King of the Frost

by Elizabeth Frost

  Ayla waved a hand, trying to get his attention. “Hello, are you listening to me?”

  He snapped his attention back to her face. “Yes.”

  “What did I say?”

  Storm heaved a long sigh. “I’m not playing this game with you. Just get on with it. You think you can get us out of here? How?”

  The glare on her face burned. “I don’t know if I should even try it. I used to do this trick when I was little, but I’ve never done it with someone else.”

  Intriguing. He had no idea what she meant, but the banshee started slamming on the ice again and they probably didn’t have that much time before she clawed her way through the wall he’d built. “All right. What is it?”

  “I used to turn myself into wind. I think I can turn you into it as well, if I concentrate enough.”

  He felt his jaw drop open before he stammered, “You what?”

  No air faerie alive could do that. Even he could only warp the surrounding air, but not be the element.

  Who was this woman?

  12

  She didn’t enjoy using her magic, and the last time she’d tried this, she had gotten stuck as a warm breeze for a full day. Ayla wasn’t good at using her powers, not like the other faeries she’d met.

  But how else were they going to get out of this room? She could see the Banshee sliding against the ice. The creature slammed her fists against the cold barrier, her shrieks growing more desperate as she realized her prey were convening on how to escape.

  The ice wouldn’t hold forever. Ice melted.

  They couldn’t break through the glass of the palace. Something deep in her soul said if they tried, then the entire palace would fall. It was a sturdy structure and few things could shatter the castle. Two powerful faeries could probably manage.

  So there was only one thing left for her to offer. A trick she’d never heard another faerie claim they could do. Become the element their court was named after. Slip through the air and out through a crack. Then they’d be safe.

  He stared at her as though she’d grown horns. “How is that even possible?”

  Ayla shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve always been able to do it.”

  Something in his gaze made her feel uncomfortable. He knew she was the princess. He’d seen her family statues, and he had known her parents. Was so strange that she was powerful?

  Perhaps her parents had been king and queen because of their deeds, not because of what they could do.

  She couldn’t fall into that hole of wanting to know their history. It didn’t matter if her parents were talented spell casters. Right now, she needed to focus on getting them out of the room.

  Storm stepped closer and took a deep breath. “If you can’t turn us back...”

  “I can.” She lied. “I’m certain of it.”

  She wouldn’t blame him if he said no. Maybe he’d rather destroy the entire palace than trust a strange woman he’d just met, one who could take the throne from him if she wanted. The entire court seemed to wish her to rule them rather than this Mad King.

  He hesitantly nodded. “Then do whatever you must.”

  Ayla reached for his hand. He flinched away from her touch, almost as though he thought a touch would burn. But that wasn’t it at all, was it?

  Once, a long time ago, she’d met a woman who suffered from horrible PTSD. She’d wanted no one to touch her, not because she had been abused, but because she had killed. The woman saw blood on her hands at all times of the day and if she touched someone, then she spread the blood to them as well.

  Was this what he suffered from? Did guilt run through his veins with so much power it made him untouchable?

  “I will have to hold your hand,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, I can’t do it without touching you.”

  His chest expanded with a deep inhale he didn’t release. But he reached his hand out for her to take and nodded.

  Ayla resolved to make this quick. If he didn’t want to be touched, then she needed to respect that. Even though just hours ago he’d been the one pinning her to the wall and stroking her hair.

  The man made little sense, but those who suffered rarely did. Their histories could haunt them for the rest of their lives and they didn’t have to justify it. Emotions were fickle things.

  She took his hand in hers. The palm was rough and abraded, his fingertips long and delicate. Like a pianist’s hand.

  Sparks sizzled where they touched, traveling up her arm straight to her chest. Her heart thudded, once, twice, three times, then launched into a rapid beat that made it difficult for her to even breathe.

  Every part of her body was on fire. Their tangled fingers were the culprit, but she couldn’t let him go. She needed to get them out of this room and then she could discover why the mere touch of his hand in hers made her entire body come to life.

  Focus, she told herself. You don’t have much time.

  And yet, she had the distinct feeling that her body had been lying dormant for all these years. She hadn’t realized her flesh was asleep until it suddenly awoke all at once from the touch of a man filled to the brim with madness.

  He stared back at her with wide eyes, and Ayla wondered if he felt the same.

  “Keep ahold of me,” she said. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  A blush stained the high peaks of his cheekbones. “Don’t worry. I won’t let go.”

  Ayla reached deep to the bottom of her soul where a storm always brewed. The power inside her wanted nothing more than to be released upon the world so it could finally spread its wings. At the merest touch of her mind, it flooded forward, begging to do whatever she desired. Use the magic. Let it spread into the world where it could change the very fabric of time.

  “Think of the wind.” She closed her eyes and settled her soul with a deep inhalation. “Feel it brushing through your hair and wrapping around your fingertips. Let it float through your body, mind, and spirit. Hear the howl of its power.”

