A Winter Grim and Lonely

by NIcki Chapelway

  Stephan swallowed as if what he wanted to say next pained him. “Dahlia is not coming back and… it breaks my heart to think of Elisabeth growing up motherless.”

  Ismena blinked to cover up the hurt. So what if she was second choice? When she was second choice to a dead woman, her place was secure.

  Stephan raised his eyes, pinning her under their beautiful gaze. They softened. “But it would not be fair to you...”

  Ismena held up her hand. “Just tell me what it is, and I will decide what is fair or not.”

  He heaved a breath. “You say that you love me and I do not want to take advantage of that. I will admit that a union between the two of us could be mutually beneficial. I need a queen, an ally, and a mother for Elisabeth. But you-”

  “All I want is you,” she said stepping toward him.

  Stephan grimaced. “I am not whole,” he said, grasping her hand and holding it up between them. “And I don’t know if I ever will be again.”

  “I don’t care,” Ismena whispered breathlessly.

  “It would not be the same. Not as it would have been if...” he trailed off and looked away.

  Ismena shook her head, reached up and placing a finger against his cheek to turn him toward her. “I don’t care.”

  “Dahlia will always hold a place in my heart.”

  Ismena’s own heart fell, straining against the scars where it had been torn before.

  “But I have always had a certain fondness for you,” he hurried to add. “And I am certain that given time I can be the husband that you deserve.”

  “That’s all I need,” Ismena said with a smile and in that moment, those words were all that she needed to continue in her existence.

  Stephan returned it and perhaps it was her hopeful wishing, but it did not seem forced. Perhaps already, he was seeing how she could replace Dahlia in every way.

  “Will you be my queen then? My ally in this war? And the mother to my daughter?” he asked, pressing his lips to the back of her hand once.

  This was it, the very moment that she had fought for. Joy coursed through her veins, followed closely by a distinct sadness when she thought of everything that she had to do to get here. But she shoved those thoughts aside. This was her victory. And she would not let anything, not even guilt, stand in her way.

  “Yes.”

  Chapter

  Ten

  Looking out her window, she could see the armies of Havenkeep mustering. The courtyard below her was riddled with chaos as provisions were gathered and the men hurried to and fro preparing for the long march to Mooraven.

  She wondered how many of these excitable, overzealous young men would return home.

  War. He heart clenched around the word. She had done this, she had set this into motion, every piece was in their place and she no longer wanted to play the game.

  She had already won and yet she wondered for how long Morren and Stephan would fight, each thinking that victory had not already been claimed.

  She wished there was some way to stop Stephan from leaving her, but he believed that Mooraven had attacked his castle, that it was responsible for the death of his beloved Dahlia. And she feared that the only way she could turn his wrath from Morren was to admit to what she had done and be forced to bear the brunt of it herself.

  And that was something she could never do.

  She did not even know if she would be able to avoid war. Surely Morren hated her now for what she had done. She should not even care, she had what she wanted, but Morren had understood her pain. He had been her ally.

  And even though he was a dark lord, it had been she who had betrayed him, not the other way around. What did that say about her?

  She shook her head, knocking those thoughts away. Now was not the time to question her actions. There would never be a time for her to question her actions again. What she had done, she had done. Now it was time for her to live the life she had built for herself.

  She smiled faintly as she turned from the window to inspect her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing her loveliest gown she had packed, a pale gold one. It would have to do for her wedding. She didn’t know what had ever become of her first wedding gown. Roskva had made certain that Ismena never saw it again after the seamstress arrived for that final fitting shortly after Stephan’s letter was delivered.

  At the thoughts of her sister Ismena’s smile widened. Roskva had been so concerned for her, had tried her best to shelter her. Had told her to forget Stephan.

  Roskva had only wanted what was best for Ismena, but she had not understood the bond between the two of them. How it was impossible for Ismena to ever forget Stephan. Or to live a life he was not part of.

  She stepped to the small writing desk sitting near the foot of her bed and picked up her quill. Stephan was taking care of the last minute preparations that were to be made for their marriage. She had some time to pen Roskva a letter, sharing the good news.

  She could almost imagine her sister’s face when she read the letter. How happy she would be now that she no longer had to worry about Ismena’s happiness.

  My Dearest Roskva,

  How are you? Are the children in good health and what of Arnold? I cannot wait to hear all the news of Alain you have to share.

  I’m afraid that my visit to Havenkeep shall be longer than was previously expected. You shall have to handle the matters of state in my absence. I hope that you do not mind. This very afternoon, Stephan and I are to be wedded. Can you believe such a thing? After all these months, we shall finally have our wedding. Queen Dahlia died last night in childbirth, giving life to Havenkeep’s heir. Her name is Elisabeth and she is the most beautiful child I have ever seen. I am so honored to soon be her stepmother.

  Oh, so much has happened. It does not seem adequate to tell you in letter, but I must prepare you someway. Havenkeep has declared war against Mooraven, due to a horrible attack that was carried through last night, the very night that the queen died. As the future queen of Havenkeep, Alain shall join in this war. As acting regent of Alain, I am relying on you to prepare our people and army to fight.

