Chapter 2 - Frosty Rumors
Wrenora
The next day, I worked in the kitchens until my muscles ached and my mind turned to mush.
I’d never seen so much food in all my life—even when I’d taken a turn working the cook tents in the war.
I couldn’t believe there were enough people in this palace to warrant so much, or where it was coming from.
Magdala swept through multiple times, her stern voice cutting through the din of pots and pans and clanging dishes.
By the midday meal, I was already exhausted, wishing I was polishing the floors in the main hall.
Instead, I’d been sent to wash the breakfast dishes.
The hot, soapy water was both a blessing and a curse.
I was warm for the first time in days, but after a few hours of my hands in water, my skin was chapped and sore.
Something told me there’d be little mercy for complaints.
Instead, I kept my mouth shut, hoping I’d get assigned something different in the future.
Beside me, another thrall named Lorna scrubbed away at stubborn cook spoons, her brows furrowed as she concentrated.
She was a quiet girl—timid and young. She’d attached herself to me early on as women were few and far between.
Like a big sister, I felt desperately protective of her.
There was something about her big eyes and petite frame that made me need to keep her safe.
“He came back early from wherever he was,” one of the men positioned at another wash basin said.
He wasn’t talking to me, so I kept my eyes on my own task.
“Heirod said the king and queen sent him away before the war because he was too violent. Seems right. He single-handedly sent back more bodies than half of the southern squadron.”
I perked up at this. I’d been fortunate enough to spend the bulk of my time fighting as far from the infamous southern squadron of the elven army as possible. Perhaps this was why I’d never know the ruthlessness of the king’s only son.
“I heard his mother called him back to Dyga to reprimand him for sanctioning corporal punishment against thralls for the smallest infractions. Can you imagine? Things like breaking dishes or burning bread. Not getting the spoons clean enough.” The one man glanced directly at Lorna at that, her cheeks turning a brilliant shade of pink.
“I can imagine. These elves are monsters,” the other said. “They see round ears and would rather cut them off than suffer having to look at us.”
“This winter blight is his fault, too. Something about his betrothed breaking their engagement, and he was so angry, he cursed us all with his frost magic.”
Their words grew more brazen as they gossiped. If I could hear them, someone else surely could. The longer I went without saying something, the more vulgar they got, and the more red Lorna’s face grew.
“I heard he raped some bitch then turned her to ice so she couldn’t tell anyone about his tiny dick.” The man chortled, dropping a plate to the bottom of his wash basin. “Didn’t even give her the courtesy of an orgasm. Just took his pleasure then froze her solid.”
“I heard—”
“I heard we weren’t supposed to talk about His Highness,” I said without thinking.
Lorna froze in place, her wide eyes going even wider. I walked a delicate line. These men could just as likely kill me as an elf if I wasn’t careful. The desperation to stay alive destroyed any loyalty most had toward other humans.
They fell silent, scrubbing their dishes as they glared in my direction.
I clearly wasn’t making any friends. First, an encounter with Prince Callan, now these two.
But I wasn’t here to make friends. None of us were.
We were here to work until we died, and as miserable as this existence seemed, I wasn’t ready for death just yet.
“Thralls.”
Everyone in the kitchen stopped, all eyes finding Magdala as she stood in the same place she had when she’d explained the rules the day before.
“All thralls are needed with me. Leave your tasks where they are.”
We all pulled away from our work. There were a little over a dozen of us in total gathered around Magdala, glancing at each other with unease.
“Come.”
She didn’t give an explanation as she led us up to the main hall, where I’d been the day before. I hesitated on the last step, causing someone to run into my backside.
“Fuck! Why’d you—”
“No speaking.” Magdala’s sharp tone echoed off the ice walls, and the man behind me immediately fell silent.
She swept us into a grand room that could only be a throne room.
Two massive, crystal-clear windows lined the far wall and looked out over a frigid, snow-covered landscape.
They were adorned with floor-to-ceiling drapes in a shade of pale blue—the only soft-fabric touches I’d seen so far in the entire fortress.
An elegant ice-shard throne occupied space atop a dais between the windows, glowing from inside with a pale purple light.
In front of the throne was what looked like an ice sculpture of a woman with her back to us. The intricate clothing details and hair looked so real—like a human petrified in frost.
And then, as if he’d materialized from the frigid air itself, the prince took a step toward us.
He’d been standing so still beside the frozen woman, I hadn’t noticed him.
He’d quite literally blended into the view of the permafrost from the windows.
The lower half of his face was obscured with a mask—as it had been the day before—but his hair hung loose over his shoulders.
Shards of ice wrapped around both pointed tips of his ears, forming a crown of sorts.
He wore a high-necked doublet that looked like a stormy sky with pale purple trim that complemented the color of his eyes as they followed each thrall into the throne room.
There was something in his stance I didn’t like. He stood with a predatory stillness, his arms folded behind his back in an overly formal manner. The way his glare burned into each of us as we lined up across from him did little to melt the air of foreboding that surrounded him.
Lorna shifted nervously beside me, but I tried to school my fear into perfect motionlessness.
After my encounter the day before, I knew what to expect of him.
He had, as it had kindly been stated, zero tolerance for thralls.
I hadn’t seen the full force of his wrath...
yet. I’d only heard the terrifying stories.
That his own parents had sent him away for being a monster in elven flesh.
That he’d been cursed by a bog witch before the war for his arrogance.
That he was slowly freezing our world because he hated all things warm or human.
