King of the Frost

by Elizabeth Frost

  Why had she turned around? Didn’t she know this made everything more difficult?

  He didn’t want to touch her. He didn’t want to do anything that would harm this woman, this angel, who had wandered into the glass palace. His heart thundered in his chest, pounding against his rib cage and screaming for him to do what it wanted.

  Stroke the line of her jaw. Press his thumb against her lips and see if she would part them. Wrap her braid around his wrist and tilt her head back to expose that long, swan-like neck.

  No. This wasn’t right.

  But his hand reached up of its own accord. Or perhaps the elemental was controlling his body. Storm would blame the movement on whatever he could. The guilt for this single action would destroy him someday, eat away at his soul because he was the one who had ruined something so beautiful and delicate.

  The wind whispered, stroking through her hair and releasing a few strands from their confines. It blew in front of her face, but not before he let a single lock wrap around his finger.

  At his touch, the hair turned white as snow.

  6

  She should go home. Ayla had seen enough. There was no one even in the castle, so how was it possible this Mad King was hurting anyone? The Air Court had clearly left and went back to wherever they came from.

  So her people weren’t in trouble. And if the king was running from her, then he wasn’t all that likely to be plotting the apocalypse.

  Right?

  She could go back to her quaint little tiny home and her boys, and that was that. No guilt, no foul. She’d done all she could.

  So why was she frozen in the middle of this bridge, staring at the clouds? Some part of her realized she was lying to herself. She couldn’t just leave this place. There should be swarms of faeries all going in and out of the castle. The stairs should be flooded with people, at least that’s what the faeries had always told her.

  Going home was a great option and it would make her happier, but she couldn’t abandon this place. Not yet.

  She had to find the king. Although he seemed to only know how to run. If that even was the king. Did he know she was the rightful heir? Was that why he darted through the maze like his clothes were on fire?

  It would be so easy to leave this place to its own failings. The glass palace was clearly not what it used to be. But she hadn’t been raised to be that kind of person. Maybe she would have been if she had grown up here. Human parents knew to raise a fighter. They’d prepared her for this, or something like it. They hadn’t realized she’d be floating in the sky in an impossible building.

  It was settled then.

  She would find the king, no matter if she had to fly around the entire palace eighty times before he gave in. The twins had taught her how to be annoying. He’d at least attack her, and that was a start.

  The wind brushed against her cheek, almost like someone touched her. A strand of hair fluttered in front of her face. Except... then it turned white as snow.

  Gasping, she flinched away from the wind only to realize it wasn’t air at all. There was a man standing on the bridge with her. A man she’d been trying to find. The magic disappeared. Whatever veil had hidden his body dropped the moment she felt him touch her hair.

  The Mad King was certainly mad on the exterior. Though she’d seen his clothing, she hadn’t expected him to look like this...

  Scars lacerated his face, creating a lace pattern over his features. One particularly severe scar had split his face in half, stretching from his right ear, just underneath his eye, and over his nose to the other side. White lines turned his face into a grid, although messy and clearly painful.

  Pale skin made him look ill. His lips had no color at all, and his black eyes were lost in their sockets. Long, white hair reached his waist. Pin straight and not a single strand out of place.

  His clothing was old, Victorian perhaps. The long waistcoat reached his knees. The white shirt stretched across his torso, tucked into high waisted pants that hugged his rail thin figure. Knee-high boots covered the rest of his legs, although she was certain they were just as thin as the rest of him. He appeared, for all intents and purposes, like a wraith.

  Ayla clapped a hand to her mouth and took an enormous step away from him. At the same time, he also moved back. His eyes widened in shock, the whites showing all around the ebony color of his irises.

  Why had he touched her? Was that why her hair had turned white?

  Ayla didn’t know if she should be angry he’d been spying on her, or just launch into her interrogation so she could go home. Probably the former, considering he’d been lurking invisibly behind her for who knows how long.

  “You!” she finally blurted. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  She did her best to channel Henry’s dad voice. The disappointment should have made the king turn red with embarrassment. Instead, he straightened his shoulders and glared at her.

  “I’m aware,” he grumbled. His voice was too deep for that body.

  She’d expected him to sound feminine or ethereal. Like a faerie. But no, he was completely and utterly masculine. Enough to send shivers through her body.

  Ayla cleared her throat and tried to tamp down on the dirty thoughts. “Why were you running if you knew I was looking for you?”

  “I wasn’t running.”

  “Then why were you invisible?” She lifted a hand and pointed her finger at him. “That’s incredibly rude.”

  His mouth opened, closed, and then he finally stammered, “It’s incredibly rude to appear in someone’s home without an invitation.”

  He had her there. She had shown up uninvited, but with good reason! Although, now that he stood in front of her, she didn’t know how to ask her questions. He was a person now, not just some mythical being. He stood right there, and he didn’t seem like some crazed person.

  She had to make sure he wasn’t mad. That was the first step.

  Ayla cleared her throat again. She probably sounded like she was sick. “Well, we’ve both made a social faux pas. I suggest we start over.”

