by Amber Jaeger
Calia could only shake her head in wonder. She had been the ugly blonde, the one that did not fit it, for so long. And now she had lovely dark hair just like everyone else. It even made her skin not seem such a sun darkened color. She rubbed a hand over her cheek and smiled.
“You are losing your color from the sun as well. And with the weight you’ve put on since you’ve been here, you almost look a different girl.” Abelina turned Calia towards her. “But you were always beautiful, no matter what anyone said. I hope you believe that.”
Calia dabbed her leaky eyes and nodded. She did not believe it but she did feel like a new person and it felt wonderful. But not as wonderful as having someone finally treat her like a beloved daughter. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Abelina pinched her cheek. “You are welcome my dear. And might I suggest the sapphire gown?”
She left her to get ready and Calia stood uncertainly in the middle of her room. Finally she went into the bathroom to inspect all the ointments it had been stocked with. She washed her face a sweet smelling soap and rubbed on shimmery cream. She stood back and inspected her face. She certainly looked better than she ever had before but it wasn’t enough. She wanted to shock the king, make him realize… Her thoughts wandered off. Make him realize what? That she was pretty? Why on earth would she want that? She should want to be invisible to him.
But she spied a little compact of pale rose rouge and a tin of tinted lip gloss. She applied them lightly and smiled at herself in the mirror. She did look like a different girl.
In her room she pulled out the dark blue gown out and slid it on. It had fit well before but with the buttons done up and the dress adjusted, she could see where she had put on some weight and it suited her well. She spun in front of the mirror, feeling like a princess.
But her naïve joy did not last long. She wasn’t a princess, she was a servant. Her newfound beauty and perfection at serving her master was for his benefit only, to make him look good. She was still just a possession.
With a sigh Calia left her room to cross the hall but did not hesitate before knocking and presenting herself.
The king stood with his back to her. His hair was wet and slightly dampening the collar of his pristine shirt. Calia watched him as he fiddled with his cufflinks and felt her heart begin to thud. With his back to her, with his hateful mask hidden, he was nearly handsome. Whatever curse had frozen him had done so in the prime of his life. Even fully dressed she could see how strong he was.
“Help me with these,” he said and she jumped. She shook her head to clear away such disturbing thoughts before approaching him.
The king did not look up until she reached out for the jeweled cuff links. She watched through her lashes as his jaw slowly dropped and then ducked her head before he could see her smug satisfaction.
He said nothing while she fixed his shirt but stepped back when she was finished. “Turn,” he said, twirling his fingers in the air.
She spun for him and felt her cheeks begin to warm.
“Delightful!” he cried, clapping his hands together. She flushed warmer at his odd compliment.
“You know, I have sorely missed my last servant and her years of aptitude. But I must have forgotten how convenient it is to have a luscious servant to distract my enemies while they try to meet with me.”
The warmth in her cheeks cooled. She truly was nothing but a possession.
She looked up at her cold master and shuddered at the new mask covering his face. While this one was mostly covered in glinting diamonds as well, all around the eyes were blood red rubies. He looked like a rich, mad demon.
The Cold King smiled at her reaction. “You like it? It was what was in the box you brought up to me.”
Anger began to filter in but she kept her voice smooth. “That is what you would have killed me over if I had dared peek?”
The king cocked his head and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I would have killed you for not being trustworthy. Now tell me, do you like it?”
Calia took a little breath. “No. It’s frightful.”
The king laughed again. “Perfect! I must thank my craftsman for his new design.”
“Is that why you wear them? To frighten people? Then you needn’t wear it around me, I am quite frightened of you enough.” Calia snapped her mouth shut and inched back. She meant what she had said but regretted speaking the words.
The king regarded her for a moment before answering. “Why I wear my masks is my business alone. But I discovered long ago they were to my advantage when dealing with people. So yes, some of them are made to be frightening. And mask or no mask, you should be frightened of me. I am your king, not your little brother. You will not speak to me in such a way again.” His words were firm but lacked the cool anger she had come to expect from him.
“How did you become this way?” she whispered.
The king gave an exasperated sigh and threw his hands in the air. “All these months of training and good behavior and you are going to unravel on me now?” He turned from her to pick up his jacket. “Ah well, it always comes to this. You want to know what happened to me. Then I will tell you.”
Calia’s mind lurched into overdrive, wondering what his story would hold.
“Only,” he said, holding up a finger, “after you perform perfectly for my guests.”
Chapter Nine
Calia waited impatiently for their guests and finally, just before dusk, a long train of black coaches came rattling into the cobbled courtyard. She watched from the window as they pulled to a stop and the drivers jumped down to help the cloaked figures out.
She ran to the king’s room and found him waiting. He stood just inside the door, wearing a perfectly black suit over his silken white shirt. He had freshly shaved and his face looked almost boyish until her eyes wandered back up to the mask. In the growing darkness the rubies seemed to glow.
