Harboring fugitives was a felony, but he knew they couldn’t bring her in, and the UN would never bring the resources to bear needed to fight a dragon on such a small charge.
“Very well, thank you for your time,” he bowed again.
“Give your mother my best wishes,” she added as he sprinted back to the chopper.
“We need to contact HQ, and get some mages on this,” he ordered as the chopper took off and headed south-east. “We have a portal to track.”
Even though he knew that was true, he doubted she would make it that easy.
Chapter 4
“Huh,” Aveena gazed at her childhood bedroom. There were four stone walls and a hearth with wood piled next to it if she wanted a fire. The slab of stone that sat in the center of the room was her bed, and a basin next to the hearth was for all her hygienic needs. All of it sized for her twelve-foot stature.
To anyone else it would have looked like a typical guest room, but her keen eye saw the veiled insults that alerted her to her mother’s mood. There was no flint and stone to light a fire. Guesting laws required that any guest of a Fae court be treated with respect. With a will-o’-the-wisps as her father, she had power over fire, as well as the power over ice provided by her mother’s blood. By not providing her flint and stone, thereby acknowledging her wisp bloodline, her mother was treating her as a guest, not a member of House Foxbelle coming home.
That was bad. Being heir to the House was her entire reason for being. She was going to be the future Lady of Winter. She was the most beautiful of the frost giants, and she was being treated like a foreigner in her own home.
She took calming breaths as she clenched her fists so tight her knuckles cracked like small gunshots. She didn’t need to look at the closet or washroom. There would be none of the furs she left behind, or any of her preferred fragrances.
“You could have warned me,” she spat at Godric, who stood calmly in a corner.
“Would that have helped?” the old goblin raised an eyebrow.
She didn’t respond, as she lit the fire with a flick of her wrist. Roaring flames leapt to life, and she thought about burning the whole place down out of spite. Godric made a tsk-tsk sound with his tongue as if he’d read her mind.
She glared at him, about to order him away, when a knock on the door stopped her.
“E . . .” she was interrupted as a male of her species pushed open the door.
“Lady Foxbelle, you’re . . .” he never got to finish.
One of Godric’s swords leapt from his scabbard and into her hand. Her palm burned on direct contact with the cold iron handle, but her anger was so much stronger. The messenger’s eyes had time to widen in fear before she removed his head from his shoulders. Silver blood fountained out of his headless stump, and his body managed to keep its feet for several seconds before toppling into the room. More silver blood flowed onto the stone floor, but she ignored it as she approached him.
She flipped him over with her power and grabbed a hold of his penis. With a practiced slice, she removed it at the base and put it on the end of Godric’s sword. She placed it in the fire like she was roasting marshmallows and took a seat on her stone bed. She growled as her hand started to heal from the second-degree burns.
“Very mature, My Lady,” Godric didn’t look upset, but he slowly moved away from the growing pool of silver.
A second flick of her wrist, and the limp body launched itself into the hallway to crash into the far wall with a crack loud enough to alert anyone nearby. “Maybe next time they’ll remember to respect me,” she willed her mother to read her thoughts and feel her anger. The Lady of Winter might be upset with her, but no one entered Aveena’s private quarters without her permission . . . ever.
She didn’t have to wait long. A second knock came less than five minutes after the first. She grabbed the roasted penis off the fire and waited a moment to see if whoever had come had learned their lesson.
“Enter,” she commanded, and a nervous-looking male opened the door without stepping into her room.
He took in the blood without gulping, but almost lost his lunch when he saw her. The largest male frost giants were only two-thirds the size of the females. This one was maybe half her size, barely larger than Godric; which meant her mother didn’t want to lose anyone else to her tantrum. It wasn’t her size that intimidated him . . . much; Aveena had a slender, feminine frame compared to most female frost giants. It was that she was holding a cold iron weapon and eating the burnt penis of the male that came before him. Like an overcooked hot dog, the roast penis had charred and split from the magical heat of her fire. She chomped off the tip with a satisfied grunt, and chewed slowly as the male looked on in horror. Somethings were true across species: the weakness of all males was their dicks.
