Which meant...
She cleared her throat and glanced around at the invisible wind. “Excuse me? Do you know where the king is?”
The wind grew stronger, circling her entire body and shoving her back a few steps before the little cyclone calmed down. Ayla was speechless for a full minute. She couldn’t quite process what had just happened.
Had that wind understood her? And responded like a very excitable puppy?
“Um.” She tried to react like the king would. “Is that a yes?”
Again, a small cyclone wrapped around her like she was caught in the middle of a tornado before it died down.
“Right.”
Another voice interrupted her thoughts, although it was a familiar one. “The wind can talk to you. Perhaps you would have known that, Princess, if you came back to the palace as you were meant to.” Miku leaned against a doorway, her maid’s outfit as transparent as the glass walls.
Ayla tossed her hands up into the air and strode toward the ghost. “I was wondering when you’d show up again. Didn’t seem likely I would only have a ghostly experience once.”
“We live here just as you do.”
“I don’t live here.” She planted her hands on her hips and stared the ghost down. “Do you know where the king is?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect. Bring me to him then. We have a lot to talk about.”
Miku looked her up and down, then curled her lip in disgust. “I will bring you nowhere in that.”
She glanced down at her sensible clothing. It was the same as she’d worn the entire time here. Jeans, a newish white t-shirt that had been shoved in the bottom of her bag. It wasn’t like she’d packed for an adventure this long. “What’s wrong with this?”
“You’re a princess visiting a king. You cannot be seen in clothing like... that.” Miku gestured to the shoulder of her sleeve. “It’s stained.”
Was it? Ayla was usually so good about keeping her clothing presentable. She yanked the fabric away from her shoulder and peered down.
Yes, there was a stain on the shoulder. Red and garish, she thought it might have been some beet juice she tried to get the twins to drink a while ago. They had hated it, tossing it all around the room because it was funny to watch it stain things. Apparently, they’d also caught her shoulder.
“All right,” she relented. “Then what do you propose I wear? I don’t have any other clothes here.”
“We do.” Miku replied. “If you’ll follow me, princess.”
Ayla supposed she didn’t have much of a choice. The ghost had decided the princess was disappointing, or at least who she’d become was. Ayla was rather used to not living up to people’s expectations. The expectations of the dead were no different.
She trailed after Miku through the wing and into a frosted room at the end. Within, it appeared to be nothing more than an enormous closet. A hundred, perhaps more, gowns all hung upon numerous racks. That was it. Just a glass frosted white room with hundreds of white, cream, and pale pink dresses.
“What is this place?” she asked, looking around at all the very expensive clothes. “A closet?”
“A dressing room.”
“Wow.” Ayla nodded as if she understood what that meant. “Whoever had this room must have liked dresses.”
“This was the queen’s personal collection.” Miku crossed her arms and glared. “She preferred to dress appropriately when called to court.”
The jab wasn’t wasted on Ayla. She understood the ghost wanted to get her point across. If Ayla was to be back in the palace, wandering around the halls, then she needed to be wearing suitable clothing.
She wanted to argue that her clothes were just fine. But the dresses looked... she wouldn’t lie to herself. The dresses were stunning. Effervescent. The kind of clothing she only ever saw in magazines or movies back in the human realm.
If she got to wear one of those, even once in her life, then it was an opportunity to take advantage of. She’d be an idiot to complain now.
“Okay.” She lifted her arms from her sides and held them out. “What dress? You seem to be the expert, Miku.”
The ghost burst into movement so fast she went invisible for a second. A gown floated toward Ayla, made entirely of pale cream chiffon with tiny pearls sewn all over the bodice. “This one would suit for a private meeting with the king. It’s not too dressy, but will capture his attentions.”
Why did that sound like the ghost wanted her to capture the attention of the king? As if he was a neighboring royal searching for a suitable wife.
Ayla kept her mouth shut and took the offered gown. The modest neckline would fall under her collar bone and the puffed sleeves narrowed at her wrists. It looked like she’d be wearing a cloud. Not the puffy ones everyone wrote about in storybooks, but the pale wispy clouds only seen on a gray morning when the mist had just settled onto the blades of grass.
She tugged her shirt up and over her head, wiggled out of her jeans, and tossed the gown over her head. It floated down slowly, covering her body as though it had been made for her.
Strange. She hadn’t thought her mother would be the exact same size, and yet, here she was. Wearing the gown of the woman who hadn’t wanted her.
Miku clucked her tongue. “Turn for me princess, I need to see if we should take it in some.”
“Is there time for that? I want to see Storm today, not next week.”
The ghost’s eyes narrowed in anger. “You will refer to him as Your Majesty, and no. I can make the necessary adjustments within minutes. Would you spin already?”
Ayla quite enjoyed annoying the ghost. She was far too stuck up for her own good. Still, she didn’t stall any longer and gave a spin so Miku could see the back.