Calia swallowed hard and reminded herself it was still the same Cold King in there, not some new monster.
With shaking legs she went to stand behind and slightly to his right and followed him out of the room and down the stairs. The hours of practice hadn’t been for naught as she found her knees strengthening, her spine straightening. She smoothed her face, wiping away any trace of emotion and tilted her chin up.
The guests stood in the entryway. Standing in the forefront was a man both older and taller than the king. But his red, bulbous nose and ugly streaks of coarse grey in his otherwise dark hair dulled what had probably been good looks in his youth.
Two girls, both appearing to be near the same age as Calia, stood behind the man. Calia compared their upturned noses and heart shaped faces and determined they must be sisters. They had the same dark hair as the man but clearly had taken after what must have been a beautiful mother. The older one stood ramrod straight and fixed her eyes on a point above all their heads while the younger simpered and batted her lashes at the Cold King.
Calia barely kept from glaring at her. Was she insane? Batting her eyes an immortal mad man that hid behind his demon masks? But she kept her face smooth and stopped when the king stopped, the perfect servant.
The ugly man bowed deeply. “King Valanka,” he said, his deep voice rumbling. Calia’s brow furrowed for an instant. She hadn’t known the Cold King had a real name, she had never thought to ask. Or perhaps the title ‘The Cold King’ suited him so perfectly she had just never wondered.
Her king returned the man’s bow with a shallow one of his own. “King William, what a pleasure to have you here. To what do I owe the honor?” His voice was bright but flat.
King William rose up with a grin on his face. “Please, let me introduce my daughters.” He gestured and the older one came forward stiffly, still not looking at anyone. “My eldest, and soon to be married, Sola.” The young woman curtsied a
nd quickly stepped back, never meeting eyes with Calia or her king. The younger sister eagerly took her place and dipped a low curtsy, putting her surprisingly ample cleavage on display. “And my youngest, my jewel, Justine.” The girl curtsied again and her dress strained to contain her chest.
Calia heard a quiet, exasperated sigh come from the king.
“Lovely to meet you both,” he said in that same, false voice. He turned back to their father. “You are very welcome here. My staff has prepared a meal. Perhaps you and your daughters would like to freshen up before hand?”
“You are too generous, King Valanka,” the man said. The grim twinkle in his eye made Calia uneasy.
Marchello gave a discreet cough and led the unwanted guests away.
Calia was brimming over with questions but held her tongue and followed her king into the main dining room. He plopped down onto one of the casual couches as if already exhausted. Calia, not forgetting her role, poured and served him a glass of wine. “Anything else, my lord?” she murmured.
He said nothing for a long moment, just swirled the dark drink in his glass. “What do you make of our guests, Calia?”
She started a little at that. She wasn’t sure he had ever said her name before.
“Speak plainly,” he commanded.
Needing no further invite, she laid out her impression. “He doesn’t seem as nice as he wants you to think. His older daughter is terrified of you and the younger is a floozy.”
The king turned to her with a smirk. “Very good. You will find I will come to rely on your impressions of my guests and our conversations. You seem to have a natural talent for reading people but I think you are wrong on one account. Watch closely tonight and when this dreadful evening is over we’ll discuss it.”
Calia nodded then straightened up as she heard the clicking of heels coming down the long hallway. The Cold King groaned then stood.
Marchello seated the guests for dinner and Calia watched closely from her spot behind the king. King William poured his wine freely and was soon noticeably louder and more boisterous. His oldest girl, Sola, sat perfectly straight in her chair, neither eating nor drinking. Her eyes cut over to her father every time he opened his sloppy mouth and Calia began to wonder if it really was the Cold King she feared. She had yet to acknowledge him even though she sat next to him.
The younger girl was a nauseating show. She had changed into an even more daring dress that squeezed her chest up and out, like a flabby shelf. The only thing more pushy and offensive was her hair. Great piles of looping curls perched precariously on her head and drooped down to her bare shoulders. She simpered and smiled and tittered and blinked more than she did anything else. Calia wanted to slap her then cover her up.
The meal seemed to last forever even though nothing of importance was discussed, as far as Calia was concerned. King William regaled the Cold King with tales of a virulent firstborn, a son. He referred to his wife numerous times as ‘built for birthing sons’. Not to leave his children in tow out of the bizarre compliments he pointed out all their remarkable feminine charms while Sola sat like a stone and the younger giggled.
“Now,” the king said drunkenly, “my Sola here is quite spoken for. I had to beat the men off with a stick! It took sometime but I finally found the perfect husband for her.” He sighed dramatically. “And now, so soon, I have to do it for my precious baby. It’s heartbreaking, really, to have to give a child up, even for marriage. So what’s a father to do other than make sure she has the best match?”
The Cold King murmured a reluctant agreement and William seemed to find that encouraging.
