A Winter Grim and Lonely

by NIcki Chapelway

  Stephan ran his hand through his hair, helplessly. “I just don’t want Elisabeth to be hurt when we finally have children. I understand that you will put your full attention on them. I’m not saying that you would love her less, but she might feel as if you did.”

  Ismena waved her hand at his poorly crafted excuses. He simply enjoyed talking about Dahlia, and she knew it. He worshiped her memory. “It has been three years since the end of the war. We have been married for ten years now and we still have no offspring. Stephan, we are not having any children. It’s time we realized that.”

  She had meant to deliver that statement as the cold cruel fact it was, but her voice broke at the end and to her horror tears flooded her eyes. After the first year of no results, Ismena had turned once again to her potion making, but she feared that the concoctions that she had drunk had not only failed to give them children but may have actually made it so that they never could.

  Stephan’s face softened as the first tears slid down her cheek. He stepped toward her, but she whirled and fled down the hall. She hated having any witness to her pain. Especially when he would look at her with that understanding gaze that was a lie.

  This pain was hers and hers alone, he could never understand when his child lay in the other room sleeping.

  This pain was only hers and it consumed her.

  Stephan found her, in the hallway outside of their chambers. Fortunately, the guards no longer trailed their every step or else they would be witness to her humiliating display as well. But with the war over and the last Chancellor’s killer not having created any victims in the past three years, an attempt on their lives no longer seemed such a pressing threat.

  He sat down next to her with a heavy breath.

  “We don’t need another child,” he said, his hand moved across her back in soothing circles. “We have Elisabeth.”

  He probably meant for his words to be encouraging, but they had the opposite effect. Something inside her shattered and the tears that she had nearly dried poured anew.

  “I know,” he said, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I’m so sorry. I know.”

  But he did not. He could never know, because every day when he looked upon little Elisabeth, he saw his eyes and his smile.

  Ismena would never see herself reflected in a young face. When she looked at Elisabeth she saw the man she loved. But the other side of Elisabeth belonged to a stranger.

  Reminding herself time and time again. Elisabeth was not really her daughter.

  Nor could she ever be.

  Chapter

  Twenty

  Ismena paced across her room, wringing her hands. She paused pressing her hands against her clammy cheeks as she considered for the thousandth time going into Elisabeth’s room and warning the girl.

  But it was too late, she was probably already dead by now or dying, and Ismena could not incriminate herself.

  Oh why had she even done this in the first place? Because she was angry and hurt because she could never have children even though Stephan could? And somehow she had thought that killing the closest person she had to a daughter would fix that?

  Her heart clenched as she remembered coating the comb in the same poison she had used to kill the old High Chancellor. It was a slow acting poison, allowing Elisabeth to continue on her day before collapsing in a few hours’ time. Then she had given it to her stepdaughter under the guise of a gift. She had not meant for it to be a deadly when she chose to give it to her earlier that month, but then she had not intended for that dress and corset to turn deadly either. Oh how did she always end up trying to kill Elisabeth on her birthday?

  But then, she supposed that went all the way back to the actual day of Elisabeth’s birth.

  Fortunately, Stephan was not there to see her break down. He always tried to put up a brave front and had been with Elisabeth earlier that morning when they gave her gifts, but since then he had disappeared. Probably to visit Dahlia’s grave. This might have been the day that his daughter was born, but it was also the day that his first wife died.

  A rough knock sounded on the door and Ismena whirled, her heart hammering, but instead of several guards rushing in to drag her off, Cillian, now the High Chancellor stepped in.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded breathlessly.

  “I came to inquire why I found a dead maid in my chambers.”

  Ismena’s brows drew together in confusion. “What? Why would I know about a maid dying in your chambers?”

  Cillian pulled out a handkerchief and opened it to remain a silver comb with green jewels. “She was wearing this. Wasn’t this the very comb that you gave to the princess this morning?”

  Ismena stared at it in shock before finally nodding. It was the very same comb that had belonged to her family for generations, such a familiar sight and yet so foreign to her now. “The maid must have stolen it...”

  Cillian arched a brow. “You were trying to kill Princess Elisabeth?”

  Ismena swallowed hard, unable to meet his gaze. “I hardly see how that is your business.”

  “Considering that there was a dead maid in my chambers, one I can only assume was waiting for me to return, probably stole the comb to make herself look more fetching… and I must say she was rather fetching, well if she had been alive that is… but I am getting off the point, the fact is, I believe it is my business.”

  Ismena pressed her lips together. “Yes, I did poison it, but obviously the maid stole it before it could reach Elisabeth.”

  Cillian placed the comb on the vanity and glance at Ismena. “There are easier ways to kill a princess. Do you want me to take care of it?”

  “As if you would dirty your hands so,” Ismena said with a snort, remembering when he had forced her to do his dirty work for him.

  Cillian crossed his arms, an amused glint in his eyes. “I am no longer the lowly commander I once was. Believe it or not, I actually have the means to kill a princess.”

  “I have the matter completely in hand,” she replied, her tone hard, trying to contain the poison coursing through her veins. She could not show Cillian just how much she actually cared for the girl and how relieved she actually was that Elisabeth hadn’t died, or she feared he might go through with it anyway simply out of spite.

