King of the Frost
Seasons of Fae Book 2
Elizabeth Frost
Copyright © 2020 Emma Hamm as Elizabeth Frost
Cover by: Covers by Combs
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For Nic, who is the best beta reader in the world and without all the edits gifted, this book wouldn’t be the same <3
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
A Sneak Peek into King of the Flames
About the Author
1
The children screamed on the swing set, kicking their feet up to the clouds and shouting to the high heavens. For a second, Ayla didn’t see their cheerful faces. She saw war ragged expressions, haunted and horrified children who knew their parents weren’t coming home.
Not now, not ever.
Shaking her head, she waved a hand. “Don’t swing too high! Remember what I said!”
Her nephew only kicked his feet with more purpose. “Auntie Ayla! I’m a big boy now. I can go higher than all the other kids!”
Maybe he could, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t rip her heart out with every swing. Maybe this was why her brother wanted Ayla to watch the twins rather than any other nanny. She couldn’t bear the thought of them hurting themselves. It was like taking out a piece of her own soul.
She’d always been like this. Even in the waiting room of the hospital, she’d paced back and forth. Her heart had hammered between her ribs and she’d sent prayers to a God she didn’t believe in.
“Please let them live,” she had chanted. “If you ever thought kindly of my people, or if I’ve ever done anything in your light, let them live.”
Ian and Ivan were born on the winter solstice like princes to Ayla’s fairytale. Although, when they were out and about, she called them gremlins. They loved to cause trouble wherever they went. She could always read the mischief in their expressions.
Ayla sometimes saw other faces laid over theirs. Little faeries who crawled out of the shadows and unlaced shoes, poured sugar out of bowls, and kicked dust bunnies out from under the couch.
When she was very little, she hadn’t understood the strange thoughts that sometimes appeared in her mind. Her brother, Henry, had been far more understanding. When her parents had called her visions an overactive imagination, he’d called it genius.
Ayla had always been his little “faerie” sister. Because he’d seen the faeries come and put her in her crib, swapping out his real sister for her.
Their parents hadn’t been fond of the nickname. In fact, they’d done everything they could to discourage him from calling her that. Even though Ayla quite liked being called a faerie.
It wasn’t until she was much older before she realized how right he’d been.
Even now she could see faeries from where she sat. Two phookas played with the boys. Ian and Ivan had no idea there was magic around them, but they noticed the wind tickling their hair. They couldn’t see the cat-like faeries teasing them. Still, the boys played with them, nonetheless.
Maybe that’s why she loved the twins so much. They had a bit of magic in them, even though they were one hundred percent human.
She sighed and set her purse on the bench next to her. They were lucky to have the entire park to themselves today, usually teems of children shrieked for their parents to push them higher. At least it meant she could leave her things unattended.
Ayla wandered toward the boys, intent on giving them a shove to send them flying up into the air. Except, she noticed a broad figure in white silhouetted by the early morning light. He stood by the hedges and stared, his gaze intense and shadowed.
Every hair on her body stood up on end. Was this man trying to case out her nephews? Was he trying to... what? Kidnap them?
Over her dead body. A nanny protected these boys with a lot more tricks up her sleeve than any normal human.
She meandered to the swing set with her eyes on the male figure. “Here,” she said, her voice jubilant but her jaw clenched. “Let me give you a push.”
Ivan shrieked in happiness, his voice like a balm to her soul. Did he know how much she loved him? Probably. But she didn’t think the boys would ever realize just how far she’d go to protect them. She couldn’t lose a single hair on their head without mourning.
“Boys?” she asked. They both turned their heads toward her, trying to pretend they were listening while still kicking their feet. “I’m going over there and talk with that man. Okay? Stay where you are, please. Don’t make me come find you like last time.”
Ian and Ivan liked to play tricks. The gremlins thought hiding on her was the greatest fun they could ever have, even though it made her want to cry.
“Okay, auntie!” Ivan said, ignoring her.
“What man?” Ian asked. He slowed his swinging just enough to crane his neck and look where she pointed. “I don’t see anyone?”
The air in her lungs froze. Her heart raced in her ears, thumping hard like the beat of a drum. Ayla could feel the blood drain from her face.
Don’t let the boys see you upset, she thought to herself.
Children didn’t understand fear. Nor should they.
Ayla squared her shoulders and plastered a fake grin on her face. “Well, maybe you don’t see him. But I do!”
Ian giggled and rocked on the swing to get it moving again. He’d never know there actually was a man standing there, staring at the boys as though he wanted to devour them.
She shivered. Faeries used to eat human children in the old days.
If this faerie thought he’d get his teeth on her boys, then he had another thing coming. She clenched her hands into fists and stalked to the corner of the park.
