushing blood.
I just don’t understand it. Pressing my lips together, I decide to make a jab at Mother too since she doesn’t have much more business here than I do.
“It’s not really the place for a Queen Dowager, either,” I reply, darting my gaze between the three of them.
To my surprise, the man’s wounds seem a little less vicious, even with the lines of blood running down his naked torso.
If I didn’t know any better, I would think he’s somehow healing himself.
The spot where Father stabbed him with the icicle doesn’t seem to be bleeding, and the slash from the poker seems more prominent than that.
He’s surprisingly focused on me. After clearing my throat, I focus on Father instead. “Who is he?”
“He is no one,” Mother snaps, glaring harder at me when I turn. “Just a peasant the moon mistook for someone else.”
There’s that nonsense about the moon again, something I’ve never heard my parents mutter about until now.
I want to ask who she’s referring to, but Father is now gesturing for me to leave.
“My queen, to your rooms. We’ll discuss this later once we have answers.
You should not be down here, and unescorted!
Where are your guards? The Queen must never travel unaccompanied. ”
I don’t bother explaining that I slipped away from them outside my rooms, and as queen, no one can command me to do anything anymore.
“No. This will be another mystery of yours! Neither of you speaks to me like a true queen. Your reign is supposed to be over, yet I know so little of how to rule! What of this man? His great mistake is dying and earning the blessing of the moon?”
“It was not his blessing to take!” Mother seethes.
Her white hair, almost the same shade as her skin and dress, all seem to glow as she pivots toward me.
Even that movement is stiff, her hand closing into a fist. I nearly forgot about the needle the stranger mentioned, yet it still seems to be in her hand.
“He interfered with my request! His death aligns with my plea to the moon to rid me of this curse.”
“For this freeze to never keep, one must forgive the frozen sleep,” the man says, and I don’t know who to focus on.
If this isn’t something he claimed to want, how would he know a riddle like that? It sounds almost like a spell, and that’s what got Mother stuck this way to begin with.
“The frozen sleep?” I echo, tightening my hands.
My parents have had me study lessons on an assortment of things, and Mother’s curse is one of the topics we basically skated over.
I haven’t had much time to think about it since learning I would be crowned.
Part of the reason for the shift is to preserve Mother’s life.
“Maybe you should tell me more about that instead of torturing a man who may or may not be able to help you.”
“He will be able to help!” Mother screams, her voice shrill. Empty, devoid eyes stare at me, the lightest of grays filling her iris. As the curse takes hold, she's turning to ice faster than ever. “Leave, Neve. You only cause problems for us.”
Father tenses at the jab. “I know this puts you in a difficult position as the new queen–”
“All of this is a difficult position!”
As we argue, my parents' focus remains on me. I’ve noticed the man fiddling in his restraints, but the chains and bars are all crafted out of ice magic. No mere mortal can break them.
But he isn’t a normal human, it seems.
With my parents distracted, he twists his hand until he manages to hit the chains with a blast of magic.
I realize too late he’s using ice magic, the kind of blessing reserved for the Royal Family of the Frostlands and cursed on Mother’s behalf.
As the chain snaps and breaks, he manages to rip one hand free.
I lift my hands before I can help myself, Father immediately turning the poker in his hand to ice before trying to strike the man.
His magic is weaker than mine or Mother’s, but he still has some left from his lineage.
I make a flurry of snow appear before me, determined that if the stranger tries to hurt either of my parents, I’ll make sure his blows don’t hit.