Lord of Snow and Ice

by Heather Massey

  “Who dares infiltrate the King’s garden?” Stellan intoned, his voice ringing out in the clear night air.

  The bushes stopped moving. A muffled voice spoke. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Come forth!” Stellan raised his sword.

  A limb thrust free of the confining branches. Stellan grabbed hold of the arm none to gently and pulled. As the figure emerged, he discovered he was clutching the arm of a young woman. Dressed in a boy’s riding outfit, her long hair was littered with twigs and leaves. His brow furrowed in confusion.

  Then the lantern light hit her. Stellan stared at her in shock, utterly convinced the bottom had dropped out of his stomach.

  The memories rushed back, more vivid and enthralling than memories had a right to be. Here, in his grasp, so close he could feel her sweet breath upon his face, was the woman from the Elysian River. The woman who…

  Naked. He had seen her naked.

  Breasts, belly, sex, thighs–all flashed in his mind like rapidly tumbling snowflakes; he couldn’t help it. Nor could he halt the advance of a telltale thickening. Thank the gods of fortune for his cape, for it masked his swift, hard excitement. She had only to say a word, or give a knowing glance, and he would do everything in his power to satisfy her. The garden offered plenty of soft places and privacy. He could please her for hours.

  Nonsense! Stellan struggled to contain these alien emotions. Anger, hate, fear–those he understood quite well. But desire? Affection? He had foresworn them long ago, or so he’d thought. Besides, he didn’t even know the woman. Why was he so damn infatuated? He more than anyone knew the deception beauty was capable of concealing. But being with her now only left him craving more. Especially since she wasn’t screaming with terror at the sight of him. His mouth went dry. Gods, what should he say?

  The woman was staring back at him with an equal measure of surprise. “Uh, thank you for the assistance, kind sir. You’re here for the wedding, aren’t you?” She spit out some dirt and barely waited for his nod. “I’m awfully late! Just had a quick horse ride. If anyone finds out, they’ll have my head! Has the ceremony started yet?”

  Stellan slowly lowered his weapon. “No,” he said hoarsely. “It hasn’t.” He cleared his throat. “Who are you?”

  The young woman chuckled. “Oh, where are my manners? They must’ve become lodged in that bush! I’m Clarysa. I’m supposed to be in the wedding party.” She turned her head toward the hall, for music now filled the air. “Heavens! I’d better go and change. Umm…” She looked down at his hand, still attached to her right arm.

  Stellan reluctantly let go.

  “Thanks! Anyway, be a dear and don’t whisper a word about this to anyone–especially the King. Agreed?”

  “I, uhh…as you wish.” Stellan watched as she sprinted away into the shadows. “Clarysa,” he whispered after she was gone. Now the dazzling beauty had also revealed intriguing glimpses of her personality, not to mention a proclivity for secrets. Might there be more awaiting him?

  She is decidedly…spirited.

  Perhaps attending the wedding would be a strategic move in more ways than one. He strode back inside to rejoin the festivities. A long-dormant need chipped away at his heart, transforming it into something less than a cynical hunk of ice. He would never, ever admit it, however–least of all to himself.

  * * * *

  The wedding was an elaborate, overstated affair, as weddings for a princess were apt to be. Stellan had declined Lionel’s invitation to sit up front. Instead, he stood and watched from afar, in the back of the great hall. There he was safely ensconced in shadow and behind the hundreds of prying, piercing eyes that otherwise would no doubt be boring into his back the entire time.

  Conversely, the celebratory meal that followed felt excruciatingly awkward. Stellan was assigned a seat beside Lionel, but the other guests at the table pointedly ignored him. He braved the banal chatter surrounding him as best he could. Useless tales of fortunes doubled, fine stallions bred and visits to expensive, exotic lands blasted him from every angle. For once, he couldn’t possibly finish the meal before him fast enough.

  Afterward, Lionel took him to an upper balcony, and for a while it was only the two of them. This arrangement was far more palatable. The tension eased from Stellan’s shoulders.

  The Duke stole this opportunity to smoke from his slender pipe. He asked what Stellan thought about the celebration below, and laughed when Stellan shared his candidly cynical observations.