  Her mind floated. A powerful wind pushed underneath her arms, lifting them until they had no real substance to them at all. Ayla could feel the breath in her lungs expand, but then become something more than just a breath. She was the air in her lungs. She was the many pieces of her soul all wrapped into one singular gust.

  Ayla opened her eyes and saw him hovering before her. Not Storm. Not the physical body she knew so well.

  As air, he was a tempest whirling in the middle of the room. He was a storm all wrapped into a singular space, lightning crackling at his fingertips and storm clouds in his hair. The power inside him was horrific and wondrous all at the same time.

  Even though she was now a being made of wind, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath at the sight of him.

  The banshee slammed against the ice with another angry scream. Even as air, Ayla could feel the burn of the creature’s powerful magic. They needed escape, and it didn’t matter that Storm was the most incredible being she’d ever seen, both physically and in this form.

  They needed to go.

  Ayla floated toward him, unable to use her voice, only her body to guide him in the direction she wanted to go. She wrapped the gale of her winds around him, feeling his lightning sneak inside the relatively quiet warmth of her wind. The sparks grew stronger, then faded as she calmed his storm.

  Only then did she push his chilly air toward the ceiling. He drew her up with him, pushed by the heat of her magic. Together, they found a crack in the ceiling and eased their forms up to the next level of the glass palace.

  This room was storage, like so many other rooms she’d seen. Instead of silverware or furniture, it was packed wall to wall with pots and pans. Not the place where she wanted to turn back into a more physical form. They’d knock over a few of these metal pieces and the banshee would know where they were.

  Storm didn’t appear concerned. He gathered himself in one corner and was clearly waiting for her to do whatever it was she had to.

  Ayla didn’t know what to do, however,
and that was the problem. She just thought of air and feeling weightless and suddenly, she was. She had felt his thoughts and knew he was projecting the same image. It made changing their flesh to wind a little easier.

  All she could hope now was that he was thinking of a physical form and not something silly. Like a pot behind her.

  She relaxed her mind and let her thoughts float along with her body. Passing along the floor, she approached him until their winds tangled.

  What was it about this man that made her entire body sing? How strange it was to know there was a storm inside him, one that rattled with lightning and thunder, but as soon as she touched him, it calmed.

  Breathe, she told herself. Inhale through lungs, no longer just a breeze.

  And suddenly, she was herself again. Or some version of herself.

  Ayla stretched her fingers and lifted her hands to stare at them. All her fingers were where they should be, even the nails were as she’d left them. Strangely enough, she didn’t feel like she had the first time she’d tried this trick.

  Ayla remembered the fear that had shaken her to the very core. She’d been so concerned with what was wrong with her. No human could do the things she did.

  But here? She didn’t worry about that at all. She didn’t care that Storm had seen her perform powerful magic no other faerie could do. All she cared about was that he was in the same number of pieces as he was when she’d changed him.

  She looked up. Storm stretched his arms over his head and the crack of his spine echoed through the room. The lean muscles of his body were in full view as he shifted like that.

  Her stomach twisted with desire. She’d never looked at a human man and felt a blush spread over her entire body. It hadn’t mattered if they were muscular or fit. None of them appealed to her.

  Her brother had always wondered if she preferred women. Ayla tried to explain how women didn’t tempt her either, she’d just felt no sexual attraction to anyone at all in her life. For a while, she’d thought she was broken. Then, she’d merely accepted this was who she was.

  So feeling something other than enjoyment of his aesthetics was overwhelming. Her cheeks heated. Her heart beat in her chest and her palms grew slick with sweat.

  What did she do with this kind of emotion? Ayla’s gaze darted to the side. Maybe if she didn’t look at him, it would go away. But her eyes went right back to him. His body, his shape, the power she’d touched, it was all a feast for her senses and she was realizing such things were a little too much for her.

  Panic rose in her chest. She didn’t know how to feel sexual desire like this! Why did he have to be the one to awaken all those emotions?

  Storm met her gaze. His own eyes widened, and he took a large step back. “I-I think I should go.”

  “What?” She didn’t want him to go. She wanted to talk to him, to understand who he was and why they both felt this strange, overwhelming connection between them.

  Hell, she wanted to know if he felt the desire between them. What if he didn’t feel the zing of electricity every time he touched her?

  Ayla’s heart sank her chest and her stomach turned over. What if she put her thoughts out there and he didn’t even think of her like that?

  This was why she’d never been interested in someone before. It didn’t matter that he was the Mad King, or that he was her rival to a throne she didn’t want. She didn’t even care he was a surly, strange man who had mood swings that gave her whiplash.

  She wanted him. Every fiber of her body wanted him so much it made her ache. But it wasn’t up to her. She couldn’t force him to like her or to be interested in her at all.

  And that made this situation even more difficult to bear.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “When will I see you again?”

  “I-” He swallowed hard, turned around, and started toward the door.

  “Storm?”

