She would always be able to empathize with that loneliness. As his tone grew colder, his fingers trailed along the surface of the door like he was reluctant to keep moving. Yet for some reason, he was stuck here year after year. At first the respite might be welcome, but after a while the loneliness would drive anyone insane.
“I don’t need to set off at once,” she offered with a shrug.
He glanced up, those golden eyes sparking with renewed hope. The distance dissolved with the change in her response. After feeling like a burden at home and with the few friends she had, his clear appreciation for her company warmed her heart.
Moro stepped away from the chilly iron door. “Well then, if I’m to have you as a guest still, I suppose I should provide entertainment. Come, follow me.” He took off at a quick pace again, flitting forth with the capriciousness of a butterfly.
Jarred by the sudden movement, she kicked off and bolted after him, the slap of her bare feet echoing to the vaulted ceilings. Though she made a clatter, to her surprise, his steps remained silent even with the heavy boots he wore—truly, the man controlled every movement. Sunlight cast patterns along the crystalline floors as they ran, the shapes flickering across her skin as she passed by window after window. The sun soaked into her skin, making her pale hair sparkle like spun gold, but Moro’s dark locks and pale complexion remained untouched, like she expected from the ice prince.
They turned another corner, and he came to an abrupt halt. Massive navy doors lined with silver trim greeted them. Truth be told, if she was asked on the spot where they were in the castle, she wouldn’t have an inkling. Moro bowed with a flourish from where he stood in front of the door.
“My lady, a dance?” His gaze twinkled again with mischief that made him seem less human and more like some fae creature plucked out of a fairytale.
“If you don’t mind that I’m a terrible partner,” she responded, nervous at the prospect of a waltz or any sort of formal dance. She didn’t even show up at school dances, let alone know the steps he was sure to be well trained in, if his careful grace gave any hint.
“Never fear,” he responded, striding to the front of the doors. “I’ve been told I’m an excellent teacher.” He grabbed both handles and flung them open with enough force to make the doors swing back with ease.
Lyra thought she’d seen true splendor in the throne room, but the ballroom made it seem spartan and primitive in comparison. A grandiose maroon staircase swept along the far corner, leading to a second floor with a balcony cutout that overlooked the checkerboard blue and white floor, marbled veins of silver weaving through the tiles. Large windows spanned taller than she stood, and the cut glass displayed intricate patterns with snowflake complexity. Crystal mosaics in shades of blue and white coated the walls to form snowy landscapes mirroring the view outside.
However, despite the detailed elegance spanning this room, what stood out the most were the dozens of ice statues stationed throughout the tiled floor like a ball in full swing. Pairs stood positioned on the floor as if they’d been dancing, and some had been arranged around tall tables on the far side of the room to help set the scene of an elegant affair at the height of the night. Though this place wasn’t cold, a chill prickled through her at being surrounded by all these inanimate statues, as if any second they’d come to life.
“Come, I’ll show you the steps.” Moro extended a hand and led her to the floor.
She followed, and they wove around the ice statues with the care of maneuvering past real people. This close, she could note the slopes of their noses and the curves of their wrinkles, the sculptures so realistic they belonged in a museum. An odd detail jumped out at her.
“Waltzing is easy,” Moro interrupted her thoughts, drawing her to the front and center. “You’ll learn in no time.” He placed his other arm around her waist and began leading her in the steps of a dance.
She stumbled at first, but he didn’t falter in the slightest. After the first few repeats of the one-two-three of a waltz, she followed the patterns, and his controlled grace compensated for her hesitation.
“You sure you want to waste your time teaching me this fancy dance?” she asked while continuing to repeat the movements. “These moves won’t get me very far in the trailer park.”
He arched his brow. “Who says it’s a waste? You’re adept and move with more finesse than you credit yourself with. This is a thousand times better than the hundreds of times I’ve wandered this ballroom by my lonesome. A waltz is rather ineffective without a partner.”
As they spun closer to the side of the room, Moro flicked his wrist out. A grand piano sat in the corner there, the ivory keys coated in dust and the black frame glossed under the sparkling light. Moro continued to guide her in the three-step waltz without a pause.