  He eyed her for a long moment before finally nodding. “Very well, if you wish.” He turned to leave, but then paused. “Oh, and do not fear, I’ve taken care of the body.”

  Ismena faintly wondered how many times Cillian had found himself in a position in which he would have to take care of bodies since she put him in power, but then she decided that she did not want to know.

  “You owe me,” Cillian said.

  “We are in an alliance,” Ismena replied, clasping her hands. “We work mutually for the other’s good.”

  Cillian pointed at her. “Just be certain to keep that in mind.” Then he turned and wandered off murmuring how the maid was too pretty to die. As soon as the door had shut behind him, Ismena sagged

  Accursed tears streamed out of her eyes even though she had vowed the very night before to never cry again.

  She swiped at her eyes, swearing that she would never shed another tear. It was un-queenly. It made her weak. But she felt an uncontrollable relief flow through her.

  She had not killed Elisabeth after all.

  Chapter

  Twenty-One

  Ismena stared down at her reflection, a frown pulling at her lips causing yet another horrid line to form on her face. She reached up and rubbed at the lines around her eyes, but they would not disappear, only making the line on her forehead from the frowning deepen.

  As she was studying that, she noticed a streak of grey in her hair, near her temple. Ismena gasped, forced to grip the edge of the vanity to keep from falling out of her chair. She was flawed.

  With shaking hands, she fished her Nytheran Mirror from her drawer. She had neglected her use of it because Morren made her uncomfortable. And as of yet she
had not discovered a way to remove him from the mirror. Morren, of course, was maddeningly unhelpful, refusing to give her any information on how to free him even when she swore she would not kill him.

  He said that he could not trust her word.

  And so he was trapped within a mirror and her enemy lived within her priceless heirloom. She supposed it was the price they both had to pay for what they had done.

  “Mirror, mirror in my hand, who is the fairest in the land?”

  The mirror glowed blue and then Morren’s voice echoed out. Ismena suppressed a shudder, missing the old familiar droning voice of the mirror before she desecrated it.

  It grieves me to say what is true

  For there is no one more fair than you.

  Ismena released a breath, slumping against the vanity. She may be flawed, but that did not stop her from being the most beautiful.

  There is one thing that gives me comfort.

  And it is that your days as fairest run short.

  The time is coming for a new queen to stand…

  And then she will be the fairest in the land.

  Ismena nearly dropped the mirror, cursing Morren’s gloating tone. Her ruined everything, he always did.

  So there would be someone more fair than she?

  Her stomach twisted at the thought.

  She was about to demand who even though she knew she would get nothing but cryptic remarks from him. Morren always had a way of twisting his words so as to confuse her even if he could not actually lie any more. However, just then the door opened. Ismena looked up startled to find Stephan standing there. He sighed and strode to her. “You’re still getting ready? You look lovely, dear. In fact, I hardly see how you could do anything else to make yourself more beautiful, so there is no reason to spend any more time in front of the mirror. Come now. We cannot keep everyone waiting.”

  Ismena arched a brow, smiling teasingly even though every word she said scraped against her like sharp blades. “Ah, now I see that you are just saying that to get me to leave.”

  He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Ismena set the Nytheran Mirror aside as he kissed her hand. “You are beautiful,” he said looking into her eyes. “And I mean it. I would take more time to tell you just how beautiful I think you are, but really there is a whole ballroom full of people waiting downstairs for us.”

  Ismena released a breath at the thought of heading downstairs where everyone could see her flaws. “I don’t know if I am feeling up to it.”

  Stephan chuckled. “Ah, ah, ah, there will be no getting out of this. If I have to go then you have to go as well. Together, remember we promised to do everything together when we wed.”

  Ismena reluctantly laced her arm through his. “Do you really have to go down then?”

  “Considering that this ball is celebrating our victory over Mooraven and our daughter’s birth, I would say that we do.”

  Ismena winced inwardly as he said the birth of their daughter. She did not understand the way Stephan saw it. He acted as if Elisabeth was Ismena’s daughter by birth, and yet he had never once stopped speaking of Dahlia either or how much Elisabeth looked like her every passing year. Could he not understand that he could not have it both ways?

  However, she kept the smile on her face as they entered the ballroom and joined Cillian near the thrones that had been set up in the ballroom. However, before they could exchange any pleasantries, a young blonde headed girl only a few years older than Elisabeth’s fifteen years, stopped next to them.

  She smiled broadly at Ismena. “Queen Ismena! Oh how very pleased I am to finally meet you. My name is Dagmoy, I am of the Charstine family of Alain, I came down here to meet you. I am hoping that the great sorceress queen might take me on as her apprentice and teach me in the art of sorcery.”

  Ismena arched her brow. What a very forward girl, simply assuming that the queen of a country had time to teach her anything. But then, she was a citizen of Alain, one of the great sorceress families of the court. Ismena supposed she owed her something.

  The girl curtsied, fully using the low cut of her gown to her advantage. Ismena caught Cillian watching her out of the corner of her eyes and resisted the urge to release a very unladylike snort.