  He stared at her like she was crazy. And she might be. No one in their right mind would try to sweep breaking and entering underneath the table when first meeting someone.

  The king looked her up and down before nodding. “I suppose that will suffice. Welcome to the Court of Air. You may call me Your Majesty or Your King.”

  She lifted a single brow. “Oh really?”

  He nodded, although he had the where-with-all to look a little embarrassed this time. “As king, that is the appropriate way to address me.”

  “Ah.” Ayla cocked her hip out to the side. “And you couldn’t think of anything better for me to call you?”

  “As a subject of this court-”

  She lifted a hand to pause him. “I’m not a subject of your court. I’m-” Ayla stopped. Coming right out and saying he was sitting on her throne seemed a little harsh. Not to mention, he might react poorly to someone being that aggressive. Instead, she added, “I’m a visiting dignitary. You could consider our stations equal.”

  “I have few equals,” he said, his voice little more than a rumble. His eyes darkened, then he swept into a low bow. “However, I find myself intrigued. You may call me Storm.”

  She held out her hand for him to shake. “Ayla.”

  He didn’t reach forward to take her hand. In fact, he shrank away from it like she had offered him a poisonous snake.

  Storm tucked his hands behind his back. Far away from her. “If you are a foreign dignitary, I assume you are here on court business.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Then perhaps I should first show you to your rooms.”

  Ayla wasn’t expected to stay very long, but she supposed sleeping in a bed would be significantly better than sleeping on a frosty glass floor. She was also curious to see if her assumptions were correct. The fogged glass must be the private quarters of people who lived here... or who used to live here.

  She
nodded. “That would be fine. I assume there are rooms ready?”

  His left eye twitched. “It’s been some time since anyone has come to the glass palace. The rooms will need to be cleaned.”

  “And you have maids to do so?”

  The other eye twitched. “I’m afraid most of the Air Court have abdicated their duties here at the palace. My people live in the human realm. There are still some living here, but I have not seen them in a very long time.”

  Well, that answered her question about the ghost-like qualities of this place. So the court had decided it was better to live among humans than this splendorous palace in the clouds. How curious.

  Ayla chewed on her lip while she thought. She didn’t mind playing the role of maid, that was essentially what she did with Henry. But if she were to continue her lie that she was a dignitary, would faeries like herself even know how to clean?

  Suddenly, she realized why faeries didn’t lie. Maybe it wasn’t that their tongues got all twisted. Lies were hard to keep up with.

  Sighing, she looked down at her clothes and held out her hands. “It’s clear I’m no stranger to hard work, Storm. I’m perfectly capable of cleaning a bedroom.”

  This time, he was the one who lifted his brows in surprise. “You are a most unusual noble, Ayla.”

  He could say that again. Most royalty grew up as nobility, not as a human child who hadn’t even realized she was a faerie until she was sixteen.

  He stood frozen in front of her, stiff and awkward. This was the king? His mouth was almost open, staring like he’d never seen a woman before.

  Generally, Ayla wouldn’t like a man looking at her like that. She was more than just a pair of tits attached to an ass. But she didn’t mind his eyes on her like she’d minded in the past. Actually, it was kind of nice to know someone saw her as something other than a nanny, stranger, or Henry’s weird sister.

  She reached up and tucked the wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Storm started forward, his hands outstretched like he didn’t want her to touch it.

  “You all right?” she asked, securing the strand. “You’re acting rather strange.”

  His mouth remained open, eyes wide, and he watched her ear with a little too much intensity. Maybe he was into ear stuff? She’d heard some faeries had pointed ears, but maybe that was just rumor rather than fact.

  She licked her lips. “The room, Storm?”

  His jaw snapped shut. He tucked his hands behind his back once again and turned around the way they’d come. “Right. This way please.”

  Who knew a man could be so startled by a woman tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Ayla wanted to ask a thousand questions. Why had her hair turned white, for a start? She’d always had pale, platinum blonde hair, but even platinums had some warmth to them.

  She followed his lead and remained silent as they made their way back to the glass palace and out of the maze. Her original guess had been correct. He knew every step in the maze that would lead him in and out. He didn’t take a single wrong turn the entire way.

  Storm must be smart then. She added that to her list of agreeable facts about this stranger. Intelligence was always useful in a leader.

  But he was also very mysterious and a little odd. Perhaps those went on both the pro and con list. A little mystery never hurt a politician, but downright strange wasn’t a pleasant quality. He had to be likeable, and she didn’t think he was that. Not to most people.

  They reached the palace, and he led her through the glass halls. Some rooms were visible in this section of the palace. They strode past a dining room full of silver and white furniture with a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Glass plates rested on the table, waiting for some feast yet to be delivered. She gaped at a living room filled with portraits of faeries who looked like nothing she’d ever seen. Wings, horns, even patches of scales decorated their faces. She’d only seen their glamoured forms, never what a faerie really looked like.

  “Here we are,” he finally said, gesturing to a room with frosted glass. “This one is yours.”