“There we go, you’re the same size as your mother. I don’t see a single hem that needs to be changed.”
When Ayla turned back around, Miku had pressed her fingers to her lips. A glimmer in her eye suggested she might even be crying.
“Is everything all right?” Ayla asked, hesitant to even point out the ghost’s obvious distress.
“It looked like the queen was standing before me again, that’s all.” Miku wiped at her eyes. “Ignore my tears, girl. They’re just the memories of a dead woman.”
She shifted. Ayla was good with people who were upset, but this time, it was personal. This woman had loved her mother. She had respected her, looked up to her, thought highly of the queen. Unfortunately, Ayla didn’t feel the same.
So many of the Air Court had told her similar things. Her mother was beloved by all the faeries. She looked so much like her mother. Wouldn’t she want to return so they could see her mother on the throne again?
Ayla cleared her throat. “I look like my mother? I’ve heard other people say so before, but... Well. They were wandering faeries or cast off from the court, so I never knew if they were telling the truth.”
Miku wiped her eyes again, but this time her expression shifted to something so hopeful it made Ayla’s entire face burn. “Yes, yes, my dear, you look so much like her. Perhaps I could tell you a few stories?”
No, that didn’t seem like a good idea. Ayla knew what direction this path would take. Miku would tell her only the best stories about the queen, the details she loved. And then Ayla would fall in love with this idea of a perfect mother who never wanted to leave her child. She wouldn’t have done such a thing! Maybe, just maybe, she’d wanted Ayla after all.
Thoughts like that were dangerous, and they were futile. She couldn’t get her mother back. The queen was dead, and she had given Ayla up. Cast her off like some discarded garment in the middle of this opulent dressing room.
She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t think of her as my mother and I don’t think I’m ready to know more about her. Not yet, at least.”
Miku ducked her head with a crestfallen look. “I understand, princess. You needed to find the king?”
Just like that, the ghost dismissed her. So easi
ly because it hurt to look at a woman who looked so much like the queen, but didn’t act like her at all.
Ayla gritted her teeth and reminded herself it didn’t matter. She didn’t need these people to like her. She just needed them to listen to her. “Yes, please. Where is he?”
“This time of day, he’ll be in his private quarters. Follow me, please.”
A wind tangled around Ayla’s shoulders, settling like a fine scarf that pushed down. Or perhaps that was the weight of guilt.
18
“Here we are.” Miku paused near a doorway deep in the castle’s belly. “Take this stairwell down and then to the right. That’s his workroom.”
Workroom? Was this where he made his perfumes now?
The ghost disappeared. Ayla didn’t know if she was still around and invisible, or if perhaps ghosts went to different places when they weren’t visible. She supposed it didn’t matter. Miku had done the job she wanted her to do.
And yet...
Ayla didn’t know what to do next. Waltz down into his workroom like she owned the castle and demand he paid attention to her? It seemed a little rude considering she’d only been here for a few weeks.
She was the rightful queen, however. Push come to shove, she could throw that in his face.
“No,” she muttered. That wouldn’t do either. The last thing she wanted was to push him into the madness that had overcome him before. She’d seen the black darkness in his gaze. The desire to hurt and maim. Even though he hadn’t hurt her, he had wanted to.
Still, she wasn’t frightened. It didn’t make her fear him in the slightest. All that experience had created was a woman who wanted to help him even more.
She took a deep breath and started down the stairs. Her dress floated around her like mist, carrying with it the excitement of a woman who hadn’t spoken with him in three days. Three whole days that felt like a century when all she wanted was to ask him a million and one questions.
Where had he grown up? Not in the castle. She didn’t know where the other air faeries lived, though.
Had he come to the castle often?
What was it like in the grand days when her mother and father had lived here?
No, she didn’t want to know anything about those two. They’d given her up and any information about the king and queen could wait. Even if she took back the throne, she wasn’t entertaining that thought, then she would rule the way she wanted to. Not the way they had.
Ayla braced herself on the wall and furrowed her brows. Why was she even thinking about taking the throne? Two weeks ago she’d been dead set that she would never leave the twins or her brother. Now, she was entertaining these grand thoughts?
Maybe she needed to go home and visit.
Troubled thoughts hurting her mind, she made her way to the bottom floor where she took a sharp right. She could hear sounds from behind the frosted glass door. The clinking of metal against glass. A bubbling sound like boiling water. And the quiet hum of a king muttering to himself.
This room differed from the others. Patterns like snowflakes stretched around the glass. And when she lifted a hand to press against the shapes, her fingertips burned with the cold.
Hissing out a breath, she steadied herself. He might be angry to see her. He might feel as though she were violating his privacy or breaking some kind of rule. Whatever he felt, it was valid, and she didn’t have to take it personally.
Ayla rapped her knuckles on the door. “Storm? Are you in there?”
All sounds from within the workshop ceased. She listened intently, waiting for any response. A hello would be nice. Even just the resuming sounds of him working would be better than nothing.