“Step, pivot, step, pivot, step,” Moro rattled off the instructions again. A moment later, a tremulous melody trickled through the cavernous room, the song growing with the intensity of the chords. They whirled even closer to the piano, which played by itself.
Those keys were moving without any guidance.
Goosebumps prickled down her arms, but Moro guided her along at such a demanding pace she couldn’t focus on much beyond placing one foot in front of the other with each pivot and turn. In fact, she couldn’t focus on anything beyond the way the music threaded through her veins, commanding her attention while her feet followed the rhythm. She lost herself in the fervor and the frenzy of this elegant dance, and Moro remained an expert guide without a single misstep.
She’d never spun circles on a ballroom floor like this, and even though she’d started out hesitant, soon his confidence bolstered her own until she didn’t need to think about the next move.
“Step, pivot, step, pivot, step.” His words rang out, and she responded on instinct at this point.
All the while, the piano played on without a musician sitting and guiding those keys. The music cast a spell over her until the glittering walls and the glow of the soft overhead chandeliers all whirled together while he guided her around the ice sculptures with expert precision. He beamed, an unguarded expression, as they danced.
Lyra spun and spun and spun until time no longer mattered. Her heart soared with the steps, the bliss of the whirling motion filling her up like sunshine. For once, she wasn’t the isolated poor girl. Lyra had stepped into a fairytale. The crescendo of the music sent her reeling faster. Forget exhaustion—in this ballroom, with the magnificence surrounding her and the endless melody the piano played, she could dance forever. However, when Moro slowed and his gaze slipped to the window, hers followed. The first tendrils of sunset covered the sky in a magenta and amber glow, while the shadows lengthened throughout the room.
A chill deeper than all this ice threaded through her. Had they danced the entire day away?
She didn’t think she could dance for an hour, let alone a full day, yet she couldn’t deny the sun’s descent in the sky before her. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I meant to leave here far earlier.”
He placed an arm around her shoulders and guided her in the direction of those massive double doors. His thin, arched brows drew together in concern. “It’s too dangerous to travel through all the snow and ice in the dark. You’re welcome to spend another night here. I apologize—I ran you ragged with all that dancing, and you must be famished.”
She hadn’t been. Since she’d woken up and spent the day spinning around like a top in this ballroom, she hadn’t felt any hunger, tiredness, or normal human needs. Until now. Her stomach grumbled in response, and the gnawing hunger descended as if it had always been there. When they walked out, shadows shrouded the ice statues, and the soft glow of the overhead chandeliers enhanced the details. The light made their features sharper and too realistic, making her want to leave the room posthaste. However, the details that had eluded her before snagged her attention now.
The decorations, the furnishings, the tiles, and chandeliers all gave her a sense of European Ol
d World style, but these statues didn’t fit. Certain ones wore old-timey trousers and suspenders, while some dressed in flowing gowns. Yet others had hoodies on, the pull-strings detailed in the ice, and even more wore beat-up Keds and threadbare jeans. She’d expected ballroom gowns and tuxedos from any ice sculptures she’d find in this room, but this—this sort of oddity she couldn’t explain away with magic. The unease percolating in the recesses of her mind slammed into her.
As they exited the room, she turned to him. “You don’t have to get anything for me to eat,” she said, each step farther away from the ballroom filled with more hesitation. “I can just head to bed now and leave in the morning. All that dancing wiped me out.”
“No, no, I insist. I’d feel like a churl to run you ragged like that and not make sure you’re fed.” He tightened his grip around her shoulders, and she couldn’t help the shiver running down her spine.
Moro led her through the corridor in the direction of the same cozy hearth room they’d dined in the day before. Even from where they approached, she noticed the welcoming glow of the fire flickering out from the room.
Based on the decisiveness in his tone, any arguments would fall on deaf ears, so she lapsed into silence. She’d been so caught up in the thrill of escaping her reality she’d failed to analyze her surroundings, a skill she’d acquired from years of living in a trailer park with dangerous jerks. Lyra searched past the splendor to the details. After all, the corners were where the cobwebs lay.