  She was so pleased to know her guess was correct. Frosted glass rooms were the private quarters! Ayla wished she could share her new discovery with someone.

  Instead, all she could do was incline her head. “Thank you.”

  “Tomorrow then.” He turned to leave.

  “Tomorrow?”

  But the king didn’t stop. He disappeared around the corner of the hall, and then she was all alone again.

  Ayla sighed, opened the door, and let her eyes feast on faerie furniture. The bed was suspended from the ceiling by four ropes that allowed the entire circular mattress to swing freely. Gossamer blankets pooled from the center while pillows created a barrier between the bed and the floor. The soft rug kept her toes from getting too cold. Twin wardrobes on either side were likely filled with clothing.

  Suddenly exhausted, she set her backpack on the floor and sank onto the mattress. What was she to do now?

  She’d met the king, in all his handsome glory. She’d lied about who she was... now what? How did she measure the weight of his worth as king?

  Groaning, she pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. “Why did I agree to this?” she grumbled.

  And now she had to wait until tomorrow! But... what was happening tomorrow?

  7

  Faerie realms, he was a dolt. Delivering her to a room like some kind of fairytale prince. And tomorrow? What did he mean by tomorrow?

  She shouldn’t even be here. It didn’t matter that the madness hadn’t spread to her like the other faeries he touched. It didn’t matter that her plush lips haunted his memory even now. She didn’t deserve to live in this haunted place.

  He should have sent her home. That’s what she said she wanted on the bridge, anyway. All it would have taken were a few words.

  As he descended the spiral staircase to his lab, he uttered the words he should have said. “Go home.” His ominous voice echoed as it bounced off the glass. “You don’t belong here.”

  Yes, that would have been perfect. She would have run from him, fleeing into the clouds and back to whatever cozy home she’d come from. Instead, she was here. With him. Tormenting his every step.

  “You’re being dramatic,” the elemental said. “She’ll be an asset.”

  Because that’s what every man wanted. An asset.

  “I’d given up on the idea of having anyone here a long time ago,” he gritted through his teeth. “I was perfectly happy not being disturbed by any woman.”

  “You weren’t happy. You just existed. Now, there’s a reason for your sullen nature.”

  No, no, that wasn’t what he wanted at all. He didn’t want someone messing up his life or risking the lives of others. He preferred being here, alone, without having to worry about anyone else.

  But it appeared the elemental would much rather have someone here with them. He couldn’t blame the creature. They were both, technically, faeries. Their kind wasn’t meant to be alone. And when they were, well, they got a little itchy.

  He pushed the door open to his lab and stepped into the chaos. Glass tubes spun around each other and up to the ceiling. Brightly colored liquids flowed through them. A large case in the corner bubbled with rose petals floating up and down within it. Another was host to the worst smelling vinegar he could find, but would make something glorious someday.

  A bed large enough for just him was shoved into the corner. He had a bedroom somewhere, but he’d forgotten where it was. Storm mostly slept in his workroom.

  Thousands of bottles littered shelves that covered the walls. Each bottle was a distinct color and filled with different contents. Once upon a time, he’d known what perfume ingredients were where. Now? He hadn’t the faintest idea.

  For the time being, Storm couldn’t focus on his creations. He needed to bottle the only thing haunting him.

  Striding to the back of the lab, he opened a cabinet and pulled out a glass vial. The cork was enchanted
to hold scent as well as liquid. Storm drew upon the small bit of air still left in his lungs and emptied it into the vial.

  Her scent would forever be captured within until he knew he’d created a perfume that smelled just like her. The perfect perfume every faerie woman would want to buy someday. At least, if anyone ever knew this was what he did in his spare time. Which they would never find out.

  Slumping into his chair, he held up the vial and stared. Her scent was almost visible within. Light and glittering like her hair.

  “She’s very pretty,” the elemental murmured.

  “Stop talking about her.”

  “Why? You’re still thinking about her.”

  Of course he was. She was the first woman he’d seen in centuries who captured his attention. He wanted to peel every layer off her body just to see what was so special about her. Or why she made his skin feel like tiny bolts of lightning were dancing down his arms.

  “I know I am,” he grumbled.

  “Stand up, Storm.”

  Absolutely not. He knew what the elemental wanted from him, and he would not do it. Storm would rather sit at his desk and listen to the bubbling of his perfumes. That was a hell of a lot more relaxing than listening to a creature berate him for his feelings.

  “No,” he replied.

  A thundering silence rocked through his mind. He could feel the power boiling in his chest, pushing and shoving to gain control over his body. And when the elemental was in control, ghastly things happened.

  He stood, woodenly and with more frustration than he wanted to admit. Storm made his way to the only mirror remaining in the castle and stood before it. He braced his arms on the perfume table and leaned close to his reflection. “What do you want?”

  The image in the mirror shifted. His eyes turned black, and the scars faded away. He was handsome in this visage, the way he used to be before he’d taken the throne. The way he wanted to be.