King of the Frost

by Elizabeth Frost

  Ayla could tell he was growing uncomfortable with this conversation. He couldn’t meet her eyes and he’d balled his hands into fists.

  Later she would ask him about this elemental, a being she’d never heard about before. Later she would clarify what he meant by madness. He spoke as if the creature was inside his head, which wasn’t possible... was it?

  She had too many questions and not enough answers. Nor was she likely to get them just yet. Pushing him would only result in another week by herself.

  And Ayla discovered as much as she thought herself an introvert, she very much enjoyed speaking with people. Or perhaps she just enjoyed speaking with him.

  She readjusted her backpack before nodding. “Well, then. That’s a start. No wonder you were so awkward when I held your hand. I imagine living your life like that hasn’t been easy.”

  His eyes flashed with a spark of anger. “I wasn’t always like this. I’ve held a woman’s hand before, and much more than that.”

  This time, Ayla was the one who blushed. Her cheeks burned and the tips of her ears ached. “I wasn’t suggesting otherwise.”

  He lifted a brow.

  “All right, maybe I was. But you seem to enjoy following me around while you’re invisible. That doesn’t make you seem like a man who has a lot of experience with women.”

  At least he had the dignity to look a little sheepish. “I think that’s more my own fear.”

  “Of?”

  The faeries behind them fluttered to life. They took off as one great gust, swirling around Storm and Ayla before they returned to the tree. Although there was no way to be sure, it felt almost like they were interrupting the conversation so she couldn’t get her answer.

  Stranger and stranger.

  Storm rubbed the back of his neck, long strands of hair shifting like a waterfall before he cleared his throat. “I noticed you were cooking in the kitchens.”

  “No one else was doing it,” she replied, still staring at the faeries in the trees.

  “Where did you learn how to cook?”

  Of all the questions to ask, that was the one he wanted to know? “Humans all know how to cook. I mean, most of them. Few have a personal chef following them around and even then, most of those people still know how to boil water.” The sheepish expression was back. The kind of expression that made her want to ask why he had even thought of the question. “You don’t know how to cook?”

  “Faerie royalty isn’t expected to cook,” he replied. His shoulders stiffened, and he frowned.

  “Then how do you get your food here?”

  He lifted his hands. “I’m expected to know where the food comes from now?”

  “Well... yes.” She furrowed her brow. “Who cooks for you?”

  “I-uh-” Storm looked back at the castle. “Someone does, I suppose.”

  The part of her that enjoyed being a nanny reared to the surface. He was no longer the hot faerie king who made her shiver and quake in the middle of the night. Not that she’d ever admit he was that person to begin with. But now, he was someone who needed her to teach him something. And she was all too happy to do so.

  “Come with me.” Ayla reached out her hand. “If holding hands is something you’re unused to, perhaps we’ll get used to it together?”

  She didn’t dare hope he would take her hand without complaint. Still, she held her breath as she waited for his response.

  He eyed her offered hand like she was the poisonous one before he finally relented. His fingers slid between hers and he let her tug him back toward the castle. Neither of them said anything on their journey. Ayla couldn’t think of what to say other than his hand felt good in hers.

  Even though that was impossible and strange.

  He was a king, a faerie, and the person who had stolen her family’s throne. Not that she wanted the throne, but still. She should be mad at him or... something.

  Ayla wasn’t though. She saw him as the wounded man who wanted someone to touch him. Even though he knew he couldn’t touch other people.

  His thumb skated over her knuckles as she tugged him into the kitchen. He pulled her to a stop just before the counter. “I don’t know why I can touch you,” he murmured.

  “Do you need a reason?”

  “Yes.” He released her hand and lifted his, almost touching her cheek but letting his hand drop at the last second. “Or maybe I don’t. Do you?”

  She sighed. “Yes and no. I think if we were meant to have an answer to that, then we’d have one.”

  “You can just let things go, can’t you?”

  The observation stung, even though she knew he meant it as a positive. He was right. She let things go easily, but she had to learn that from a childhood of mean children disliking her and her oddities. She could have fought, or let it go.

  Ayla chose to not let them bother her.

  She turned and pondered the kitchen. They’d start with something simple and then work up from there. At least if she was teaching him how to cook, they both could be distracted from the strange connection between them.

  She gathered an onion, a few of the eggs, a handful of spinach, and a red bell pepper. Placing them all on the counter with a wooden cutting board and a knife, she pointed to it all. “Cut it up.”

  “With what?”

  Ayla nodded to the knife. “I’d imagine that’s rather obvious.”

  He sighed. “This is work for the servants. When I said I’d never cooked my own food, that doesn’t mean I was interested in learning.”

  “Everyone needs to know how to cook.”

  She half expected him to hold the knife wrong. But he picked it up with all the surety of a man who had definitely held knives before. Storm ran his thumb along the length to test its sharpness. The movement shouldn’t have been so tempting.

  He rolled up his sleeves and revealed strong, veiny forearms. He stood so tall and thin, she thought of him as weak. What she saw now was a strong, capable man who knew how to use a knife very well. Ayla gulped.