The closer she got, the more details she could see. He wasn’t wearing a white suit as she had originally thought. Bandages wrapped around his entire body. A few of the tails had wiggled loose, or perhaps he’d jostled them free. They danced in the wind as she approached, whispering of pain and battle.
The bandages even covered his face other than one cream-colored eye. He followed her movement, waiting for her to reach him without rushing her.
“What do you want?” she snapped when she finally stood in front of him. She crossed her arms over her chest and blew a strand of pale hair from her face.
“My queen,” the faerie said. He dropped into a low bow, but it was his voice that made her skin crawl. The deep sound was the bellows of wind rushing through a canyon. He was one of her own kind. An air faerie who had somehow made his way to the human realm.
“I’m no one’s queen,” Ayla replied. “I’m a nanny, as you can see. The boys are mine.”
“You’ve had children?” He snapped up straight as an arrow. “We were unaware there were princes.”
She shook her head. “No, they’re my brot
her’s. But they are important to me.”
“Brother?” The strange faerie pressed a hand against his chest. “You have no siblings, Ayla of Frostborn.”
Sure. They might think she was the queen of their people, but clearly she wasn’t. Her family had cast her aside, sent her to live with humans because she was worth nothing to them. They’d rather trade her for a human child. A slave.
They had forced Ayla to grow up thinking she was human. She could do things the other kids couldn’t. Make the wind rustle her hair, turn the air frosty, make snow fall from the sky on a whim. She wasn’t like the humans and she’d scared them because of it.
She’d only realized what she was because an errant faerie had told her when she’d turned sixteen. Horns grew atop his head and his feet were hooves.
“You’re a changeling child,” he’d said with a leer. “No one wanted you, so they sent you away to live with the humans. Poor dear. You’ll never even know who your parents are.”
Until much later, when her faerie parents had died, and the court shifted power to someone new. Then they all wanted her back.
She had her pride.
Shifting her stance, she cocked her hip out to the side. “I’m not interested. I’ve told so many of you. He can keep the throne. I don’t want it.”
The faerie dropped to his knees, shuffling forward with bandages snapping in a sudden wind. “Please, my queen. Your people are dying, and we need you to save us.”
“I’m no savior, and I’m no queen.” Ayla turned to leave. He could stay on his knees as long as he wanted, but she wouldn’t go with him. The boys needed her. The family needed her. And that was more than any faerie had given her.
He flinched and shuffled forward again, reaching out and grasping the hem of her button down yellow shirt. “Please, mistress. At least hear me. The Mad King took the throne when your parents died, but none of us knew what would happen if he did. The Air Court is dying. He is killing us all.”
“Then find someone to stop him. Surely there are a hundred faeries out there willing to do the job.” She shook him off her shirt. “Let go.”
“No, my queen. No one can stop him; we’ve tried. He is all powerful and holds within him an elemental who wants to destroy the human realm. If you don’t stop him, if you don’t take back what is rightfully yours, then it won’t just be the faeries who die. It will be everyone. The whole world.”
She could only imagine this was the newest tactic to get her to come home. Faeries attacking humans? They wouldn’t. They didn’t have the resources.
Ayla snorted and peeled his hands off her shirt. “Nice try. Maybe tell the next guy that threatening my family was a bad idea.”
“I’m not threatening anyone!” he shouted. “I’m telling you the truth. If the elemental takes over the king, then we are all lost. All the faerie kings, all those who rule the Season courts, will soon be overwhelmed. This is how the world ends, my queen. And you are the only one who can stop it.”
His words settled on her shoulders like an omen. She hated to admit he’d gotten into her head, but the man definitely had. Somehow, he’d made her nervous.
Glancing over her shoulder, she made sure the boys were still on the swings. When she had ensured they were behaving, she turned back to the man and held onto his hands with a firm grip. “I don’t know if you’re telling the truth or not, but I’m not the person you’re looking for.”
Ayla released his hands and left him on the ground. The faerie hung his head in defeat, but she tried not to let it bother her. The faeries had their own problems. They weren’t hers just because she shared blood with two people who hadn’t wanted her.
Still, her stomach rolled with guilt. Her breakfast of syrupy pancakes pressed against the back of her throat, but she refused to vomit in the trash can. She had a family to protect. Two nephews who loved her. A brother and a sister-in-law who were kind enough to pay her and let her live in the little cottage behind their house. Ayla was blessed with so much, she didn’t need to worry about faeries.
“Come on, boys!” she shouted. “We’re going home!”
Though the twins complained, they hopped off the swing set and raced toward her bag. Ian grabbed her purse and held it open for Ivan to rummage through, looking for her car keys.
