Lord of Snow and Ice

by Heather Massey

  A moment of uneasy silence passed. Clarysa held her breath, not daring to speak.

  Stellan made a fist. “Were you ever forced to watch your own mother waste away before you…flesh dripping off her bones?” His jaw muscles bulged. “Answer me, Clarysa! Have you? Because I have!” His voice fell to a whisper. “My father killed my mother before my very eyes. An early test of the damnable magick I came to call Pestilence. This is the sight I have been condemned to live with all of my life, burned into my memory. It’s the first thing I think of as I wake, and the last thing I see before I sleep.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. No wonder the man seemed so tortured! “My deepest condolences, Stellan. I had no idea.”

  He shook his head. “Your sympathy is wasted. I deserve my hateful existence. I saw how my father and uncle were, but I did nothing to stop them. I saw again and again how the Black Arts perverted their minds. Not all of us think only of evil gains, you see. Only my mother and I…” His voice wavered. “I should have saved her.”

  Clarysa rushed forward and wrapped her arms about him. He clearly needed support more than anything in the world.

  “Hush. You don’t have to speak of it anymore. Forget I said anything.”

  “No,” came the strained answer. “I should remember. I should increase my pain and suffering, for if anyone deserves such a fate, it’s this loathsome man you see here before you.”

  “I don’t believe that and neither should you.”

  He disengaged from her embrace. “I know you mean well, but hear the truth, Clarysa. Remember your history lessons? The ‘normal’ people of Aldebaran were glad to be rid of us. They massively outnumbered those with magickal talent and took full advantage. In fact, their plan succeeded far better than they knew. When they exiled my ancestors long ago, few survived the journey. Fewer still survived the harsh environment of the Western Wastes.” Stellan looked at her bitterly. “No, I suppose those particular tidbits of information never made the rounds in your nighttime fairy tales, did they?”

  Clarysa wrapped her arms about her middle. “I know about the banishing, but naturally our teachings told a different account. To my people, they were ridding a plague of evil from the lands.”

  Stellan smirked. “Naturally. And I suppose all the children who died on that torturous journey were also part of this ‘plague.’” He blew out a breath. “Your forbearers never gave a moment’s thought to the consequences, did they? Not to mention the unyielding resentment their actions would foster among my people.”

  Clarysa hung her head. “No. No they didn’t. Our tapestries…” Her voice failed her.

  “Yes, I can imagine. They must paint a decidedly biased picture.” He stared at his right hand. It began to glow with magickal power, then immediately waned. “After being driven out into the Wastes, dissent grew among those who survived. The oldest clan leader tried to maintain control, but he was ill and his magick was severely weakened. One night, a young man seething with vengeance saw the opportunity. He staged a coup.” Stellan’s gaze locked with Clarysa’s. “If I were to tell you the manner of the deaths that followed, it would give you nightmares for years.”

  Clarysa could only nod slowly. Was her father aware of this information? And if so, why risk ignoring the lessons of history?

  Stellan crossed his arms. “Of course, all of this occurred long before my birth. But it’s the world my mother and I were born into…a world where the first words a child is taught are a call for death to the outsiders. Magick took on a whole new form–and purpose. My people explored dimensions that had once been forbidden. Talents that had once been nascent and elementary were cultivated into much more powerful skills. They reasoned that if the outsiders’ bigotry had made them fear our ways, then we would give them sound cause to tremble in the night.”

  “Is that why Pestilence was created? Revenge against Aldebaran for something that happened decades ago?”

  “Many sorcerers believe we survived the Wastes for one reason and one reason only–to witness the souls of the outsiders torn to shreds and cast before us into oblivion.”

  Stellan’s expression turned distant. What was he thinking? Clarysa finally dared to break the silence. “But…why do you torture yourself so? I’m sure your mother wouldn’t blame you. You were only a child. What could you possibly have done?”