“Yes?” she asked as she swallowed. It actually didn’t taste half bad.
“The Lady of Winter will see you in the throne room, Lady Aveena,” the male bowed, taking his eyes off her in a show of deference. If she wanted, she could remove his head as well and feast on another cock.
“Thank you. I will be along momentarily,” she dismissed him with her eyes, and he beat a hasty retreat.
“That was his older brother you were eating,” Godric informed. “You horrified him and improved his standing at the same time,” the goblin chuckled as he caught the sword she tossed back to him. It still had half a dick on it, which he flicked into the fire. “That’ll make for an intriguing shake up at court.”
Aveena didn’t care about the politics of the lesser houses in her mother’s court. “She’s going to see me in front of everyone,” she cracked her neck to relieve her growing frustration.
“She’s going to publicly shame you,” Godric confirmed, “but did you expect anything less for the demise of Ser Fredrick.”
“No,” Aveena exhaled, as she shed her glamour dress with a thought. If this was going to be a spectacle, then she might as well make it one to remember.
Together, they left her room and proceeded to the throne room. The castle of ice built inside a moving glacier was sized for frost giants. Normal hallways were twenty-five feet tall, but the cathedral ceilings of the throne room stood fifty feet over her head. Arched beams of solid, black ice were a contrast to the blue and white floor. Pillars rose all around the room, hiding guards in their shadows. The guards at the far side of the hall were male, meant to die first if there was an attempt on the Lady of Winter. Closer to the ruler of the frost giants were large females, some even bigger than Aveena, and all more heavily muscled.
Among the Fae, the frost giants were known as a brutal species. They lived in the frozen tundra, their court constantly on the move in their glacier, and those not of noble blood living a nomadic lifestyle. Few species matched them in size and strength, and none in culture and tradition. Unlike nearly all other species, the frost giants were run by women. Of the sexes, the women were stronger, smarter, and larger. Males were still impressive compared to most Fae, but it was the females who made them giants.
Their culture was militaristic with a warrior ethos at its center. They lived and breathed the need for battle, and were considered by most to be the finest soldiers. Winter’s armies were constantly engaged, and mercenary troops hired out by Aveena’s mother brought in considerable coin. They could have conquered neighboring realms if they had the numbers. Sadly, they reproduced slower than most Fae; which, if Aveena thought about it, was probably by design.
Building a reputation in her mother’s court was brutal, so most Fae who considered themselves warriors found their way to the Lady of Winter to test their metal. Many perished in the constant warfare against the neighboring Lady of the Lake. Human armies prayed for peace but trained for war. The armies of Winter knew nothing but the eternal struggle for dominance. They were battle born and bred. Even Aveena, had fought on the frontlines as a child. She’d killed her first enemy at six years old, and still remembered his face to this day.
Mating ritu
als were even stranger to the uninitiated. When males fancied a female, they fought to the death for her attention; ironically, further diminishing their numbers. The victor got the right to approach her, but there was no guarantee they would fuck. If a female wanted a male, she usually just knocked him the fuck out and took him to her bed chamber.
It was because of the rest of the Fae’s barbaric view of the frost giants that Aveena had been sent to the mortal realm. At the time, her mother wanted a cultured heir to present to The Nine as her eventual replacement. As Aveena looked upon her mother’s face for the first time in years, it looked like the Lady of Winter believed she’d made a great mistake.
Ymira Foxbelle, the Lady of Winter, Mistress of Foxes, Wielder of the Coldstone was the largest creature in the room. Nearly four feet taller than Aveena, and much broader; the large throne of ice she sat upon, covered in the hides of giant, slain beasts, was barely able to contain her. Her skin was the cold blue of an artic sea, her hair a wild mess of black, while her eyes were twin red orbs that could freeze Fae in place with her anger. Her face was not beautiful, barely even handsome, but power had a beauty all its own, and Ymira radiated power.