As the setting sun cast the walls in shifting magenta hues, the fading light also reflected off the dozens of mirrors. In the ballroom there hadn’t been many; however, along the hallways she could barely walk three steps without passing one. The dizzying number as they made their way down the corridor caused her to lose count after the first two turns, all different shapes and sizes as if more and more had been placed over time rather than installed when this place was first decorated.
“I’ll go rummage up something to eat,” he said with a wink and gestured inside. “Why don’t you take a seat?” She opened her mouth to respond, but her ever-gracious host disappeared down the hall. Lyra wandered to the same chair as before, sinking into the plush fabric.
As she sat there with the hearth fire coating her skin in glowing warmth, her insides plummeted to subterranean temperatures. Yesterday she’d sat here gripped with curiosity over this place, the thrill of mystery pushing her to gloss over questions she should have insisted were answered. She couldn’t explain her unease, but cracks had begun infiltrating the once perfect portrait.
Moro had been nothing but charming. He was considerate, a wonderful host, and she didn’t have any neon-lit reasons for her uncertainty. Perhaps he wasn’t even the source of her discomfort—after all, she’d gotten disoriented by the suddenness of the day’s descent and how the land operated on different rules of time. A human like her didn’t fit in a magical castle like this, and while one day of indulging in fantasy offered the escape she needed, now the differences grew sharper and clearer. The thought of becoming a Rip Van Winkle terrified her, of setting foot in her home to find out fifty years had passed her by. The lack of knowledge about this realm and its rules must be what set her thoughts abuzz.
The creak of the door drew her attention. Moro approached with two prepared dinners again, and this time, the plates consisted of roasted rosemary potatoes, steaming broccoli florets, and haunches of lemon chicken with browned, crisp skin. The scents of the herbs, the spices, and the roasted meat all increased her hunger, causing her stomach to war with her mind.
“How will I ever repay your graciousness?” Lyra said, offering a half-smile as she accepted the loaded plate and rested it on her lap. She speared a piece of the chicken with a fork and chewed on a bite.
Moro settled into the seat by hers, leaning into it with the casualness of comfort. “Having someone to spend time with in this castle is repayment enough.” He passed a grin her way and slid the tines into one of the florets, lifting it to his mouth. Even the way he ate held refinement, each piece of potato eaten singularly and each segment of chicken sliced to the centimeter.
As she swallowed the food, the same saccharine taste as the night before clung to her tongue. Something about the sweetness didn’t sit right with her. As a courtesy she tried swallowing a few potato wedges, but those had more of the same taste threaded through them. Her stomach begged for more, but with each bite she took, the food tasted like ash on her tongue.
Even though she’d barely touched half of the contents, Lyra placed her plate on the ground. Her stomach cramped in protest, but she couldn’t help the swill of nausea that followed with so many unanswered questions percolating in her mind. Moro’s sharp gaze followed her motion—she’d caught his interest.
“Is the food not to your liking?” he asked, those pale gold eyes fixing on her. “I could find something else for you.” The insistence in his voice could be politeness, but in this foreign place with this not-quite-human, she wasn’t sure of anything.
Lyra shook her head. “The food was exquisite, so don’t trouble yourself. I’m so exhausted from dancing I couldn’t eat another bite.” She clenched her abdomen tight, trying to keep her stomach from grumbling and making a liar of her.
His gaze lingered for a moment, and he shifted in his seat, causing the long shadows before him to move in turn. Lyra thought for sure he’d raise an argument, but she clung to the mask she’d mastered after years of living with Melinda. Life had taught her how to lie, and well.
“Why don’t you take the plate with you? That way if you wake up hungry, you can have something to pick at?” Moro suggested, though with the way the flickering hearth spread the shadows, she couldn’t discern the look in his eyes. The sentiment itself was harmless, like everything he’d said so far. The ice prince had been an exquisite host, but Lyra couldn’t shake the pit lodged in her gut.