  This was a bad idea. But she would enjoy every minute.

  Storm picked up the bell pepper first and sliced off both ends. “How do you want it cut?”

  Ayla jumped into motion then. She rounded the table and focused on the task at hand. “Take out the guts first, then dice please.”

  “Dice?”

  “Tiny cubes.”

  He was all business while working. Storm was efficient in the kitchen, quick with the knife, but not all that interested in learning too much. He didn’t care about the health benefits of the bell pepper. He just wanted to get through the cutting portion and move onto the next task as quickly as possible.

  Military perhaps? No, that made little sense. He didn’t look like the type who had served, nor did he have the personality of a soldier.

  She narrowed her eyes as he started cutting the onion. “Before you were king, who were you?”

  He hesitated only a moment before resuming his cutting. “Something like a scholar. I traveled throughout the courts gathering information from the past.”

  “So a historian.”

  “In a way.” He waved the knife in a circle. “History has a lot of importance to the courts. I was the person sent to discover legitimate claims to titles. If someone wanted to be known as royal, they needed to prove it.”

  “So you took titles away from people.” Ayla leaned her chin on her hand and snorted. “Sounds about right.”

  He grinned. “You have no idea, princess. Faeries are all very cutthroat.”

  Oh, she knew that very well. So many faeries had contacted her. And all of them wanted him dead. Maimed. Dismembered. Some faeries were very specific on how she should kill him.

  Storm moved to cut the spinach before she stopped him. “You’re done with the knife. Next, crack the eggs into a bowl.”

  “And where am I supposed to find a bowl?”

  The king sure was spoiled, wasn’t he? She pointed to the wall where all the plates and bowls rested. �
��Use your eyes, Your Majesty.”

  The grin appeared permanent on his face now. He pointed at her in the same manner she’d pointed to the wall. “You’re using my title appropriately. Finally.”

  “You would know.”

  It didn’t escape her notice he grabbed a bowl and two plates. Almost as though he knew what he was doing. Was this all a ruse? Just to spend time with her?

  Her cheeks burned. That thought was a dangerous path to go down. She had already admitted her fascination to herself. One slip and she’d admit it to him as well.

  He brought everything back to the table and sectioned the food off. Ayla almost didn’t notice he cracked the eggs with one hand and had little problem with shells. She lifted a brow and eyed him.

  He turned beet red at her expression. “I might have cooked some. But never anything a chef could conjure up.”

  “Did you lie to me?”

  He pondered the thought. “I don’t think it was a lie. I thought of the grand dishes royalty usually feasts upon and I could say the words.”

  “So faeries can lie,” she mused. “Just not like humans. You have to believe what you’re saying isn’t a lie, and you can still say it.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” He took a deep breath, then waved to the chopped and mixed food before them. “Now what?”

  “Now you cook it.”

  “On what?”

  Ayla realized they hadn’t started the fire in the stove, so they wouldn’t be able to cook anything. Her cheeks burned. “Ah, well...”

  Storm grinned. “Perhaps we should let whatever creature or magic has been feeding me clean up this mess. There’s more I’d like to show you around the castle.”

  He reached out his hand for her to take.

  This felt monumental. He wanted to touch her, this time all of his own accord. Without magic or pressure from Ayla.

  Ayla took a deep breath and chided herself for wasting time. Her brother needed her. The twins were probably driving him up the wall, along with trying to take care of his wife. She was selfishly enjoying a palace when she’d promised she would be back in a week. It had been a week.

  And yet…

  She held her breath, reached out, and took his hand. “I need to go home soon. But one more adventure couldn’t hurt.”

  15

  Ayla followed him through the sparkling glass halls as the sun set on the horizon. The gorgeous red streaks filled her vision with color and fluffy white clouds. They strode through the sky.

  There were fewer rooms in this part of the palace. Here she was, certain she’d already explored every nook and cranny. Then he took her down a hall she didn’t recognize and suddenly there was an entire section of the palace she’d never been to before.

  So many rooms were empty here. All crystal clear and providing her the ability to see for what seemed like miles.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “There are parts of the palace that were privately owned by a myriad of faeries. Some were royals. Others were artists the nobility had commissioned to live and work in the palace.” Storm looked over his shoulder, scars gleaming in the dying light, and eyes overly bright. “And some of these rooms were given to laborers important to the king and queen.”

  Ayla thought about his words. Artist quarters would be lovely to see, but she couldn’t imagine there were many of them left here. Would any of their work have been left behind?

  The mischievous grin on his face also made her wonder what he was playing at. No one grinned like that unless they had a trick up their sleeve.

  Ayla released his hand and snapped her fingers. “Are you taking me to your private quarters? The ones you used to live in when you weren’t the king?”

  “My old living quarters.” He emphasized the word ‘old’. “I don’t live there anymore, but yes, it was where I worked. I was more than just a scholar.”

  His surprise was bringing her to his bedroom? That was... forward. But not entirely unexpected. Or unwelcomed. Still, her cheeks burned.

