Chapter Fourteen Thyra #2
I don’t have the strength to hold my legs in place, but he lifts me a little higher, enabling my thighs to hook above his hips while one of his arms remains firmly positioned beneath my backside, seating me against him.
His other arm presses to my upper spine, the fingers of that hand tangling in my hair as he cradles my head once more against his neck.
My palm hasn’t left his heart, while my other arm wraps around his side.
He pauses, seeming to test his hold before he slides off his boots.
Steam wafts up around us as he steps through the opening in the cocoon.
Then he moves into the water, down onto what must be a shallow ledge, his feet barely making a splash, barely disturbing the gently swirling surface.
My body is yet to come into contact with the water, although the steam wafts up around me, a promise of life.
A moment later, he takes another step down, a deeper drop.
The soles of my feet touch the water, and I realize how unprepared I was for the pain.
Burning agony shoots through me, and I jolt against him with a cry, fighting the instinct to lift myself above the liquid—except that I can’t.
I no longer control my legs.
My exclamation turns to a whimper.
“We’ll go slow,” he murmurs before sinking a scant inch deeper.
All of my toes submerge. Then, slowly, the entirety of my feet.
I grit my teeth as I try to process the shooting agony in such small limbs.
How much more will it hurt when larger parts of my body are submerged?
“The pain is good.” His lips brush my earlobe as he speaks. “It means your limbs can be saved. Welcome it. Don’t fear it.”
A moment later, he sinks even lower, and my calves submerge.
I wrench against him again, my pelvis pushing forward as I fight the billowing terror of submersion.
Welcome it, he said.
Not possible to welcome this pain. Even though I know I need it.
At my wrench, a cold challenge enters his voice. “You asked me to make you warm, Oracle. If you ask for my help, you should assume it will inevitably lead to cruelty.”
If you want help, you must ask for it.
Antony’s command echoes back to me, unshakable in its resolve.
He stayed true to that command.
How true, I wonder, will the Frost King be to his promise?
As if he senses my doubt—a doubt that grows from how carefully he’s lowering me into the water and how gently he’s cradling my head against his neck and how softly he sang pleasure into my body to keep me alive…
He reminds me, “Consider what you know for a fact, Oracle: I am heartless. In a storm of lies, that truth remains.”
Lies broke me.
Lies led me to this moment.
I refuse to let the truth destroy me, as lies have destroyed me.
“Thyra,” I say, taking deep breaths and meeting his eyes. “Call me Thyra.”
He gives me a solemn nod. “Then you will call me Stellen. As the Oracle, you are my equal.”
My jaw drops a little. “Equals.”
He shrugs, a slow action that doesn’t upset my position. “Or you could call me King of Frost, and I could call you Oracle.”
The pinch between my eyebrows remains, and he arches his eyebrows at me.
“Did you think I would demand subservience?”
“You speak of cruelty. You insist you’re heartless—”
“Both can be true,” he says, which only confuses me until he continues. “I could declare you a queen, give you complete freedom, and still deliver upon you intense cruelty. Rank and title will not save you in my kingdom.”
With that, he lowers us farther into the water.
The warmth covers my calves and laps at the back of my thighs, searing across my skin.
Despite my determination not to flinch, the anticipation, the fear of more pain is too much.
Mindless instinct takes over, and I attempt to wriggle upward.
It’s only as my lower legs lift around his backside that I realize how much more life there is in them. A very good thing.
But at the same time, my sudden thrashing and attempts to lift my legs cause me to lean back slightly. Not a problem if his arm were to stay firmly in place, but he eases its pressure, a cold light in his eyes.
Suddenly, I find myself arching away from his chest and tilting back toward the water.
He controls the movement, his right hand slipping from my head to between my shoulder blades, supporting my descent but allowing me to drop far closer to the heat than I wanted.
The opposite of what I was trying to achieve.
Gasping a quick breath, I try to cut through the mire of conflicting sensations I’m now experiencing.
Steam spreads hot across my back, a sharp pain.
My hair remains wrapped on my head, but gravity pulls a few wayward strands off my shoulders and into the water, where the swirling liquid tugs gently on them.
The moisture in the air slides between my lips, a hydration I sorely need.
My thighs press against Stellen’s hips, and my pelvis pushes against his body, an aching pleasure triggering the need I experienced on our race through the snowstorm.
His pale-as-snow eyes graze down my body, an assessment that feels anything but cold.
The moment stretches.
The longer it extends, the more I relax, leaning in to his firm hold and accepting the warmth rising up around me.
The tension around his eyes eases, as does the hard press of his lips. He tilts his head a little, and the corners of his mouth tug upward, a soft smile.
I’m not sure what caused it.
Steam continues to curl around my chest and up across my face, touching my lips, more droplets of moisture gathering. Finally, enough for me to collect with my tongue and swallow them down.
With a quiet hum in the back of his throat, Stellen pulls me back to his chest, his arms once again like steel around me.
“You need fluids,” he says, his voice flat and emotionless now despite the continuing curve of his lips.
The waterfall cascades close to my left, flowing so smoothly down the rock that there’s barely any spray. The silver flowers my Lethian armor formed float beneath it, bobbing back and forth.
Slowly, Stellen sinks into a sitting position and, at first, I have a flash of fear that he’ll submerge me deeper than I’m ready for, but he chooses one of the higher ledges, deftly sweeping my legs behind him so that they’re hooked around his waist and sitting along the ledge, the water lapping no higher than my lower hips.
Which were warmed and prepared by the steam already.
As if that might have been his intention.
Deftly keeping hold of me with one hand, he unclips from around his shoulders the harness that houses his now-empty scabbards. After pushing the harness onto the pond’s edge at his back, he slips one of the cases free.
Leaning sharply to the right and stretching as far as he can reach, he places the scabbard under the waterfall.
He brings it to my lips. “Drink.”
I hesitate.
“Blood doesn’t meet the inside of this scabbard, if that’s your concern. My ice cleans my blades, and I never put them away dirty.”
As if to prove his point, he drinks from the scabbard before returning it to my lips.
Accepting the water, I gulp down the first mouthful, closing my eyes with relief when the awful dryness in my throat finally eases.
I finish all of the water. Without me asking, he refills the scabbard and brings it back to my lips.
Four more times he fills it, and I drink all of it before I finally shake my head.
I can’t possibly swallow any more.
He slides the scabbard across the edge of the pond behind him, twisting away from me, and when he focuses back on me, his free hand drops into the water.
I gasp when his fingers find my toes beneath the surface. A slow touch. Then my heel. Circular presses, rubbing slowly as he works his way along my calf and toward my thigh, where the water laps.
Soothing.
Heated hands.
For long moments, he massages my feet and calves, swapping hands so he can rub my other leg.
Oh, warmth.
When his mouth brushes my ear, his voice is alluring, humming with pleasure, but he utters a warning I can’t ignore.
“I’ve done what I can to prepare your body, but you will not be ready for this,” he murmurs. “It will hurt.”
I close my eyes and brace against him.
Ready for the pain. Needing it.
An ache builds as his voice becomes melodious and he sings into my ear, “Try not to scream, Oracle.”
With that, he slides off the ledge and deep into the water, taking me with him.