  “Yes, the preening and posturing are quite stupid at times, I’ll give you that,” he conceded. “Most of these people have never met an ostentatious affair they didn’t like.”

  Stellan’s next grin turned sly. “Not including you, of course.”

  Lionel winked. “I taught them everything I know.”

  As they shared a laugh, the music swelled again. The celebratory dance would be starting soon. Stellan experienced an inexplicable urge to seek out Clarysa, but his first priority was an audience with the King. Lionel, however, had other plans. The duke peered over the balcony as if looking for someone. “Ah,” he said, “follow me. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  They returned to the ground level, Stellan trailing him with a low sigh. The tables and chairs had been cleared away, replaced with an expanse of powdered and perfumed bodies. Lionel guided him forward with one hand, and then with the other reached out and tapped the bare shoulder of a young woman with golden hair. She turned around. As her gaze locked onto Stellan’s face, she blanched in surprise.

  “Prince Stellan of Vandeborg, may I introduce my cousin, the spirited and inquisitive Princess Clarysa, youngest daughter of King Leopold and Queen Arietta.”

  Stellan gave a low whistle even as he shuddered inwardly. “The King’s daughter!”

  She seemed not to notice, for her head swiveled back to Lionel. “You mean this is the one…the man who saved you?”

  Lionel nodded, beaming.

  Turning back to Stellan, Clarysa grasped folds of her skirt in each hand and suddenly dropped into a deep curtsy with head bowed. “You have my undying thanks, Sir, for your valorous deed. On behalf of the royal court of Aldebaran, I welcome you to our humble celebration! You honor us with your presence.”

  Stellan felt his eyebrows clash. He stole a glance at Lionel, who hid a bemused smile behind one hand. “Princess, that’s…thank you…you’re very kind.” Clarysa continued to hold her deferential pose. Time inched by as if a snail. When she didn’t respond, he shot Lionel a look that silently screamed, What am I supposed to do now?

  This time it was Lionel to the rescue. “Yes, yes, get up, please. You’re making an absolute scene!” He clucked half-scoldingly as he reached down and helped her stand. “Anyway, I’ve got to run. Someone else…uh, is expecting me.” Lionel grinned impishly and disappeared through the crowd.

  Stellan found himself alone with Clarysa. He eyed her, not sure what to expect.

  She folded her hands daintily before her. “You must think me a fool, stumbling about like a jester in the garden bushes.”

  Stellan shook his head, not trusting his mouth to speak. He didn’t know quite what to make of her–fully clothed or not–aside from the fact he had never encountered such an ambrosial dish full of sweet smells and delicate flavors. Her appearance was a far cry from the boyish figure that had stumbled over the wall.

  Shades of Lionel’s handsome features were woven into hers. Stellan would have thought them twins if he hadn’t been told they were cousins. Clarysa bore the same golden skin, elegant nose, and perfectly formed cheekbones. Her lips sparkled with the kiss of fresh-morning dew. Suddenly, an unrelenting thirst grabbed hold of him.

  His gaze traveled upward. She had fastened her wavy hair with two straight, sapphire-encrusted pins. Several ringlets eschewed their confines, tokens of hasty grooming. Stellan imagined exactly what he could do with those pins–namely, replace them with his hands as he plunged them into her mass of thick, glossy locks. From there it wo
uld be ridiculously easy to angle back her head to receive his kiss.

  Then he devoured the rich blue material of her gown. It was a simple, modest piece made all the more attractive by the lacey fabric around her neck. And the rest of her figure was decidedly…unboyish. Supple and generous of curve, it threatened to melt away all of Stellan’s inhibitions. The deep valley between her full breasts particularly enthralled him. Not wishing to betray his interest, he glanced sharply away.

  They continued to stand there, but now an awkward silence developed. Then stark reality intruded. Around them, couples enjoined as the court musicians plucked at cords and beat their drums. Music swelled, and Stellan watched in horror as bodies promenaded around them, their pastel dresses and frilly white collars closing in on all sides. To his annoyance, he also intercepted a scornful glance or two. Then Clarysa placed a hand on his arm.

  “Would you–” she began.

