Shivering, she said, “Boys! Come say bye. I have to go away for a couple days.”
Ian raised a hand over his head and waved, while Ivan murmured, “Bye.” Their eyes remained on the tv.
Ayla frowned. “Boys.”
Her sharp tone had them leaping off the couch and into her arms. They each kissed both sides of her cheek, said a quick, “Bye bye!”, and then ran back to the couch where they could continue watching cartoons with their mother.
They didn’t know she was risking her life. A trip was fun to their adolescent minds. They didn’t know she needed more of their love to get her through this.
Sighing, she added, “Laura, I plan on being back in a few days. Are you okay to watch them?”
“They’re my kids you know,” she replied, her eyes never moving from the screen. “I can manage.”
Ayla wasn’t certain how true that was. Laura was a good mom when she had clear days. But the bad ones? She didn’t choose to be a mother at all when she was having a bad day.
“Right,” she replied, backing away. “Well, take wonderful care of them, please.”
“Mhm.”
It wasn’t just Laura taking care of the boys. Henry was an exemplary father, and he loved those kids more than he loved his wife. Maybe that was why she was so angry all the time.
She left the house and went back to the yard where Henry stood waiting. He held her backpack in his arms and handed it to her. “All packed?”
“Yup.”
“Ready to go?”
“Nope.” She put the straps over her shoulders and shrugged. “Not much of a choice, anyway. Gotta go.”
He nodded, his brow wrinkled in worry and confusion. “All right well... if you need something, let me know.”
“I don’t think you could help me if you tried, Henry.” She grinned, trying with all her might to hide her sweaty palms. “All right, stand back and don’t let the boys see.”
“They’re not looking.”
Of course they weren’t. The tv was far more interesting than watching their Auntie Ayla fly.
Perks of being an air faerie, she supposed. Few other faeries could do this. They always needed something to guide them through the air or propel them. But Ayla? She could soar on wings made of wind.
Focusing all her energy on the magic inside her core, she let it burst free. Wind circled her, lifting her hair and sensible clothes before finally picking her up off the ground. She watched her brother’s grin until she couldn’t see him anymore. Then she turned her attention to the sky.
She’d forgotten how beautiful it was up here. She floated like some people did underwater. Her hair lifting by the ends, passing air currents plucking at her shirt and whirling around her like an old friend.
Perhaps that’s why she’d stopped flying when she was just a girl. It was too tempting to be up here on her own with only the sound of the wind in her ears.
No, it wasn’t worth it. She couldn’t fall in love with soaring past cotton candy clouds. They weren’t better than her little nephews or her tiny home with all its random decorations she’d collected over the years.
Ayla settled the backpack harder against her shoulders. She needed to prepare herself for whatever madness awaited her. The king was supposedly cruel at the best of times and horrid at the rest.
She’d never seen him, though. This man had stolen her throne, at least the one that was hers by blood. He’d taken it by brute force.
She supposed, in a way, he’d done her a favor.
She burst through the thickest layer of clouds and out into the crystal blue sky above. The sun gleamed in the distance, but the glass palace rivaled all the beauty surrounding it. When she’d tried to explain to her brother that the Court of Air was in a floating glass palace, he’d laughed. But she hadn’t been lying.
The entire building was made of frosted glass, held up by buoyant layers of wind. It floated like something out of a fairytale with high spires, stained glass windows, and stairs circling the edges. No air faerie ever feared falling, so the stairs were outside. Not within.
Breathing in a deep lungful of chilly air, she floated toward the castle. The last thing she wanted was to be here. She didn’t wish to see for herself the beauty of this place. It made her eyes burn and her heart ache even though it wasn’t hers.
And it wasn’t. This palace wasn’t hers.
She floated to the nearest stairwell and set her feet atop it. All the wind that had lifted her disappeared, retreating almost as though it were frightened of the castle. Or whoever lived within.
The king couldn’t be so terrifying he’d scared the element itself, could he?
She hoped not. How was a changeling woman supposed to defeat him otherwise?
“No,” she muttered to herself. “He’s not some monster in a castle. This isn’t a fairytale. You aren’t in a book. You’re just a woman making sure everything is running according to plan.”
She could see the clouds floating underneath her feet through the clear stairs. It made walking rather difficult. She couldn’t see where she was going. Every step felt like she was putting her entire trust on the whim that the stairs were actually there.
The air faeries had to be daring to live in a place like this. She much preferred solid ground underneath her at all times. Then she didn’t have to worry about plummeting and using her magic at the right time.
Yes, that was better. This kind of thought made her feel more in control. Ayla was bound and determined to hate everything in the palace. That way, she wouldn’t be disappointed when she returned to her mundane human home.
With a plan settled in her mind, she made her way down the stairs.
The palace was larger than she expected. Much, much larger. She entered the first door she could find, but it was hard to tell where the rooms were. She could see into most of them, although some were frosted glass. Ayla could only assume those were the private rooms of people who lived here. No better way to have privacy in a glass palace, she guessed. Although, even those didn’t have shadows moving behind them.
