King of the Frost

by Elizabeth Frost

  It coiled around his shoulders like a cat and he could almost hear the smile in its response. “The kitchens again.”

  Storm made his way across the palace to the kitchens where he stood in the corner and watched her work. She had no idea he was there. And maybe he should feel bad about lurking where she couldn’t see him. But he wasn’t ready to talk to her. Not yet.

  He also wasn’t ready to not see her, either.

  Ayla buzzed around the kitchen like she’d grown up in one. She knew every tool, even whirled a knife in the air with an embellish swirl before setting about cutting vegetables. A green pepper, perhaps? He didn’t know much about fruit or vegetables.

  Storm always had someone to do these menial tasks for him. Yet, this princess seemed to know far more about it than he did. For some reason, the knowledge stuck in his throat like guilt.

  She sang as she worked, a song he’d never heard before but quite liked. Perhaps he would have liked anything she sang, though. Her voice was surprisingly lovely.

  His eyes widened in horror as she walked toward him. Could she see him? Was that endless well of power within her also capable to see through glamour? What would he say? He didn’t know what words could explain away why he’d been lurking in the corner without saying a word.

  Except, she reached by his shoulder, not quite touching him, and plucked a pan off the wall. Then, she turned around and headed back to the kitchen where she swept the peppers into the pan.

  Relief made his knees weak. So she couldn’t see him. At least that was a small reassurance.

  He watched her for the better part of the day. Following her from the kitchens where she cooked, to the dining hall where she ate by herself. The room was horribly empty, and every sound echoed. But she didn’t seem bothered by the ghostly room. She ate her food with gusto, then brought it back to the kitchens and washed the dishes.

  Who cleaned their own dishes? But the thought made him pause as another question appeared on its tail. Who cleaned his dishes?

  She left the kitchens then and made her way back to her room. He thought perhaps she’d take a nap as the lovely ladies of the court often did, but she didn’t. Instead, she plucked a book off her table, tucked it into the backpack she had arrived with, and started back down the hall.

  Storm followed on her tail. Where was she going? Exploring again? Surely she’d done enough of that and was growing tired of... well. He didn’t know what. She didn’t have a purpose in the palace just yet.

  She skipped when she walked. Just the slightest little hop.

  It was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. The soft thought made his chest ache, and he rubbed it even as she turned a corner.

  Really, where was she going? There was nothing but the gardens in that direction and no self respecting faerie woman would risk a sunburn. At least not in the Air Court. Faeries of the Earth Court were a little more excited by freckles and tans, but air faeries desired smooth, glass-like skin. Sunburns ruined that.

  She walked out of the palace and to the gardens. He kept pace, but was decidedly uncomfortable with this possible venture.

  She didn’t fit into any of the descriptions he knew of faerie nobility. He had a lot of experience with them, far more than most. Faerie realms, he’d spent most of his life in the arms of whatever faerie noble would have him in their bed. Storm considered himself something of an expert in faerie women.

  And yet, this woman proved him wrong with every single action.

  Ayla walked around the gardens for a few moments, touching her fingers to the petals of wildflowers that had overtaken the once manicured space. The entire garden was overrun. The flowers had spread over most of the paths. Tree branches drooped toward the ground, overladen with heavy fruits. Even the vegetable beds had too much produce because there weren’t enough people to eat.

  Once upon a time, he remembered having glorious feasts here. Not just a single woman reaching to pluck an apple from a branch and wiping it on her shirt.

  He rolled his eyes. She was ruining that shirt of hers, and it was still the same one she’d worn since first arrived. Was she at least washing it? He suspected he’d be able to smell her from here if she wasn’t.

  There were plenty of benches in the gardens. He’d even sat on a few of them himself with faerie ladies. Staring up at the stars always made them swoon. Storm almost let his glamour drop to tell her to sit at his favorite one. It had a few extra cushions and was particularly comfortable.