  “I was twelve at the time. Father brought me before him. Said he had something he wanted to show me. Said I should remember it well if I wanted to become a true sorcerer. You see, I had a litter of wolf pups. They were orphans I’d found on the edge of the Wastes. Every day I rose early to nurse them. Every day I watched them frolic in the courtyard.” Sorrow contorted his face.

  “What happened?”

  “My father slaughtered them all. Said this is what the outsiders had done to us, and what we would soon wreak upon them.”

  “How awful!”

  “It gets worse. Like an idiot, I just stood there. I hadn’t come into my full power yet, so I didn’t dare cross him. This hesitation to act would later come back to haunt me, for it prevented me from opposing my father when I knew he was wrong.” His head dropped; his words tumbled to the floor. “Perhaps I could have saved Mother if I had just done something. Anything.”

  The Dark Prince smashed his fist into the stone wall beside him. “Well, no more!” He hit the wall again, stripping the flesh from his bare knuckles. “Now I’m stronger. I am no longer the timid boy with a soft heart for animals and his mother. Experience has changed me, hardened me with fresh purpose. I know this–and soon, so shall they.”

  By “they” Clarysa guessed he meant his father and uncle. She reached out and cradled his bloody hand in the folds of her skirt. “I don’t believe that.”

  Stellan cut her a look and tried to withdraw his hand.

  But she maintained a firm grasp. “Well, stand there and glare if you like, but the boy with the soft heart is still in there. I can feel it! He may have built a mighty wall to protect himself, and he has every right to feel angry with the world, but a part of him still cares about the good in it.”

  Stellan snorted. “What makes you think so?”

  “Because he’s here with me right now.”

  He glanced away.

  She studied his scraped hand and then began lightly stroking it. “Such lovely hands,” she whispered.

  Something like a warning growl issued from his mouth, but he didn’t pull away.

  She shouldn’t breach his protective shell too fast or too soon, or she risked alienating him altogether. After all, she now understood what she represented to him. “Stellan, change has to begin somewhere, with someone willing to take up the mantle.” She swallowed hard. “If I haven’t made it clear before, I’m doing it now. I want to help you.” Her gaze poured deeply into his. “For what it’s worth, you’ve converted me to your cause. Please believe me!”

  The prince nodded, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “There is a way you can help,” he murmured.

  Her heart pounded, hoping his definition of “help” included a hug, or maybe even a kiss. “Yes?”

  “Clarysa, would you care to explain how you came here without an escort? Or, for that matter, without the King?”

  She winced. “Who says I did?”

  His stern gaze warned her against any mischief.

  “All right. The truth is very few people are brave enough to visit this spooky, old castle of yours.”

  “Spooky? Who told you that? And you haven’t answered my question.” He ran his fingers across her belly.

  Clarysa shrieked with laughter. She liked this other Stellan, so funny and playful. Nothing like the beast others made him out to be. “How can I answer anything when you’re tickling me without mercy?” She spun away and darted across the room.

  “If that's the case, I have other techniques at my disposal.” Grinning wickedly, Stellan sidestepped in an attempt to corner her.

  Clarysa scooted along the wall just out of his reach. “You'l
l have to catch me first!”

  Stellan chased her around the room. By the third pass, Clarysa's heart raced uncontrollably. She wanted him to catch her, but at the same time craved the thrill of being hunted.

  A second door caught her eye. “What’s through here?” she asked breathlessly. She tugged at the iron catch and opened the door. She made it through the opening just as Stellan dove for her.

  Clarysa stumbled onto a freezing catwalk lined with a stone parapet.

  “Oh, my!” She stopped to survey the nighttime view of the castle below, buried in ice and frost and shadow. A canopy of stars glittered brightly above. “I didn’t realize we were up so high!”

  Stellan’s steadying hand clamped against her elbow. Clarysa shivered. The predator had caught his prey. “This is the highest tower,” he murmured into her ear.

  His breath made her skin tingle. She stepped forward carefully, letting her palms rest on the waist-high parapet. “It’s beautiful. I can see why you come up here to play.”

  They stood still for a moment. Save for a light sprinkling of snow, nothing moved below. The organ music simmered quietly in the background. Clarysa stared about her, transfixed. I could become accustomed to this view.