She stepped carefully, making her way through the halls like someone would find her. Or catch her.
She was the rightful heir to this palace. They couldn’t just throw her out. Right?
Well, if she’d watched enough King Henry the eighth documentaries, they could. Hopefully, faeries didn’t follow too much of the medieval royal customs or she was about to have her head removed from her shoulders.
Ayla spent the better part of the afternoon wandering through the abandoned palace. She checked her watch every few minutes, but no one yelled at her or made her leave. In fact, she’d hazard a guess no one lived here at all.
That was strange, wasn’t it? The king was supposed to be here. And if there was a king, then there should also be a court.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” she muttered, echoing her favorite childhood story. She felt a little like Alice in Wonderland right now. Glass palaces and floating castles weren’t common in her realm.
She held onto the nearest glass railing and continued down. This one didn’t lead into the palace, however. It led to a beautiful maze filled with flowers. A glass hedge maze. Instead of plant walls, there were glass walls with slots for the air plants to grow through. She could see their roots stretching through the glass, then tangling around themselves.
The glass was slightly warped, bending and curving like waves. The strange ripples made the plants beyond look like another world. She couldn’t figure out what was the right way to get through the maze at all.
“How creative,” she said. She reached out and placed a hand against the cold glass. Her fingerprints left smudges.
But when she scrubbed at the smudge with her sleeve, she saw something else beyond the glass. A figure moving in the opposite direction.
“There you are,” Ayla muttered. That had to be the king. Who else would be skulking about? She thought it highly unlikely this could be a servant considering none of them w
ere in the palace.
Now, all she had to do was figure out how to catch him. He moved confidently, as if he knew the way to the center and back out again.
“Excuse me!” she shouted, pounding her fist on the glass. “I need to talk to you!”
The figure moved even faster, if that was possible. Was he running from her?
Frowning, Ayla started into the maze. She remembered Henry telling her something like mazes were all the same. Keep your hand on the right wall, and you’ll get out.
Or something like that.
She plastered her hand onto glass and hurried through whatever direction it took her. Though it was mostly dead ends, she kept her eye on the moving figure. “Hey!” she shouted again. “Stop right now!”
As if that was a marvellous idea. Only moments ago she’d worried these faeries would behead her. Now she was shouting at the king? Ayla wasn’t certain if either were a good approach.
Either way, he was so close she could snag the ends of his jacket if she was quick enough. And she wasn’t about to hunt this man to the ends of the earth.
This ended now so she could get back home to her family.
5
Why did faeries always think he was obligated to listen to them? Storm lifted his hands and covered his ears, muttering about ridiculous creatures who all wanted something from him. Wasn’t it clear he was trying to get away from her?
But every time he tried to muffle her shouts, he’d run into a wall. And then he’d forget where he was in the maze. Huffing out a breath, he paused and tried to retrace his steps. If he turned around and took the first left, then he’d back in the right direction. How had he made that mistake?
“Stop!” she shouted again. “Why are you running?”
Faerie courts, he wasn’t running! He was strategically removing himself from the situation. That’s all.
Grumbling, he made it almost to the left before realizing she was on the other side of the glass. And she was captivating in her strangeness.
Her long blonde hair nearly reached her hips, although it swung in a long braid behind her. The plain white shirt did nothing for her thin figure, nor did the baggy jeans covering her legs. But somehow he knew there was a beautiful woman under all that garbage. One who made his knees weak.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit, he needed to get out of here fast.
Yeah, sure, now he was running from her. He couldn’t stand a gorgeous woman staring at him when he looked like... this. This visage of war come to life.
Power stirred in his chest, shifting and rolling like a snake unraveling within him. The elemental lifted its head and scented the air.
No one could know about the creature. They’d try to take the throne and the sleeping elemental in his chest would force him to chill the earth with blasts of frigid air. How could he let anyone close knowing what it could do?
He raced through the maze, heart thundering in his chest. The air faeries knew they had to stay away from him. Why wouldn’t this one follow the decrees?
Storm rounded another corner, racing toward the center of the maze. At least then he was halfway free from this mad woman. What did she think she’d get from chasing him? Only an angered Mad King who would tear off her head. Or worse, turn her just as mad as him.
The elemental in his chest stirred again. It hadn’t awoken in ages, why was it awake now?
Storm tried to contain it. He pressed hard against its consciousness with his own magic, overwhelming now that he’d merged with the elemental itself. They shared a body, magic, and spirit. But the creature still ran the show.
“Who is that?” it whispered in his mind. The voice was like the rustle of reeds in the wind, light, airy, but ominous of a storm approaching.
“No one,” he replied, leaning on the wall for a moment before launching himself back into a frantic move. “An inconsequential woman and worthless of your esteemed time.”
Except, the wind fluttered to life. A scent reached him on the ephemeral breeze. Delicate like lavender, comforting like white sage. She didn’t smell like a woman. She smelled like the walking embodiment of the wind.