  “Yes?” Please don’t ask me to dance.

  “–like to walk in the garden?”

  Stellan paused as a wave of uncertainty passing over him. Does she mean by myself?

  “I mean, I’m not much one for dancing. But if you’d like to stay, I’m sure my cousin Mirabelle would–”

  “No, no,” he blurted out. “The garden…it sounds perfect.” He extended an elbow and enjoyed the light touch of her fingertips as her hand encircled it.

  “You’re too kind,” she murmured.

  They stepped gingerly through the crowd of merrymaking guests.

  “Whew!” Clarysa exclaimed once they had passed through the archway leading outside. “These events can be so stressful. But I’m sure one such as yourself is quite used to it.” Stepping ahead, she stretched her arms high into the air, and then swung them frivolously by her side as she walked.

  Amused, Stellan followed her, but he still felt somewhat wary. He looked over his shoulder, half expecting someone to accost him for keeping the company of the King’s daughter.

  “Come on,” she called back. “I’ll show you my favorite place!”

  He dutifully obeyed, but remained quiet as she escorted him along a path marked with polished stones. The sounds of the party faded away as they ventured deeper into the garden. Crickets sang a cheery lullaby. Stellan fixed his gaze ahead, not quite sharing their enthusiasm. As they walked, he noticed the princess kept stealing glances at him. After several more minutes of this, he cleared his throat. “Is there something you’d like to ask me, Princess Clarysa?”

  She giggled into her hand. “Well, first I’d ask you to call me Clarysa.” She giggled again.

  Normally, he would have found such girlish behavior irritating. Meaning, had he ever been around any girls. But she had an infectious quality. Nevertheless, he maintained his guard. “Well, then, Clarysa, what do you have on your mind that begs escaping?”

  “Lionel tells me you hail from the Western Wastes.”

  “True.”

  “And you live near Dungeon Forest!”

  “Also true.”

  “And…you’re one of those sorcerers.”

  Those sorcerers. Stellan paused, wondering where this was leading. “Yes. I am.”

  Clarysa’s voice became deeper, bolder. “You practice magick.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, is that all you can say?”

  “No, it isn’t.” He narrowed his eyes. Old suspicions began to surface, suspicions that warned against discussing such matters with those unacquainted with the Black Arts. “What’s your point?” His voice had an edge, but he didn’t care.

  Clarysa, however, seemed oblivious. Suddenly she moved forward and pressed closer to him. To his dismay, he discovered he enjoyed the feeling very much. Stellan glanced down.

  “Show me!” she whispered, a hungry look saturating her features. “I’ve never met anyone who can perform magick, at least not the real kind. Is it quite difficult?”

  Stellan slowed his pace, but said nothing. What is she driving at?

  “I know why you’re hesitant. You think me like the others, but I’m not.”

  He walked ahead, picking up speed.

  “I won’t tell a soul, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  He shot her a dubious look.

  Clarysa raised a hand. “I swear on my father’s life I won’t!”

  Stellan came to an abrupt decision, followed by an abrupt halt. He glanced about, then swiftly turned and dove into a grove of flowering dogwood trees. The soft rustling of her dress reached his ears. You’re a brave woman, following around a bastard sorcerer like me in the dead of night. Well, here is your reward!

  Spinning around, Stellan caught her hand in a flash of movement. Clarysa yelped, but did not back away. Grasping her wrist, he forced her hand palm up. He began to concentrate intensely. With his fingers, he traced a symbol across her palm and muttered an incantation. The red light flickering in his pupils were reflected in hers.

  Clarysa gasped. “What is–”

  “Quiet!”

  A small glowing orb materialized above her palm. Soon, it coalesced into a shimmering, translucent rose. Stellan watched the princess watch the illusion, its soft light enhancing the beauty of her face. After a moment or so it faded away, as soundlessly as it had come.

  The grove reverted to its former state of semidarkness. Stellan heard Clarysa’s heavy breathing, and then he realized he was breathing just as hard. Whether it was from the effort it took to perform the spell, or something else, he wasn’t sure.

  “Do it again!”

  Stellan dropped her hand. “No.” He headed out from the grove.