  When Dagmoy rose, her eyes lighted on Stephan and a surprised, “Oh,” escaped her lips. She giggled nervously. “I’d heard rumors of the king of Havenkeep’s striking features, but I had always thought that they were just rumors. I see now that I was wrong.” She smiled slyly as she rested a hand on Stephan’s arm. Ismena bristled. Brazen girl. “I see now the sort of man who stole our queen away from us.”

  “I’m still very much your queen,” Ismena said stiffly, her eyes glaring at the girl until she should have turned into ice, but she had a much stronger control of her powers than to accidentally turn someone into an ice sculpture. Even someone as she was beginning to dislike as much as this Dagmoy.

  “And he must be my king then,” she said smiling coyly at Stephan. Ismena’s stomach twisted.

  This girl was beautiful, perhaps not as beautiful as she was but with her softly curling golden hair and blue eyes, she would make a lovely replacement for her. And she had something that Ismena no longer had. Youth.

  Cillian stepped forward to speak to her, obviously eager for the young minx’s attention. As soon as he had stolen it, Stephan turned to Ismena. Color stained his cheeks, causing Ismena’s stomach to twist further. He held out his hand. “Care to dance, my love?”

  She nodded, fighting to keep from bursting into tears and accepted his hand as he pulled her onto the dance floor. A new song began immediately for the king and queen. She did not say anything knowing that if she said a word it would rupture her self-control and there was no knowing what she would say then.

  “She was… extremely forward,” Stephan said, his face still stained crimson.

  Ismena laughed, hiding all the bitter things she wanted to say behind it. “And did it make you uncomfortable?”

  “A little, yes.” Stephan’s eyes moved across the crowd before returning to Ismena. “She is young enough to be my daughter!”

  “Not to mention that you wife was standing right there.”

  “Yes, I’m terribly sorry about that, dear.”

  But what was he sorry about? That she had to go through that or that she had been standing right there when it all happened? Reminding him of the duty that he wished he didn’t have to preform?

  She didn’t bother to ask, because she knew if it was the latter, Stephan would never admit it anyway.

  His eyes moved once again moved away from her and she followed them to find that he was looking at Dagmoy. “It looks as if Cillian has her attention now. I will have to speak with him later, though honestly he should know better than to act like this. She’s just a girl and he is a man many years her elder.”

  Ismena pressed her lips together. Of course, that was the reason he was displeased with the attention she got from Cillian. And not from jealousy. They finished the dance in silence. Ismena did not remove her gaze from the girl even once as she watched Dagmoy laugh and flounce through the crowds.

  It was true, Dagmoy was young and she would outlast and outshine Ismena as the pressing fingers of time wrapped around her, choking her. Or would she?

  A forbidden thought came to Ismena. What if there was a way for her to become young again?

  The song ended as these wicked, wicked thoughts continued swirling through her mind. She returned her gaze to Stephan as she dropped into a curtsy. She would not lose him, not a second time.

  Her eyes flitted back to Dagmoy who had everything she wanted, just sitting there, ready for the plucking.

  Stephan stepped to her side. “Do you want to dance again?”

  “Later, darling,” she replied distractedly stepping away before he could reply.

  Morren had said that she would not be the fairest for too much longer. But he was mistaken.

  She would not have her position as fairest stol
en from her.

  Ismena strode across the ballroom and came to a stop near Dagmoy who was flirting with Gerald Belton now. She grasped her arm and pulled her a short distance away. “You said that you wanted to learn sorcery?

  The girl looked at her slightly startled. “Yes?”

  It sounded like more of a question. Poor girl, she was youthful yes, but also lost in the uncertainties of that age. Ismena smiled knowingly. “I will teach you. We will have to slip away for a time, though.”

  “What?” Dagmoy asked, her brows furrowing.

  “It is a full moon,” Ismena said in a low tone, her eyes darting out the window to make certain that she was correct. “It may be the only time we can gather some of the ingredients that we might need.”

  “Oh,” Dagmoy said. A smile quickly took over her face. “All right then, shall we be off then?”

  Ismena nodded. “Leave through the garden gate. I shall meet you there in a quarter of an hour.”

  With those words, she turned and left, not waiting for a reply. She had seen in the spark of curiosity in the girl’s eyes that she would do it. Foolish, foolish, girl.

  Hadn’t her family ever taught her not to follow a monster into the darkness?

  Ismena strode through the busy ballroom and toward the door she had come through only minutes earlier fretting about her flaws that she now had a cure for. She had almost made it when Stephan grasped her arm. She turned and looked at him, schooling her features and praying that he could not see the evil deeds written across her face.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  Ismena’s mind blanched for a moment before she found her smile. “I forgot my ribbons and this outfit is simply not complete without them.”

  Stephan rolled his eyes, but released her arm. “Very well then, but this had better not be an excuse to escape,” he said good naturedly.

  “Of course not!” Ismena said with a laugh. “You know that if I had managed to find a way to escape, I would bring you with me.”

  Stephan leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple right there in front of the entire ballroom. “You had better.”