  But she didn’t stop at any of the benches. Instead, she continued on toward the tree at the farthest reaches of the garden. The tree whose roots hung over the edge of the floating palace and dangled in open air.

  The tree was once the symbol of the royal family. When it bloomed, the nobles were prosperous, and the kingdom was happy. When it was dormant, the court was unhappy and the air faeries were known to be displeased.

  He’d never seen the tree bloom since he became king.

  Ayla strode up to the branches and stared at them. She planted her hands on her hips while doing so and though she should have seemed fierce, all he could see was the adorable wrinkle between her brows. He knew how powerful she was, and the deep well of her magic had proven impressive. Still, he couldn’t think of her as anything other than the delicate princess who had startled him out of his hibernation.

  “Something about you doesn’t seem right,” she muttered while glaring at the tree. “But maybe we’ll fix you someday.”

  Maybe. Although, he wasn’t certain she’d manage without killing him.

  If that was her plan, then he might just let her slit his throat. Even if the elemental transferred to someone else, or to her as the creature had threatened, he had a feeling she could handle the creature.

  The elemental stirred in his mind. “She couldn’t.”

  But even the creature seemed a little uncertain.

  Ayla rolled her sleeves up and situated the backpack with a swift tug. Then, she did something he had never expected.

  She began to climb.

  Hand over hand, she pulled herself into the branches to the thickest one about halfway up the dying tree. He almost darted toward her with his arms outstretched, certain she would fall.

  Not once did she falter. Ayla made it to the center of the tree, plonked her back against the trunk, and pulled her backpack to her front. Once there, she palmed the apple and her book, then settled into place.

  A princess who climbed trees. Now he’d seen everything.

  She chomped down on the apple and chewed through a few bites before calling out, “I know you’re there!”

  Storm froze. She wasn’t talking to him, although he didn’t know who else she would be speaking to. He even turned around and waited to see if another faerie would step out of the shadows. If she had made it to the palace, perhaps others had followed her.

  No one responded to her call. Strange.

  “Storm,” she added with a laugh. “Would you stop following me around and just let me see you?”

  Lucky guess. That’s all he could assume because there was no way she could see him with the glamour he’d pulled around himself. But he let the invisibility drop and strode toward the tree with his hands behind his back. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Just a feeling.” She stared down at her book and took another bite of the apple.

  Why wouldn’t she look at him? He was standing right here, visible now. She’d been the one who called him out of the shadows so...

  He cleared his throat. “Did you want something?”

  “Hm?” Ayla glanced up from her pages. A droplet of apple juice slid from the side of her mouth to hang from her chin. “No, I don’t need anything. Thank you.”

  Well. Why had she called out his name then? He shifted awkwardly, then asked, “Why did you ask to see me then?”

  She took another bite of her apple, finishing the last bit. “Because you were lurking invisible, watching me. If you must stand there and stare, at least do it
while I can see you.”

  His cheeks burned. “Ah.”

  He couldn’t say anything to that. He had been following her, perhaps a little too obviously.

  Now he didn’t know what to say. Standing and staring at her like a dolt while she sat in a tree reading seemed rude. At least, now that she could see him.

  He turned to leave, then realized he didn’t want to. If she was reading a book, why couldn’t he stay as well? He could read. Or watch the sky. Perhaps even sneak a few glances at her to see what she was doing or if she was enjoying the book.

  Storm cleared his throat and faced the tree. “What are you reading?”

  She met his gaze with a grin. “A raunchy romance novel from the human realm. Want me to read it out loud?”

  Faerie realms, no. He did not want her to read it out loud. He’d seen one of those before when another faerie had gotten her hands on the pages. They’d all been horrified and perhaps a little too intrigued by the things humans shared.

  Tongue suddenly too thick in his mouth, he tried to speak. “Uh, no. Thank you.”

  “Suit yourself.” She tossed the apple to the base of the tree whose roots tangled around the sweet treat. And here he was thinking the tree couldn’t move.