  “You were?” Ayla let him drag her further through the warped glass halls. “What else did you do?”

  Storm paused and whirled around. She almost collided with his chest, but he took an extra step back at the last moment.

  Comfortable enough to hold her hand, but maybe they weren’t ready for a full body touch yet. She understood his hesitation.

  If she brushed his hand with hers, electricity made her entire body sing. What would happen if she touched the rest of him? Would she spontaneously combust?

  Maybe he did spread madness with his touch. She felt mad every time she looked at him.

  Storm took a half step closer. Just enough so she could feel the heat billowing from his body when he claimed to always be cold. He reached forward and caught a strand of her golden hair. The strand turned white in his grasp. “Did you know you smell like a warm spring day?”

  “What?” she asked, breathless.

  “Every time I catch your scent, it changes. Lemongrass. Verbena. Lilac. It’s ever shifting, but always reminds me of springtime.” His breath fanned across her lips and his gaze softened into something warm and melting.

  Was he trying to explain what he used to do in the palace? She couldn’t focus on his words when he was so close.

  His hair wasn’t so much white as it was snowy. The sunlight reflected off it and changed the white into a rainbow of colors. Even as she watched, it wasn’t quite the same as the last moment. And his eyes... Those dark eyes weren’t as soulless as she might have thought a week ago. They were black, yes, but the same way the night sky was black and filled with a thousand stars.

  What had he been saying? Something about her scent… that made no sense. Few men wanted to talk about how she smelled. The detail was rather specific. Especially picking through each part of her scent. Like he knew the undertones…

  “You make perfume,” she whispered. “Is that right?”

  His eyes filled with so much happiness it made her soul ache. “Very good, princess. I used to make perfume for the most beautiful of all faerie women. The queen.”

  Storm took her hand again, sliding his fingers down her arm until they were tangled with hers once more. She forgot how to breathe.

  He tugged her down the hall to the first frosted glass room. “This was where I spent most of my time when I lived in the palace. Before...”

  She ignored the way his gaze darted to her. His face paled, and she knew he struggled with the same internal question. Would talking about her parent’s death make her uncomfortable? “I don’t know how my parents died.”

  “No one ever told you?”

  Ayla straightened her shoulders and met his gaze head on. “I never asked.”

  With a sharp nod, he nudged the door open.

  Every muscle in her body relaxed with relief. He wouldn’t make her say anything more than what she’d just said. She didn’t want to know how her parents died. Faerie politics were cruel, that much she had learned from the other wandering fae.

  If they had done something wrong, then they deserved their death. And if they were good people who had done their best to make sure the kingdom prospered... well, then she didn’t want to know what happened. Their deaths were tragic, and she didn’t have the time to grieve for people she’d never known.

  Storm laid his palm flat against the door and shoved it open. “After you.”

  Walking into the room was like stepping back in time. If she thought he dressed like the Victorian era, this entire room was plucked from history.

  A four poster bed took up most of the space. Curtains were hung on the wall behind it, perhaps to make it look larger than it actually was. A small desk in the corner had seen better days. Every edge seemed to be rubbed raw, although she couldn’t guess how such injuries had happened to the piece.

  In the back of the room, a set of glass tubes with large vials at either end sat atop a wooden table. The tubes were covered in dust, and the vials still had a
few hardened drops of whatever substance he’d been creating when he lived here.

  Ayla took a step toward the vials, then hesitated. Was it rude to investigate a man’s old bedroom when he was standing right behind her?

  “Go ahead,” he said, his voice warm and low. “See if you can guess what’s in the perfume.”

  Challenge accepted. She rushed toward the desk and opened the first vial. Lifting it to her nose, she inhaled.

  “Citrus?” she asked, although she wasn’t confident that was the scent. It bit at her senses, almost painfully so. She kind of liked the pain, however. The scent was almost pleasant in how it made the back of her throat sting.

  “There is a little citrus. What kind?”

  “Lemon?”

  “You can do better than that.” He strode to her side with his hands clasped behind his back. “Try again.”

  Ayla inhaled and tried to picture the flavor on her tongue. There was something familiar to it, but not quite... “Grapefruit?”

  The grin on his face was filled with pride. “Exactly. That is the high note.”

  “And is there something grassy in it?”

  He lifted a brow. “That might be a little too far, princess. Grassy!” Storm reached for the vial in her hand and put it back. “I was once sought after by all the faeries in every court. My perfume was known throughout the realms.”

  “And yet, you called yourself a scholar?”

  “I had many passions.” His gaze roamed throughout the room. There was something sad to his gaze, as though he would go back to that time if given the chance. “And then I became king. Kings don’t have time for such foolish hobbies.”

  “I don’t think they’re foolish.” She made certain the vial wouldn’t tip over, then sat down on the stool at the desk in the other corner. Ayla tucked her arms around herself in a hug and surveyed the meager beginnings of his life. “You were happy here, weren’t you?”

  “I was. Very much.”

  “Then why did you become king?”