  He almost didn’t respond. She could see his plan was to leave without saying a word. His shoulders were slumped forward, his head ducked low, and his hand on the doorknob without even thinking she might want to talk after almost being killed in his palace.

  But he stopped. At the last second, he paused with his hand on the door knob. “I don’t like being touched,” he breathed.

  “I apologized for that. I don’t know of any other way to change us. Perhaps if I practice more, I might learn a new way, but I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

  He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “It’s not that. I understand you had no other choice, princess. It’s just... I should never have touched you.”

  “Why?” Ayla blinked, trying to understand what he was telling her. What did it matter if he touched her? Why had he called her princess?

  “I wish I could tell you. I really do. But it’s not something for your ears. You should go home.” With that said, he opened the door, slipped out into the hallway beyond, and disappeared.

  He should never have touched her? He had every right to touch her if he wanted to, clearly Ayla didn’t mind his touch. She’d even moved to touch him herself. So why would he say that?

  “Storm?” she asked again, but her words fell in silence. Cold, icy silence.

  13

  One week. He’d hidden from her for an entire week like some kind of fool scared of his own shadow. Slumped over his desk, working incessantly on perfume no one would ever wear, just because he was avoiding her.

  Why oh why did Storm feel like this was the only way for him to live? Hidden away? He’d been around her before. She’d been in the castle for a few days before the banshee had attacked.

  But now he’d touched her.

  He could still feel his hands on her waist, so tiny and tucked in that he wondered how her ribs didn’t break with every breath. Their fingers had tangled together, hers soft and smooth like velvet. Her hair between his fingers, sliding like silk sheets against his skin.

  How was he supposed to sleep with memories like that running through his head? He had laid in bed for hours every single night, staring into the darkness, remembering every bit of their time together.

  A week. He’d waited a whole week hoping she would just disappear like she was supposed to. He’d told her to go home. She clearly wanted to leave him. Why wouldn’t she just go?

  Ayla had remained where she was. She’d stayed in the room he’d given her and continued to explore the palace every single day. Her footsteps haunted his work in the perfumery every time the wind brought him news of what she was doing.

  He didn’t want to know where she was. And yet, he very much did. He asked the wind every single morning to tell him what she was up to. What rooms she’d visited. What she thought of them.

  The palace had been in a state of disarray for far too long. Perhaps he should clean some rooms. Clear them of the foolish trinkets the previous royals had thought were important and give her a few spaces to do what she wanted. He didn’t care if she wanted to paint or sculpt or sing. Whatever she desired, he was bound and determined to give her it.

  The air elemental snorted in his mind. “You sound like a lovesick child.”

  He didn’t love her. He couldn’t love her. That wasn’t possible in just a few days. He was fascinated by her, yes. But interested in any way other than curious about the lost princess?

  No. He wasn’t that big of a fool.

  A breeze passed through his door and tangled around his shoulders. It carried the sounds of her morning thus far. The clanking of plates as she made something in the kitchens for herself to eat. The song of her humming as she strode through the halls to find something to entertain herself with. Then he heard the quiet sigh of frustration and boredom.

  Bored? Here? Didn’t she know the entire palace was at her beck and call, but she had somehow explored its entirety in just a week?

  He stood from his desk, his chair scraping the glass floor. “I’m going to find her.”

  The elemental grumbled, “And kick her ou
t of the palace?”

  How quickly the elemental changed his tune now that Storm liked the woman. “No.” He had no intention of kicking her out of anywhere. When and if she wanted to leave was on her own terms, unless the madness devoured him again.

  But he’d been finding the madness easier to ignore lately. So much so, in fact, that he was almost feeling like his old self again.

  Other than the obsession to know what she was doing at all hours of the day. But that wasn’t something he wanted to think about. He’d never been the man to be obsessed with anything. He had more self control than that.

  She did deserve her space, however. He should continue to cast himself into the darkness of his perfumery just to give her more time to think. That was precisely why he was walking down the hall in the direction the wind had come from. He could leave her alone and she wouldn’t need to deal with his madness at all. He wouldn’t touch her or put her in any kind of danger.

  Here he was thinking faeries couldn’t lie. But apparently that rule was related to the sounds coming from his tongue, and not the thoughts in his head.

  If he wasn’t interested in her, then he would never have let himself walk down these halls. He wouldn’t draw upon the power in his chest and wrap it around himself. He wouldn’t have gone invisible and allowed the air to hide him from any prying eyes watching his movements.

  In particular, a princess who shouldn’t even be here.

  She’d never said why she’d come to the palace. Only that she had something to tell him. And that had proven to be a lie.

  How did she lie?

  Why had she come?

  Was she as interested in him as he was in her?

  No, that last one wasn’t a fair question to ask her. She’d tell him if she wanted to. And she wouldn’t want to. No one wanted the Mad King of the Air Court, the one who had destroyed everything they loved and respected.

  “Where is she?” he asked the breeze.