It smashed into Aveena so hard at the entrance to the throne room, she nearly stumbled. She righted herself in time to make it look like she’d just been bent in conversation with Godric. When she looked up, her silver eyes met her mother’s red in a battle of dominance. It was one Aveena knew she would lose, but had to fight anyway. She needed her mother to know she wasn’t going to fuck around with the petty games of her court. She needed her mother to remember her daughter’s power.
Unlike Aveena’s naked flesh, her mother wore what amounted to a bikini. It was enough to cover her great breasts and slit between her legs. If Ymira went around naked, it would drive the males mad with desire, and leave nothing but death and destruction in her wake.
Which, as Aveena entered the room as naked as the day she was born, was exactly what happened. The male guards on either side of the door roared a mating challenge and clashed with one another. Several others joined the fray and soon blood and flesh flew all around her. She advanced through it all, doing her best to look like the princess she was.
Ymira’s power eventually hammered her to a standstill, and pushed her eyes to the ground in a show of defeat. When Aveena looked up, she saw her mother watching the battle near the door with what was clearly a hint of pride. She liked that her daughter had pulled one over on her. It showed cleverness and the theatrics the Fae were famous for.
Others standing around Ymira did not look as pleased. At the foot of the stairs leading to the throne was a troll. He was older, Aveena could tell by the sagging of his muscles, but he bore a resemblance to Ser Fredrick. She could guess why he was here, but he was beneath her station, so she ignored him.
To Ymira’s left was Aveena’s father; Ser Woodspark, a powerful will-o’-the-wisp, youngest son of the Master of the Hunt and Lady of Autumn. He barely reached her mother’s waist. His flesh was light red, almost pink, and he looked very breakable compared to the frost giants surrounding him. Where the females wore strips of fabric to cover up the interesting bits, and the males nothing at all, Ser Woodspark was clothed in finery that made him shine like the sun. Silk clothing with gold thread adorned him. His tunic had a high collar with twin, gold sunbursts inlaid with rubies. His ears came to sharp points, even more so than Aveena’s, and his whole face had a sharp beauty to it. She got her looks from her father’s side of the family, along with her silver eyes and white hair. The red fractal patterns blazing across her skin were her mother’s species, so she was a good mix of her parents.
Like her mother, her father didn’t look happy, but that had nothing to do with her. It had everything to do with the man standing on Ymira’s right. Her mother and father were not married like humans would believe. When you lived forever, it was pointless to tie yourself to one person. Matings between powerful families were arranged to keep bloodlines fresh and see if they produced any interesting gifts. Aveena’s own power of fire and ice was the result of such a coupling, and with her mother being one of The Nine, she got the right to raise Aveena. Such matches were also a symbol of prestige, which was why her father looked particularly pissed.
Aveena came to a sudden stop in the center of the throne room as she looked at her mother closely. No one would ever call her mother soft. She was a warrior built for battle. She was all thick muscle. She could crush the strongest human male, and most Fae between her thighs with ease. As Aveena studied her, she swore there was a slight bulge to her belly.
“No!” rage and fear, hot and cold, raced through her veins. It must have showed on her face, because her mother smiled savagely down at her.
The man on her right looked pretty fucking smug too. He was a head taller than Aveena’s father, with thick, wavy hair. He wore his shirt unbuttoned to show off the thick fur of his broad chest. His smile showed white, long, sharp teeth. Like her father, he was the son of one of The Nine. By the smell of wet dog, she was getting off him, he had to be a child of the Master of Hounds. Like her mother, the Master of Hounds was Unseelie, while Ser Woodspark’s family was Seelie. If her mother was indeed pregnant, and she had a daughter, the younger female would have a more legitimate claim to the throne than Aveena.
She tried not to show it, but her whole world came crashing down around her at that revelation; and that was exactly what her mother wanted to happen. The Lady of Winter cocked her head to the side and waited for Aveena’s response.
“Bitch!” Aveena spat, as she composed her face, and was glad her mother couldn’t read minds.