They held up the keys with two sticky grins long before she reached their side. Kneeling, Ayla gathered them close to her chest and squeezed them tight.
“I love you two,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”
They wiggled and in unison replied, “We know Auntie Ayla! Let go!”
It was always the same with the two of them. They hated getting snuggled or loved now that they were older.
She plucked the keys from Ivan’s hands and pointed to the car. “Car boys. Let’s go home.”
2
Storm blew out a long, low breath. The exhale fogged before him as though he were blowing smoke. When had it gotten so cold in the glass palace?
He remembered the halls filled with faeries and warm breezes. It had once been the most beautiful palace in all the courts. Delicate air faeries danced in unison to music brought by gusts from around the world.
Now, it was empty and filled with ghosts of his past.
The clear floor warped beneath his feet, built up with ice from many years in the frozen air. He wore only a light jacket, but that didn’t keep him warm. Nothing did.
The strands of his long, white hair blew in the wind that always followed him. Just once, he’d like to be alone instead of hearing the whispers of a thousand people in his ears.
“Go away,” he muttered, waving a hand above his head.
“The new king is mad.”
“Why is he even sitting on the throne? Surely he understands no one wants him there.”
“My queen, your people are dying.”
The last one caught his attention, but the breeze drifted away before he could catch it. My queen? The air faeries had no queen. They had him. A poor excuse for a ruler, perhaps, but not easily mistaken for a woman.
A fresh gust of wind whispered in his ear, “The faeries think you weak. The lesser ruler of many greats.”
With a roar, he twisted and punched the air. Though his fist should have passed unhindered, he struck something solid. A glass wall he hadn’t noticed. Perfectly clear once, it shattered with the force of his attack.
Tiny shards of glass stuck between his knuckles. They glimmered in the sunlight like gemstones embedded in his flesh. If the pain wasn’t there, he might have thought them beautiful.
Blood dripped onto the glass floor. The bright splatters made the place look more real. More solid. Less a piece of his imagination fueling the madness in his mind. He opened his fist and closed it, forcing more blood to plop onto the floor.
For a few moments, he felt normal. All the thoughts in his head were forced to slow down and focus on one thing. Just the glass between his bones that shifted and rocked with every movement.
His relief never lasted long. The whispers started up again in earnest. They were so insulted he’d take time away from them, focus on anything but the ghosts living inside his head. This time, it wasn’t just the whispers of disappointed subjects on the wind.
Tapping footsteps urged him to look up. Storm wished he had the strength to deny them. But he didn’t.
He looked up.
Ghosts stood before him, spectres of a time long past when he hadn’t been king. When he’d been just a faerie noble who’d wanted to sit upon this cursed throne.
A woman made of frosty air danced in the arms of a banshee man. Their dresses were once made of beautiful silk and gauzy fabric that had floated around them as though they carried a personal wind at their side. Now, they were ragged and torn bandages. Memories of a war long past when the two of them had died.
They turned to smile at him, but they were both missing teeth. The banshee blinked with empty eye sockets, and the woman spun to reveal the melted left side of her face.
/> “My king,” they whispered, their words drifting in the wind. “Don’t you want to rule us?”
No, he didn’t want to rule them. He wanted them to stop haunting his every step. He hadn’t meant to cause a war in the Air Court. When the king and queen died without an heir, he was the next logical step.
He’d stepped on a few people along the way, sure. There were others who were closer to the king and queen, but that didn’t make them any better a choice than him. They didn’t deserve the throne.
He was the strongest air faerie. No one could contest that. His mastery of their magic surpassed even his teachers until he was the one teaching all those who desired to know the ways of air. He could walk upon the wind at whim, call it to his side, freeze any faerie solid and decorate his garden with their figures.
Why wouldn’t he be the most worthy of this esteemed position? Why couldn’t they accept him?
He dashed a hand through the air figures and forced their ghosts to leave. “I do not rule the dead,” he muttered.
He stumbled as he stepped away. Why wasn’t he walking right? One of his legs felt too stiff, and it didn’t want to support the weight he placed on it. Had he injured his leg as well when he punched through the glass?
“My king,” another voice whispered. He could feel the bitter touch of a ghost on his shoulder. “Where are you going? Might I be of assistance?”
“Leave me be.”
Another hand grasped the hem of his jacket at his knees. “Please, my lord! We need you. You can’t go just yet.”
He could, and he would. Storm needed to get away from the monsters who toyed with his sanity. They wanted him to give up and allow them to control the throne. To lose control of the magic he kept contained inside him. The horrible, terrible magic that wanted to harm everyone and everything.
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