Finally the meal dragged to an end. “Surely your fair and delicate daughters need their rest after such a strenuous trip,” the Cold King said through gritted teeth after the other man failed to get his more polite attempts at ending the occasion.
“Ah yes, so soon,” the drunken king said. “And I fear we must be off again tomorrow. But there is one matter I should like to discuss before we leave.”
“Of course. I would be happy to hear you in the throne room before you leave in the morning.” From her vantage point, Calia could see his lie in the tightness of his shoulders.
Marchello appeared to lead the ‘guests’ back to their rooms. As soon as they were out of the dining hall Calia let out long pent up breath.
The king, Valanka, she reminded herself, turned to catch her eye. “My sentiments exactly.”
“Do you have to do this sort of thing all the time?” she asked warily.
He gave a weary laugh and stood from his chair. “Yes, much more than I would like to. Come, let us have our discussion in private before you retire for the night.”
Calia followed him back up the stairs, still trying to play the role of a perfect servant. But once through the doorway of his rooms she could do it no more and kicked her shoes off with a sigh of relief and slumped into her chair.
The king eyed her curiously but did not berate her.
“My feet hurt,” she said defensively. “You try standing in a corner for hours in shoes like that.”
“I do not have to. I am the king,” he said drily. “Now tell me what your impressions are after that lovely meeting.”
Calia settled back in her chair and gathered her thoughts. “The father is a boisterous drunk. His older daughter is afraid of him, not you, and the younger one is still a floozy.”
The Cold King laughed and took the chair next to her.
“What else?”
Calia frowned. “Well, he spent most of his time bragging about his family.”
“About what in particular?”
Calia shuddered. “His virulent son, his big hipped wife…He really is trying to marry off the floozy. To you?”
The king nodded, not taking his eyes from the low fire.
“But why? Surely he wouldn’t want his daughter tied to you for the rest of her life,” Calia sputtered. “I mean, you never take off that mask, you will never die.” She winced, suddenly realizing what she had just said.
“I am going to pretend not to be incredibly insulted. But yes, he is trying to marry her off to me.”
“But why?” Calia pressed.
“Because I am wealthy, I am seemingly immortal, I keep the peace, I get whatever I want.”
Calia shrugged. “But surely he wants more for his daughter than that.”
The king sighed. “Think, Calia, and not with your kind little heart. Think with that sharp little mind I know you have hiding somewhere in there. It’s not about what he wants for his daughter; it’s what he wants for himself.”
“A powerful ally?” she guessed.
“Exactly. He wishes to align himself with me. In a way that I could not undo should I grow tired of the backward and sometimes evil way he runs his country.”
“So he would just offer his daughter up like some kind of tempting bait?” She shuddered again.
“I wouldn’t call her tempting. And I also wouldn’t count her out of the scheming. She should be frightened of me and yet she acted like a strumpet.”
“But what would she get? Other than you,” Calia added hastily.
“Wealth. Her own castle and staff to boss around. Freedom from her father.”
“That’s disgusting,” Calia finally commented.
He just shrugged. “That’s life. I’ve been avoiding scummy men throwing their viscous daughters at me for years.”
His words reminded her of his earlier promise. “How many years?”
“Three hundred.”
Calia gasped and twisted in her chair to face him. “You are three hundred years old?”
“No, I was cursed three hundred years ago. I was twenty three when it occurred.”
“Who did it? Why?” Calia demanded.
The king got up and poured two glasses of wine. Calia looked up with surprise when he handed her one but he just sat back down in his chair and kicked his feet up.
“My father did.” He fell silent for a moment and Calia bit back all her questions. She could not see his face but clearly it was a hard story for him to tell.
“My father was the king then. He was a wonderful ruler. Everyone loved him. He was fair and kind to all his people. No one went hungry, we never went to war. He was harsh but just. Those are easy qualities to appreciate in a king but much harder to appreciate in a husband or father. He had no time for us, no time for my mother and sister. When I was seven and my sister eleven our mother fell ill and did not have the spirit to rally against it. She died without the comfort of her husband, as he was too busy being king.” He leaned his head back against the chair and his eyes slid closed under his mask. “That was when I first began to hate him, but it wasn’t until years later that I truly reviled him.” Calia leaned closer, taking in every word.
“When my sister was just fourteen he pledged her to be married to a king from a neighboring land. He was a vile fifty year old man that had already been through three wives. He was stupid and brutish and clung to his post with the aplomb of a rabid dog. My sister was terrified and begged my father not to make her marry him but he did anyway.” The king fell silent again.
“Why?” Calia asked. “How could he do that to his own daughter?”
The king huffed. “He said he was doing it for the good of everyone, that if he tied the two kingdoms together he could use his influence to improve the lives of the people living under the king.”
Calia bit her lip. “How very…noble?”
The king shook his head. “No, it was selfish. The neighboring kingdom was a drain on all of us surrounding it. So my father offered up my sister as a sacrifice to gain some control and improve the crumbling situation.”