Rumors said the Master of Hounds had such a gift, and from the smart-ass look on the newcomer’s face, he might have inherited that power from daddy.
“Aveena Foxbelle, my daughter, my disappointment, step forward,” Ymira’s words hammered into Aveena like anvils.
The battle to the death behind them was totally forgotten as she stepped forward. She tried to keep her chin up, but it was hard as the very reason for her existence, and central point of her personality, was suddenly challenged by something that wasn’t even born yet.
“You have brought great shame and dishonor upon our House,” Ymira went on to list everything Aveena had done since birth that had displeased her.
Ymira included everything from the time three-year-old Aveena had stolen honey bread from the kitchens, to her recent failure to provide the necessary offerings for the mating ritual; which, ironically, was supposed to be with the son of the man standing on her right. Apparently, they got to talking about what a horrible child Aveena was, bonded over that, and that led to some fucking.
Aveena tuned out her mother’s rant, but everyone else listened with rapt attention. They all knew something big was going down. Aveena only tuned back in when it came to Ser Fredrick.
“You stole my knight and lost him to a mortal!” she roared. Her fist split the arm of the ice throne as she fueled her rage into action. Magic swelled to repair the throne, but it would take time. “I ought to give you to his father for all the shame you’ve brought on me.”
The old troll grinned, and Aveena could practically see him get hard under his tunic. She’d never allow that to happen, she’d rip his fucking head off before he touched her. Ymira continued to rant as she stared the old man down. He quickly looked away, and she smiled. Her mother did not take that in the right way.
“You think this whole ordeal is funny,” now it was Ymira’s turn to smile. “Consider this. You will bring me the head of the man who felled my knight. You will bring him to kneel before me, so I can see the human who can strike down one so noble,” she inclined her head to the old troll. It was a political move. Aveena knew her mother didn’t give two shits about Ser Fredrick; especially since he’d let a human kill him.
“If you do not bring this mortal to me, you will be replaced in the line of succession. This new child; borne of ice and hound, will be the next to sit on this throne
,” the savagery on her face would make the mortal devil cower in fear.
If Aveena wasn’t already in a state of shock, she’d have done something stupid. She still might. If she didn’t bring Cam to her mother, she’d be replaced by some infant brat. That brat, raised in a Fae court, while Aveena had spent years in the mortal realm, would learn early on her older sister needed to be eliminated to consolidate her power. Aveena would find herself with a cold iron dagger in her back within weeks. Being replaced was as good as a death sentence.
“I will not fail you,” Aveena tried to portray strength and confidence to show the court she was unafraid, but underneath her bravado, she was about to piss herself.
“Ha,” Ymira let out a barking laugh. “We’ll see about that. You have fourteen human days. That should be enough to catch a mere mortal.”
With that, the last of the battle behind her ended. An injured and ravaged male limped up behind Aveena. “My lady,” he gasped, blood oozing out of him and onto the floor; which eagerly ate it up to fuel the repairs to the throne.
Aveena turned around to look him over. He was a sturdy example of a male frost giant; nine feet tall, broad of shoulder and chest, a thick mane of hair covering his body, and a rather large, throbbing cock. Large cocks meant strong seed, and if she took this male to her bed, she might get pregnant.
That was almost enough to make her do it. The shock on her mother’s face would almost be worth it, but in the end, she wanted to live more than she wanted to piss off her mother. She extended her hand, and the male’s eyes lighted with passion. When their flesh met, flames engulfed him, and he screamed in terror and pain.
He took a long time to die. The son of the Master of Hounds covered his nose at the rancid stench of burning frost giant. Her mother just looked bored, but her father looked proud. His honor was on the line too. House Woodspark wanted a foot in the door, and to continue to build a dynasty that would eventually include Winter. He would do what he could to help her without looking like he was helping. Dishonor and shame were anathema to the Fae. Any association with the dishonored, until their honor was regained, could spread like a human virus; infecting anyone by association.
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