  Frowning, he took a step closer. “That tree is sacred to our court.”

  “Your court.”

  “Our,” he corrected. “You might not accept this court as your family, but you came from here. The Air Court is in your blood.”

  She sighed and closed her book with a snap. “Why does everyone keep telling me that? I’m not one of you. I’d renounce even being a faerie if I could!”

  Even as she spoke, the tree seemed to disagree. He’d tried to deny the changes he could see with his own eyes, but there it was. The tree had accepted her as one of its own. As a true royal who should lead the Air Court.

  The branches unfurled, releasing a bit of spring back into the air. Tiny metallic silver buds appeared on each of the branches. She might think she wasn’t one of theirs, but she was. And the tree didn’t like that she would renounce them.

  He pressed her further. “This court is yours, if you want it.”

  “No, it’s yours.” She pointed at him with the book. “You took the throne. Everything that was my family’s is now yours. And I’m fine with that. You can keep it.”

  The buds on the branches unfurled all at once. The tree gave one last heave of magic until all its silver leaves were suddenly there, bursting forth and hovering on the branches. Like they had been waiting for the right moment so their full display could be seen.

  He should be angry the tree accepted her. He should be livid that he was being denied so easily and so thoroughly.

  Instead, he was just excited to see the tree in all its glory once more.

  “Ayla,” he said, his voice carrying. “Look at the tree. Tell me you aren’t the royal it wants.”

  “It’s a tree, Storm!” she shouted. “It has no opinion about who sits on the throne of air!”

  All the leaves burst into a flurry of movement. Every silver leaf opened its wings, the gossamer lengths like butterflies taking off into the air. They floated around her, flapping so fiercely her hair blew back from her face. Storm could see delicate veins on every leaf, darker than the rest of the glittery metal.

  Slowly, the entire kaleidoscope of butterfly faeries settled back onto the tree, clinging to their original branches where they remained, wings opening and closing.

  He met Ayla’s shocked gaze with his own and shrugged. “See? You’re the one they want.”

  14

  Ayla froze on the branch and tried very hard not to fall over in shock. The leaves… they weren’t leaves at all. They were tiny faeries, each one more intricate than the last.

  She could see the veins in their wings. She could see their faces and all their pleased expressions. They covered the tree. Sprawled wherever they could find a spot to lay out, legs straddling the branches and cheeks pressed against the smooth silver bark.

  Where had they come from? They certainly hadn’t been here when she’d first climbed the tree. She would have noticed a thousand faeries all staring at her.

  “Storm?” she asked. Her voice shook. “What are they?”

  “Air faeries,” he replied with a grin. “The ones you said weren’t your court.”

  Ah, so they thought just because she’d returned to the glass palace that she would be their queen. Or something. Whatever it was faeries thought these days.

  Ayla tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. “Oh no. No. That’s not going to happen. I’m so sorry. Look, I came back just to check on him and that’s it.”

  One faerie lifted its head and chirped. They were so small and delicate, they appeared made of glass. But goodness, they were all adorable.

  Storm let out a bark of laughter. “So that’s why you came? I had been wondering, your highness.”

  She glared. “Don’t call me that.”

  “What? Your rightful title?”

  “It’s Ayla. Just Ayla.” Just the thought of someone calling her “Your Highness” made her want to vomit. She didn’t want this. Any of it. None of it at all.

  Actually, this was enough. She popped her book in the sleeve of her backpack, chucked it over her shoulder, and started down the tree. “Excuse me,” she muttered every time her foot got too close to one of the glass faeries. “I’m so sorry. Excuse me. Just shift a little, thanks.”

  By the time she made it to the ground, the faeries were furious with her. Their wings created a breeze surrounding her at all times, tugging her back up the tree even though that wasn’t the way she was going.