He didn’t mean to inhale as deeply as he did, but he drew her scent into him and kept it for later when he might exhale and relive this moment. When his body was set aflame by the warped image through rolling glass, and a scent that made his soul awaken.
The woman continued to chase him through the maze to the center that wasn’t quite a center at all. Instead, the glass stopped in a sheer cliff and revealed two bridges suspended over nothing. Fluffy clouds touched the swaying rope and wood planks, while streaks of pink and yellow painted the sky. They were old bridges from a land long ago, but he remembered them hanging over a canyon so other faeries could enter the Air Court.
Times were different then. The Otherworld had been different, back when he’d been free.
The sight always made his chest clench with remembered pain. He missed the Otherworld. Storm placed a single foot on the swaying bridge only for the elemental to stop him.
“Where are you going?” it asked. “Don’t you want to see who she is?”
Yes. Desperately. He wanted to know what she looked like without the glass changing her form. He wanted to stick his nose in her hair and inhale her wonderful scent deeper, so he could know what it was like to be in her presence.
But that path led to a dangerous end. Could he ruin a strange woman? Could he destroy something so lovely and live through the guilt?
“You can,” the elemental whispered. “And you will.”
Power rose in his chest like the beginning of a storm. Energy crackled beneath his skin, and his fingers tingled. He looked down, only to find his hands had disappeared. In fact, most of his body had in a mere breath of the elemental’s power.
“Clothes too,” he muttered.
He grinned at the responding grumble. The elemental was an old soul and had never understood clothing. It was a waste of power, the creature had told him when he first learned this trick.
But the last thing he wanted to be was the naked man lurking in the corner, invisible, stalking an unknown woman.
Storm shook his head and checked a reflection to make sure he was entirely invisible. Once confirmed, he moved to the side of the bridge and waited for the woman to appear.
He didn’t have to wait long. She was as quick as she was resourceful. Few people figured out the glass palace’s maze, and even fewer could complete it without help. This woman moved as though she’d been here before, or perhaps, as if something else was guiding her.
She strode to the bridge with her shoulders squared and her hands clenched. Wind whipped at her shirt, lifting it briefly to give him a glimpse of alabaster skin.
Faerie realms, she was beautiful.
Perhaps not in the traditional sense. She was too pale, too delicate, too small. He thought if he let her out of his sight, a gust would carry her to the other side of the earth.
She looked around, likely for him, before striding out onto the bridge. It rocked with her weight, moving side to side wildly. To her credit, she didn’t look as though she were all that bothered. Instead, she just held onto the rope railings and continued forward.
Where was she going? Did she think he’d somehow ran across or flown to the other side? She could keep chasing him if she wanted, but it would get her nowhere. He wouldn’t let some stranger find him, no matter what they wanted.
But she stopped in the center of the bridge. Both hands on the railings, shoulders slumped forward, chest heaving with rapid breaths.
Storm tilted his head to the side and furrowed his brows. She wasn’t tired. Every muscle in her body was locked and ready to sprint at the first sight of him. He could see that from here. So why had she stopped?
“Get closer,” the elemental whispered. “What is she saying?”
The creature was correct. The woman was talking. Muttering to herself so quietly not even the wind could pick up her words and toss them back
to him.
He couldn’t very well walk on the bridge toward her. She’d feel the movement and catch him. Storm wasn’t a small man by any means. He might have been a nobleman, but he was also very vain about his appearance.
Was.
Was very vain.
Releasing a small bit of power, he allowed the wind to carry him onto the center of the bridge and set him down behind her. Not a bit of his weight disturbed the sway, and he moved his body at the same time as her.
“It shouldn’t be this hard,” she whispered. “You came here, you saw him. That’s enough, Ayla. You can go home now.”
Her name was Ayla. It was beautiful and light, just as she was. The name filled his chest with longing just as it invigorated the elemental to use it against her.
She was a faerie, like him. No human had ever grown hair like that. The silvery strands reflected rainbows in the light, all the colors he’d ever seen dancing with every rustle of the wind. How beautiful it was without the overwhelming scent of chemicals.
He wanted to touch one strand. Just one, it didn’t matter which. But he couldn’t. He knew touching her hair would spread the madness, just as touching her skin would.
Storm was a cursed man. He couldn’t do what he wanted, nor had he enjoyed the touch of another since he took the elemental inside him. The air elemental spread disease and hardship, that’s all it was good for. And Storm was its container.
“Why not?” the elemental said. “Just a brief touch, just to see if the scent lingers on our skin.”
The temptation zinged through his muscles like he’d touched a live wire. He even reached out and grasped the railings, desperately squeezing them in his hands to try to pull himself together. He couldn’t touch her. It was wrong.
Then she turned around.
His breath caught in his lungs as she stared through him. Her eyes were the closest to purple he’d ever seen, although he supposed some might still call them blue. Her jaw was delicate, her nose long and thin. But it was her pale lips he couldn’t stop staring at. Like a dusky rose, they had very little color but just enough pink for them to be tantalizing.
King of the Frost Page 3