  I do not expect the war to last long, and I hope that no matter the contents of this letter, that you will be happy for me.

  Your adoring sister,

  Ismena

  She nodded and rose. There, now that was done. Her heart brimmed to tell her sister the whole story, to confess every rotten deed as if that would somehow absolve her. But she knew that even Roskva could not know everything that she had done. So she lied, even if she highly doubted that Roskva would buy those lies. Her sister new her too well and had been acting as regent in Alain for the months that Ismena was in Mooraven helping to create the army of wights.

  But even if Roskva would be able to figure out, it was still something that could never be allowed to be said out loud.

  A loud firm knock sounded on the door and Ismena hurried to open it to find Stephan standing on the other side. He looked her over with a solemn expression, his eyes still lined with red. He had not bothered to change, but she supposed that he hadn’t had time.

  After sweeping over her golden gown, Stephan’s eyes rose to her face. He inhaled a ragged breath and held out the crook of his arm. “Are you ready?”

  She smiled and slipped her arm into his, squeezing it slightly as if that act could somehow imbue him with the strength she felt flooding her veins. “Of course.”

  She had been ready for the past eleven months.

  Stephan led her down to the small chapel that was connected to the castle. When Stephan married Dahlia, they were wed in the magnificent stone temple that lay in the center of Crestrock. It was the only building that rivaled the palace’s in beauty and size.

  But they hadn’t the time for such preparations.

  Stephan’s wedding with Dahlia may have been too hasty for her to be able to make the journey, but she was certain that many important arrangements were made and that all the nobility of Havenkeep were in attendance.<
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  The only people attending their wedding were Phobius, the High Chancellor, and Lord Arnette, a man that Ismena recognized from Stephan’s correspondence to her as one of his closest friends as well as his chief adviser. She wondered what he had advised the king when it went to wedding Dahlia. Other than them, there was only the priest, standing in his white robes, embroidered with the symbol of the Tree of Life that the people of Havenkeep find so important. Even though that belief of their origin was largely held by Alain as well, the Tree of Life was not so revered in her land. Instead the focal of her people’s attention was on the unnamed Creator of the Tree of the Tree of Life as well as every creature that had eaten from it.

  As the priest went through the marriage rituals of binding their hands with a silken scarf, Stephan bowed his head. Ismena tried to ignore the tears winding their path down his cheeks and dripping from the bridge of his nose just as she ignored the way that his shoulders shook with silent sobs. She stared straight ahead as the priest chanted a blessing in the ancient language of their ancestors. She did not know what he said, she wondered if he even knew what the blessing was, but it was said at every wedding she had attended.

  She remembered Roskva’s wedding and how happy both her little sister and her groom had been. Arnold had not wept.

  As the priest finished the chant, he unbound their hands. Ismena stretched her fingers, bringing feeling back into them.

  “Kneel, my lady,” the priest said as Stephan stumbled to the side, his hands darting up to wipe at his eyes.

  Ismena kept her gaze on Stephan as she did so and repeated after the priest the pledge of the royalty of Havenkeep.

  “I solemnly swear by the lifeblood within my veins that I will uphold this kingdom and by my very honor do what is best for it,” she repeated, never once pulling her gaze from Stephan.

  With another chanted blessing that meant nothing, the priest reached back to lift the golden crown of the queen of Havenkeep and rested it on her head. It had only been yesterday that Dahlia was wearing this very crown.

  The priest stepped back, clutching his hands. “Now you are husband and wife. King and queen.”

  Ismena rose, the heavier Havenkeep crown weighing against her brows in a way that the graceful diadem of Alain never had. Lord Arnette and the High Chancellor both bowed and left quickly, throwing looks at Ismena and Stephan, but she did not know what those looks meant.

  She glanced at Stephan who was now standing rigidly, like a man who was facing his execution. He would not meet her eye. “Tomorrow,” he said stiffly, “I leave for war.”

  And what if he never returned? What if he was destroyed by the creature of Ismena’s own making?

  Ismena swallowed her fear and her roiling thoughts. She reached across the short distance between them and clasped his hand, smiling coyly up at him. “That is tomorrow.”

  She leaned forward to kiss him, but Stephan abruptly pulled away. He cleared his throat awkwardly and glanced away, his cheekbones stained a faint red. “I think that I shall go make certain that my generals are prepared for the journey. There is no knowing how long we will be gone.”

  He turned and strode away, her hand slipping from his limp grasp. He paused and turned back at her, his expression crumpling when he saw the look on her face. “I’m sorry, Ismena. I do not want to hurt you. I’m just… not ready. Be my queen now and my ally in the war. Take care of Elisabeth and when I’m ready, you can be my wife.”

  “When?” Ismena asked, her voice trembling slightly. Even in death, Dahlia stood between them. She clenched her fist. No, Dahlia was dead. There was nothing more the ice nymph could do to ruin her life. Ismena could wait however lengthy a period as she needed to. Just so long as she was victorious in the end.

  Stephan glanced away and shook his head. He clearly did not have an answer. Ismena’s heart plummeted, but then he raised his head, his eyes shining with unshed tears as he met her gaze. “Someday, I swear it.”