  An icy blast swooped in and she shuddered violently. The edges of Stellan’s cape flew up, snapping high into the air. As the material settled down, it wrapped her body against Stellan's in a warm embrace. Clarysa hadn't seen his arms move. More of his magick? Delightful! She rested her cheek against his chest. It felt so firm and broad she wanted to stay there forever.

  “And what about you?” he whispered after the wind died down.

  “What about me?”

  “Do you think I’m ‘spooky’?”

  Startled, Clarysa looked at him. His anguished gaze captured hers, searching for an answer. She moistened her lips. “Not at all. I think you’re wonderful.”

  She became aware of a new sensation as his hands hungrily explored her waist and hips. Why am I breathing so hard? She clung to him, feeling giddy. In fact, she wanted to say, I love you! But words would only sound harsh and awkward in this gloriously ethereal moment, high above his beautiful and enchanted kingdom.

  All across the land below snowflakes drifted down–lightly at first, then with renewed vigor. Stellan gazed at her now through half-lidded eyes, his lashes tinged with wetness. Clarysa’s excitement mounted as he pulled her hips closer, drawing her upward. As he bent his head down, she rose on tiptoes to reach him. Their lips met in a warm, vibrant kiss. Clarysa trembled, but not from the cold. She encircled his neck and stroked the glossy, uneven locks she had yearned to touch for so long.

  As the kiss deepened, he began exploring more than her waist and hips. Thighs, back, neck, hair… He caressed every inch with deft, eager strokes. Clarysa gasped as he swept her hard against him, leaving her feet dangling. Still, he kissed her, even as her bottom pressed alarmingly against the parapet. Excited, spellbound, impassioned, she clutched him tightly. Her girlish daydreams hadn’t come close to the actual thrill of Stellan’s embrace and hot, raw affection. Giddy thoughts raced through her mind about their future. He is the one!

  Stellan’s kisses grew frenzied, more demanding. Clarysa wondered at how heavy her breasts felt, crushed as they were against his solid chest. Where their hips met, she could feel Stellan’s hard length. It inflamed her desire to slip her hand between their bodies and stroke him there. But the Dark Prince held her tightly in his embrace, his questing tongue gaining intimate knowledge of her mouth. With a happy sigh, Clarysa parted her lips wide so he could know it completely.

  She clamped his waist with her legs. Moaning, Stellan gripped her hard and ravaged her mouth as the bloodthirsty snowstorm howled around them. Wind lashed at their clothing while snow and hail accosted them without mercy. Clarysa paid the weather no heed. All she could think about was finding relief from the pulsing heat between her thighs. She was wound so tightly with need.

  Clarysa bucked against him. Intense pleasure spiraled deep within her. If Stellan could slip his hardness inside her right now, she would be complete.

  “Oh yes,” she gasped as he feasted upon her neck. She rolled her hips in a way she hoped would entice him. How else could she signal her readiness?

  Stellan growled. “I’m going to lose control if you keep doing that.” He grazed her ear with his teeth, prompting a cascade of tingles across her skin.

  “I don’t mind,” she panted. “It will feel so good!” She dragged her tongue, slick and hot, along his stubble-roughened cheek. He shuddered violently. She put her lips to his ear. “I’ll do that again anywhere you want.”

  For a moment, he closed his hands dangerously tight around her waist. He thrust his tongue so far into her mouth she couldn’t breathe. Clarysa absorbed every inch, hanging onto him for dear life.

  Then he broke the kiss, his snarl of frustration echoing across the snow-laden countryside.

  “Damn it, Clarysa! We must stop before this goes too far.”

  Swinging her away from the parapet he deposited her in a large snowdrift. Reluctantly, she dropped her legs from his waist. He plunged a hand into the snow by her shoulder and paused to catch his breath.

  Clarysa groaned in protest. “But, Stellan, it feels so right!” She gently touched his lips. “I ache for you so much.”