To distract myself from the aura of absolute brutal vehemence radiating out from him, I looked past him to the ice sculpture.
It was entirely too detailed to have been crafted by human or elven hands.
And what a strange place to put it, making it virtually impossible to sit on the throne without staring at the thing. I looked closer, swallowing my nausea.
It wasn’t a statue.
Bile rose again in my throat. It made the rumor about the woman he’d frozen far too plausible.
“All the thralls under your roof, as you requested, Your Highness.” Magdala curtsied low as she had the day before, holding briefly before she righted herself. “I’ve instructed them on proper etiquette, Highness, but—”
He held his hand up to silence her.
“I have no need for thralls in my fortress. They are quite literally banned from the royal palace.” He turned and walked to one side of the throne room where he stopped and stared at the man on the end.
“No patience for the tedium of rumors. Nor tolerance for the slightest offences.” He made the slow walk to the other side, each footstep echoing through my soul.
“A single step out of line will result in your immediate execution.”
I regretted choosing to stand on the end.
He was silent as he stopped and stared, narrowing his eyes with recognition, gaze traveling to my lips then back up.
I swallowed my fear, trying to transform the terror building in the pit of my being into the bravery I’d always managed to channel on the battlefield.
But it was so much harder here. I had no armor, no sword, nor even a dagger with which to protect myself.
My magic was shackled—not that it had ever been helpful in battle.
The only weapons I had were my words, and I feared those would have no effect here.
“Which one of you hails by the name Heirod?”
I squeezed my eyes closed in relief before they snapped back open, terrified to find the prince still glaring at me, but with one eyebrow lifted in curiosity.
Heirod. I knew this name from the conversation between the men I’d scolded. Heirod stepped forward, trembling as he wrapped his arms around his chest and tucked his hands beneath his armpits. The prince stepped in front of him, towering over the man by several inches.
“I must say, it was a creative rumor. Something new I hadn’t heard before.” He tipped his head as he drew his sword.
No, it wasn’t a sword. It was nothing but a brilliant silver handle.
As he pulled it free of the scabbard, icy mist and snowflakes materialized from nowhere, coalescing into shards of ice that melted into one another.
Each fragment fit into the next until he was holding a blade made entirely of crystal-clear ice the length of a bastard sword.
The faintest glow emanated from the handle, rippling up the center along its razor-sharp edge.
Without another word, he buried the sword in Heirod’s chest, the ice blade slicing through flesh easier than one of steel might have. There was no resistance as the tip erupted from his back, bloody and steaming.
One woman shrieked and fainted, another dropped beside her to help her back to her feet.
The man beside Heirod was shaking uncontrollably as the prince pulled his blade free, letting the dying man sprawl out in a puddle of his own blood.
The acrid scent of urine met my nostrils, the backside of the shaking man’s pants soaking through.
The prince glanced down at the yellow puddle at his feet, holding for a few seconds as the warm liquid steamed.
His eyes snapped up, brows furrowed in frustration before he took a slow step back.
“I have zero tolerance for thralls.”
Humans. He had zero tolerance for humans.
Because it was only humans who were thralls.
I swallowed my sharp words, knowing full well if I spoke now, I’d be lying beside Heirod.
The prince made another journey from one side to the other, coming to stop in front of me again, his vicious glare holding mine as every muscle in my body tensed in fear and loathing.
Because of this man, I’d lost my freedom. Because of this man, I would never see my parents again. Because of his father’s petty war against the humans—a war I’d given years of my life to fight in—I’d been forced to learn about these cruel beings who found humans completely disposable.
Because of this man, I was a worthless thing with no value, no home, and no autonomy.
“No rumors. No dissension. No thralls on this level of the fortress,” he spat as he glanced over at Magdala, who’d gone even more pale than she already was. “And for that matter, find them transfers within a fortnight. I want them gone.”
He stormed away, leaving us standing and staring at the dead man at our feet and a very frozen woman at the base of the dais.
––––––––
That night, I curled up on my bunk and tried to sleep, but no matter what I did, I kept seeing the prince’s ice sword fusing together over and over.
The way the blood had dripped from it after he’d killed Heirod for nothing more than spreading a rumor.
It made the magic in my veins pulse and writhe.
It was angry, pressing against the suppression of the shackles with a viciousness that made my wrists hot and itchy.
I couldn’t live like this. I’d accepted being a slave, but here in the Ice Fortress, under the hatred of the elven prince? Something about him made every scrap of my power revolt—like he was the opposite of me in every way possible. Hot and cold. Fire and Ice.
My bunk moved, the weight of something pressing over the threadbare blanket covering my legs. I tensed, unprepared to be touched without permission by someone in this place. The last thing I needed was to fend off a lonely man who would see me as an easy fuck.
A trill meow washed over my fear.
A cat? Green eyes looked up at me from the softest gray fur, and a single splotch of white wrapped up around the creature’s lower jaw. A fucking cat!
“Where did you come from?” I whispered, though I knew the creature couldn’t answer me. “Are you cold?”
I patted the mattress beside me, and it took the invitation to prance over my body and nuzzle itself into the crook of my neck, the warmth of its fur a delicious blessing in the cold barracks.
No sooner had the cat snuggled in and started purring than my thoughts were pressed into neat rows.
All the anger I’d had a moment ago smoothed, the gruesome memory of Heirod’s death replaced with unimaginably soft fur.
I buried my fingers in it, and before I could contemplate how a cat had come to be in this place, I slipped off to sleep.