  Chapter

  Eleven

  The day was surprisingly blustery for summer, a complete contrast to the warm breeze of the day before. But it suited Ismena’s mood perfectly.

  She blinked her eyes repeatedly, fighting back the tears that threatened to consume her. There would be plenty of time for tears later, but for now, she would be strong.

  Her first full day as queen and she was sending her husband off to war.

  Another blast of cold air washed over her, making her wish that she could shrink into her fur cloak. But she kept her back ramrod straight as Stephan turned to her.

  She forced a smile, wondering if he believed it was real at all. “I have already written for aid. It is only a matter of weeks before Alain joins you on the battlefield.”

  Stephan nodded and rested a hand gently on her shoulder. “Hopefully this war won’t last that long.”

  Ismena rested her hand over his. “Come back to me. Swear that you will come back to me.”

  Stephan nodded, but no words came from his lips. His eyes were hollow centers where there had once been life. Before war and destiny had stolen it from him.

  She swallowed hard and forced herself to continue like nothing was happening. As if she was not shriveling up and crumbling inside. “When you defeat Morren, I ask for only a small token in return. Morren has something of mine, an object of great value to me that has been in my family for generations. A Nytheran Mirror. I ask that you return it to me.”

  “What is Morren doing with you mirror?” Stephan asked, his gaze suddenly sharpening.

  Ismena bit the inside of her lip, panic trying to blind her senses, but she had already thought of a story. “I had it with me the eve of the attack and after the wights had fled the castle with the armies of Mooraven, I noticed it was gone. It is a powerful mirror and may have been a large part of the reason behind the attack.”

  Stephan nodded slowly, running his hand through his hair. “When I am victorious, I shall retrieve your mirror. I will make Morren pay for everything he had taken from us.”

  Ismena stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to the corner of his. He did not move at all until she finally pulled away when he forced a smile. “I know that I leave Havenkeep in good hands. Take care of Elisabeth.”

  “Of course,” Ismena breathed.

  Stephan’s smile softened as he turned away from Ismena, pulling his hand out from under hers. Her own hand dropped limply at her side as she watched Stephan lift his daughter from her nursemaid’s arms.

  His chin trembled as he looked down at her.

  “Be brave, my heart,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut as a tear dripped down his nose. “And know that you have all my love.”

  Ismena dug her nails into her palm, hiding it in her skirts so that no one could see that the smile on her face was as false as she was. She would not share her pain, it was hers alone.

  Stephan had not shed a single tear for her, when she knew that she would shed countless ones for him. Did she have even a smidgen of his love? Not even now that she was his queen?

  Stephan turned, placing Elisabeth in Ismena’s arms, before stepping away without tearing his eyes from Elisabeth.

  “Sire!” Lord Wellington, one of Stephan’s most trusted advisers called riding up.

  Stephan finally broke his gaze and turned away. Without even bothering to spare Ismena a second glance, he mounted his horse and rode off.

  The wind howled as she watched the army ride out of the place gates, Stephan in the lead. As the last man disappeared from view, a single snowflake flitted past her face.

  The baby began to cry and Ismena looked down at her. Her lip curled. “What do you have to cry about, young one, when you have all the love you could ever ask for?”

  She adjusted Elisabeth in her arms and with a flick of her wrist dismissed the nursemaid as well as any of the other servants who were remaining on the palace steps, leaving her and the crying baby standing out in the elements.

  Is
mena shook her head as she looked down at the baby. Her stepdaughter, Stephan’s heart. She truly was a beautiful child. What else could be expected when one considered her parentage?

  “Oh little princess,” Ismena said with a sigh, tracing her finger across her cheek. “You are so beautiful. Too beautiful. You steal everyone’s love.” She felt her own heart slip a little further away from her as she brushed back the babe’s silken ebony hair. She forced herself to remember that this was Dahlia’s daughter. The child who should have been hers, but never could be.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as she remembered the pain in Stephan’s eyes when he said farewell to his daughter when only emptiness had filled his gaze when he looked at her. Her breath hitched and a solitary tear tracked down her face.

  Must she always have to compete for his love? Why could he not love her freely? That was all she ever asked. She did not care how many people he loved, as long as she was in that number.

  A soft tugging on her loose locks brought her attention down to the young princess who smiled when she had her attention and moved her hand from Ismena’s hair.

  “Why can you not have a blemish?” she asked out loud. Even for a baby, this girl was unnaturally beautiful.

  “Ebony locks, snow white skin, and lips as red as a flower’s petals. You are everything that Stephan could have wanted in a child, he always enjoyed beauty so. But that beauty is your blemish. I say that for those ebony locks you must have an enemy with a heart just as black. For those lips, so red they could be compared to blood, that a price shall be required of you in blood. And for that snow white skin, it shall cost you a life in winter.”

  Ismena’s heart jolted in her chest as soon as the words were past her lips. What had she done? She had just cursed her stepdaughter. She stumbled back, until her back pressed into the alcove just outside the palace door.

  Elisabeth cooed up at her and Ismena shook her head. “No, do not laugh. Do not look at me like that. Do you not realize that I must be your enemy? My heart is twisted and stained and cursed to hate you.”