  He caught her hand in his. “The feeling is mutual,” he said, his breath ragged. “But we risk too much throwing caution to the wind. Our situation is too complicated.”

  Stellan was right. She sighed. “And politically fragile.”

  He gently wiped a fresh coating of snow from her forehead. “Yes. I’m glad you understand.”

  Clarysa frowned, fighting back tears of disappointment. “What are we going to do?”

  “Well, we should start by going inside. You’re shivering.” He extended a hand and helped her stand. “Come. It’s time for rest.”

  * * * *

  The midnight hour had come and gone when they retreated inside. Wine had never made Clarysa as drunk as Stellan’s kisses. She wanted to stay up and talk, but he insisted she rest for a few hours before he escorted her back to Aldebaran.

  Hands entwined, they descended to the main floor. At the door of her guest room, Stellan slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. He gave her a passionate kiss goodnight. Breathless, Clarysa watched him leave for his quarters. The deep shadows of the passageway quickly swallowed him.

  As soon as he was gone, the hairs along the back of her nape rose. Cautiously, Clarysa stepped forward, peering into the gloom. There it was–an open door a few rooms down. Candlelight spilled through the narrow opening. Clarysa detected the face of a woman.

  Patrulha.

  Clarysa waved, but the Captain of the Guard swiftly shut the door. Clarysa put a finger to her swollen lips. How much of her intimate exchange with Stellan had Patrulha seen? Did it bother her in some way? Feeling uneasy, Clarysa shut her door and went to bed.

  * * * *

  After a refreshing sleep, Clarysa rose, made herself presentable, and went to the kitchen. Gretchen was already up preparing breakfast. Ghyslain was setting the table. Stellan sat there cutting bread.

  “Good morning, all,” Clarysa said from the doorway.

  “Good morning, Princess,” Gretchen said merrily. She winked as Clarysa headed for the table. “Did you have a lovely dinner?”

  “I did, thank you.”

  Gretchen slowly stirred the large kettle of porridge. “I heard the entertainment portion of the evening lasted far into the night. Now that must have been something to see.”

  Clarysa blushed. “I, ah… The pipe organ made beautiful music.” Heavens, how much does she know?

  Ghyslain snorted out his laughter, dropping a piece of silverware in the process.

  “Enough,” growled Stellan.

  Clarysa looked at him in alarm. But he appeared more contemplative than angry. The tension drained from her shoulders.

  “You can sit here
,” he told her, pointing to the space on his left.

  Clarysa sat. Gretchen ladled out porridge and drizzled a generous dollop of honey over each bowl. The way Stellan and Ghyslain attacked their food, she guessed they considered honey an indulgence.

  A series of knowing looks passed between the gypsy woman and her son as the four of them sat eating. Clarysa didn’t mind. If her association with Stellan brought them comfort and happiness, then it was a good sign of things to come.

  Stellan still maintained his guard, but he didn’t scowl nearly as much as the previous night. When Clarysa pressed her thigh against his, he didn’t move away.

  A half hour later, she and Stellan were astride their horses, ready to depart. Gretchen, Ghyslain, and Froll saw them off.

  “Come back soon,” Gretchen called as she and the prince rode off.

  Clarysa smiled and waved at the gypsy family, but her heart was sinking. If I even can.

  Snow fell at a steady pace. Clarysa coaxed him into conversation by telling jokes and plying him with more questions about his habits and pastimes. Along the way, they made a few stops to rest or kiss, but mostly to kiss. At the edge of the Snowflake Kingdom, warm sunshine replaced the chilly precipitation and so they removed their heavy cloaks and scarves.

  After they crossed the Aldebaran border, Clarysa gasped. She motioned for Stellan’s silence, and quickly led him off the road. They hid behind a group of oak trees.

  “Did you see them?” she asked.

  Stellan nodded.

  Clarysa frowned. “My father’s men.”

  Stellan leaned forward on crossed arms. “Let me guess. You left without permission.”

  Clarysa hung her head. “I-I couldn’t possibly stay away. My father is wrong about you, and I’m going to prove it.”