  “Oh, but wait!” Clarysa clutched his arm. “I’m sorry. I was being selfish.” She searched his face. “You’re panting. Are you tired?”

  Stellan halted. “Not particularly, no. But magick can be strenuous, yes, in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.” He sensed the impression he had made by the widening of her eyes and the visible shudder that ran through her. For some reason, it gave him a thrill.

  A bench lay ahead of them once they reached the path. Clarysa sat down, and patted the spot next to her. Stellan looked around, thoroughly ill at ease. He really should have been trying to arrange his meeting with the King.

  “Would you rather go back to the party?” she asked.

  Stellan shook his head and sat down. In the middle of a wedding celebration, it was unlikely he’d gain the King’s undivided attention.

  Clarysa folded her hands demurely on her lap. But she regarded him with a bold and even gaze. “What’s the most powerful spell you’ve ever done?”

  Stellan looked at her sharply, and he was suddenly reminded of how different the two of them were. “Only children, charlatans or the ignorant refer to the Arts as ‘spells,’ and I hardly think my past actions are any of your concern.”

  A crestfallen expression passed over her features. “Begging your pardon, sir. I was only curious.”

  Frustrated, Stellan glanced away. He debated how long he should stay. Perhaps he should storm back into the castle and demand to see the King immediately. After all, it was for the benefit of Aldebaran. Related thoughts boiled in his brain, but then a light sniffling sound broke his concentration. Stellan gave the princess a sidelong glance.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, unable to keep the hard edge out of his voice.

  Clarysa rubbed her nose briefly. “Nothing. What makes you ask such a question?”

  “No, I just…” Stellan paused. How could a man and a woman spending time together be so damn confusing?

  “You just what?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, only to slowly close it, thinking the better of his proposed response. “Oh, forget it.”

  An awkward pause followed, suspended by the rhythmic chant of cicadas. A very long pause.

  Clarysa cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I was nosy about your spells…or magick… Whatever you prefer. You see, well, it’s so exciting! And I don’t get much of that around here.”
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br />   Stellan looked at her in surprise. He made a sweeping gesture. “What’s all of this, then? You live in the richest kingdom of the Five Lands. Surely you can find something exciting to do, or travel somewhere interesting?”

  Clarysa snorted. “If you’re a man, yes.” She propped her chin in her hands. “Oh, I must sound like a spoiled brat. But riches aren’t everything, you know.”

  Stellan said nothing.

  “I want a life! I want to be challenged! I want something to make me think so hard my head will burst!”

  Stellan chuckled despite himself. “So, you don’t care for all this fancy celebration? Or for music, or dancing?” He began to think his hasty yet arduous lessons had gone to waste.

  Clarysa shrugged. “I like it well enough, I guess. But I haven’t found anybody I’d like to do it with.”

  “So you’re saying it’s overrated.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  Stellan nodded in response to her appreciative expression. Another moment of silence passed.

  Clarysa cleared her throat. “Would you like to dance?”

  “Yes.” The word was up and out of his mouth before he realized it. His stomach tightened. Now why on earth did you have to go and agree to do that? He searched his mind for any reason, any excuse, to untangle himself, but it would be extremely rude. Besides, he was here, after all, to try and make a good impression. If he endured this one dance, maybe Clarysa would facilitate a meeting with her father.

  Or maybe he’d ruin everything. It wouldn’t be the first time. Stellan followed her to the great hall, dragging his feet and feeling very sorry for himself.

  * * * *

  The hall was far too crowded for his taste. Upon reaching the edge of the dance floor, Stellan hung back. The ever-present thought warning him against such risks gnawed its way across his mind. But Clarysa turned to face him and playfully grabbed his hand. With a fetching glance, she forcefully drew him onto the floor.

  At first, he could barely bring himself to look into her face, one upturned and full of expectation. His limbs felt rigid and gangly, and his feet stomped about as if made of stone. He came close to calling the whole affair off. But Clarysa took his arm and placed it snugly about her waist. One hand landed daintily on a shoulder, and the other slipped into his barely outstretched arm. She stood about a head shorter than he, but it seemed a perfect fit. Clarysa nudged him to start moving.