“Great idea.” She gave him a smile she hoped reached her eyes and plucked the plate off the floor. “Would it be rude of me to retire now? I can barely keep my eyes open.”
He nudged his empty plate with his boot, pushing it away from him. “Please, I would be a terrible host to keep you up with my nattering. Let’s get you to your room.” He didn’t hesitate, slipping from his seat with his too-quiet tread and beckoning her down the hall.
Lyra surged to keep up, trying to ignore the enticing smell of the food on the plate while keeping her stomach from grumbling. It took all of her self-discipline not to cave and shove a couple more bites into her mouth.
As they walked down the hall together, she clutched the plate tight, more aware than ever of the way he towered over her.
“Goodnight, my friend,” Moro said with a sincere smile as he gestured to the open door of what had become her room. Guilt throbbed in her chest at the expression. Once she entered, he brought the door closed behind him as he left.
The moment the door clicked shut, she stood still, straining to hear those soft footsteps as Moro made his way down the hall. Once she no longer heard the subtle tread, she brought the food over to the window and opened the latch. While she wasn’t quite sure what floor she was on, the ground lay stories too distant to jump. Arctic breezes kissed her face, but she tilted the plate and watched the pieces of chicken and potatoes get carried off by the wind, falling until they plunked into the drifts of snow far below.
Lyra let out a sigh and sank into the bed. Weariness settled over her bones, but not with the ferocious way it had claimed her yesterday, maybe because today she hadn’t been out battling the elements. Her host couldn’t be drugging the food. She was letting her imagination get the best of her. Moro had said it the first night—if he wanted her dead, he would’ve just left her out in the snowstorm.
However, she hadn’t survived this long by ignoring her instincts—after all, the trailer park wasn’t the safest place between the drug deals that went down, the junkies who liked to shoot up there, and the nasty kids who threw rocks for the hell of it. The l
ast time she’d gotten that sinking in her gut, she’d caught the glint of a pistol at a deal and heard of a body being found the next day. After the first beat-downs she’d received from some of the assholes in her neighborhood, she’d wised up.
Tonight she wanted to poke around while Moro slept—if he slept. Her skin crawled. Lyra would never know unless she tried exploring the place on her own, and she refused to pull the covers over her head and ignore the oddities that kept cropping up. However, her fingers curled into the sheets as she tried to remain awake. Her eyes flickered shut, and a sigh escaped her lips as heaviness settled over her skin. The off-note from the food lingered on her tongue.
A yawn ripped from her throat unbidden, even as she struggled to keep her eyes open, shifting herself up on the pillow a little further. When her eyes flickered shut again, this time, they grew so heavy she could barely force them open. She sucked in a sharp breath, trying to invigorate herself, but she sagged against the frame. Another yawn escaped her, and she began to lose the battle until her eyes closed again, this time glued shut.
Lyra awoke to inky, blue-black shadows, and the coolness in the air took on a midnight quality. She sat up from the bed, wiping the sleep from her eyes. Moonlight cast the room in lavender hues, making the icy surfaces glitter in a distant, different way than the flash from the sun. She straightened when her feet hit the floor, and she soaked in the subterranean quality of this place at night.
Her stomach tightened. Even though she needed to head past this room to explore, fear gripped her in the process. Who knew what lay in the spilled shadows out there? She rested her hand on the cool knob, but minutes passed before she worked up the nerve to twist it open.
Soft, cool breezes swept through the hallway, and as she stepped into the pitch depths, the walls shifted with deep blackish-blues, like she’d plunged into a pool. Her bare feet imprinted into the floor, which had cooled in the night hours. Shadows curved along every corner and devoured the mirrors struggling to reflect the threadbare moonlight. Each step forward remained silent, but even her breaths sounded too loud amidst the oppressive silence. Her muscles tensed as another wintry breeze swept through the place. Ahead, the corridor to the right came into view. The intensity of the darker, colder section filled her with such a sense of foreboding she couldn’t bring herself to investigate.
A Reflection of Ice Page 4