  Storm watched her struggle with an annoying grin on his face that made her want to slap it off. Finally, she hit the ground and turned on him. “Really? You couldn’t have helped?”

  He gave her a slight shrug. “You seemed to have it handled just fine.”

  Sure, she did, but that didn’t excuse him from being a gentleman.

  In this light, she could see the scars on his face in stark relief. They glimmered in the sunlight like they were made of metal. As though someone had laid a cobweb over his face with droplets of shimmering water.

  Maybe she stared a little too intensely. He untucked his hair from behind his ear and it fell like a waterfall over one side of his face. “They certainly consider you to be their princess,” he gruffly replied.

  “They can consider me to be whatever they want. I’m not a princess, I’m just a nanny.”

  “Keep telling yourself that. Maybe you’ll believe it someday.”

  She snorted out a laugh and glanced over her shoulder. The faeries watched them with wide eyes. A few of them laid on their bellies with their feet kicking up in the air. Their grins were maybe a little too interested in the conversation unfolding before them.

  Were they listening? They were. Faeries were curious, petty things, and hearing the current king speak to the would-be queen was probably the best entertainment they’d had in years.

  She stepped closer to Storm. “Perhaps we should have this conversation inside.”

  “Why princess?” He leaned around her to see the faeries staring at them. “Are you uncomfortable with an audience?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Again, he shrugged. She was starting to hate it when he did that. Shrugging didn’t give her any answers other than making her want to hit him.

  “Really?” she said. “You don’t care if they listen to us?”

  “Not at all. Part of being a royal is knowing our people deserve to know everything.”

  Oh, he’d just opened a can of worms and he had no idea. She was tired of this dance between the two of them, and if he wanted to let the faeries listen, then so be it.

  Ayla crossed her arms over her chest and looked him up and down. “Fine then. You don’t want me to touch you, or anyone I suspect. Why’s that?”

  He flinched. “You really go for the jugular, don�
��t you?”

  “I’m a nanny, like I said. I don’t have time to put up with childish games. Go ahead, King of Air. Tell me everything.”

  He ducked his head and stared at her with those soulful, dark eyes. “King of the Frost is my title, princess.”

  She blinked. “I thought all the rulers were kings of air?”

  “No.” Storm lifted a hand between them and opened his fingers wide. Snowflakes danced on the tips of his fingers, whirling in a tiny tempest he’d somehow captured in the palm of his hand. “Every air faerie has a talent. A flavor of magic, if you will. Mine is cold.”

  So that was she’d had to force him to the ceiling when they were air. Her magic was all heat and warmth, and hot air rises. Cold air sank.

  Ayla blew out a breath. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  The snowflakes burst into motion until they were so numerous he almost held a snowball instead of flakes. “You’ve no doubt heard what they call me? The Mad King?”

  She nodded. What else could she do? Lie? He knew the faeries called him by the name, and it wasn’t a pleasant one at all.

  “They tell the truth. I am mad, and that madness is a poison in my veins. When I touch any faerie, it spreads to them.”

  “That makes little sense,” she argued. “You can’t make someone crazy just by touching them.”

  “I can.” He closed his fist and all the snowflakes disappeared. “And I do. What we met in the nursery was once a banshee who worked in the palace. I accidently touched her and created the monster who attacked you.”

  Well, that didn’t seem right. She couldn’t imagine this man, of all people, harming someone. She narrowed her gaze and stared at his hands. They might be calloused, but she didn’t think those pretty hands were those of a killer. He seemed more like a scholar than a warlord. But maybe she was wrong.

  “Do you want to hurt them?” she asked.

  His sharp inhalation was enough of an answer, but he was quick to respond, “No. I never wanted this to happen when I took the throne.”

  “Have you tried to get rid of it? Or cure it?”

  “It’s part of the elemental who comes with the throne.” He spread his arms wide. “Your mother I’m sure had her own battles with the creature who lives in this body with me, but it’s made me poisonous to all I touch.”