No sound emitted through the door.
She leaned forward and thumped her forehead against the solid wood. “I know you’re in there, Storm. I could hear you just seconds ago.”
He still didn’t say a word. The silence behind the door was deafening.
“I just-” She pressed her hand against the wood and sighed. “Call me crazy, but I miss you. I don’t know why you’re ignoring me, or if you regret the kiss. It’s fine if you do. I don’t mind staying as acquaintances, or friends, or whatever we are.” That sounded bad. She shouldn’t make it seem like she needed a label. “I mean... Sorry. I don’t need to know if you consider us friends or more than that. I sound crazy out here talking to a door and I’m saying things I don’t want to say-”
Ayla stumbled through the suddenly open door and slammed her forehead into his collarbone.
He caught her in his arms, holding her steady until she stood back on her own two feet. Laughter dancing in his eyes, he ducked his head and asked, “You good?”
“I’m fine.” She took a big step back. “And now I’m very embarrassed by all the things I said. I’ll just…” Ayla awkwardly hooked a finger over her shoulder and started her retreat.
Why did she think it was a smart idea to come down here and force him to listen to what she had to say? Now she’d said too much and coming back from that wouldn’t be easy. She’d talked about labels. Like the psycho clingy girl who wanted to get married and have a man’s babies, but didn’t understand why they kept running away from her.
Oh god. She had to leave. She needed to go back to her room, pack up all her things, and head all the way back to her tiny house in her brother’s backyard. Because that’s where she belonged. The troll in the backyard.
“Ayla,” he called out with a laugh. Storm reached for her arm and tugged her back into the room as she made her escape. “Come back here.”
“Really, I think it’s best I say nothing else.”
He yanked her into his arms and wrapped her up against his chest. The hug was unexpected, while still being exactly what she needed. The heat of his biceps coiled around her back, his hands squeezing her ribs as he held her against the steady thump of his heart.
Oh. Oh, this was nice.
Maybe she could pause in her panic for just a minute and enjoy this. She would leave in a few moments, and if this was her last memory of the Mad King, then she had to enjoy herself. Ayla tilted her head and let it rest just below his collarbone. He was so much larger than her. So safe.
Why did she have to go again?
His breath stirred her hair. “I consider you a friend, you know.”
Right. A friend. Why did those words sting? She didn’t want to be his friend. The knowledge made her stomach roll over and her balance list to the side. She wanted to be more than that with the Mad King all the air faeries hated, who had taken her throne and turned her palace into a home for ghosts.
And yet, he was so much more than just a marauding prince or someone who wanted to hurt people. Sure, he had the ability to harm, but she truly believed he didn’t want to.
“Good,” she whispered against his shoulder. “I think of you as a friend as well.”
Perhaps he heard the bitterness in her voice, because he leaned back from their embrace to glare down at her. “A friend doesn’t shut any doors, you know.”
Damn it, she hated how he saw right through her. Was that just experience or was she that easy to read? “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Why not?”
“I’m embarrassed, and I feel a bit like this was a terrible idea.”
He grinned. “You were the one who tracked me down. All to talk about the kiss?”
Her cheeks burned so hot she thought they might burst into flames. She struggled to free herself from his arms. “No, no. That’s fine. I don’t think I want to talk about that anymore. I see now why you were avoiding me. I’ll just do the same, and then everything will go back to normal.”
“Ayla.” His laughter fanned the flames of her blush.
No, she wasn’t letting him convince her otherwise. Her initial response to retreat to her room had been the only solid plan.
He released her, and she took a few steps away.
Ayla surveyed the room behind him. It was like a commercial perfume
ry in here, although clearly designed for one man. So many glass tubes ran up and down, looping over each other, reaching up to the ceiling and back down. Even now, she could see a single tube over her head filled with red rose petals floating through clear fluid, then swooping down to a container at the other end of the room.
This was a magical, impossible place. She hadn’t expected it to look so... warm. So inviting. And the smell should have been overwhelming with so many layers of scents, but instead, it made her mind clear and her breathing even out.
Storm took a step back as well. He wore his usual outfit of knee high black boots with tight black pants tucked into their tops. The white peasant shirt was open at the chest, revealing long, smooth planes of pale muscle. “Where did you get that dress?”
Her initial reaction was to blurt, “Where did you get those scars?”
Damn it. That was the worst thing she could have asked. He might have been in some kind of traumatic accident and here she was, using his injuries like a shield for her own emotions.
Storm didn’t balk at the question like she’d expected. Instead, he chuckled. “They’re also a sign of the elemental. A gift, if you can imagine that to be the truth. Now the dress?”
Cheeks burning, she opened her arms and twisted her hips so the skirts flared out. Anything to distract from her social stupidity. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? Apparently it was my mother’s.”
It took so long for him to reply. Ayla glanced up to see his expression had changed. She would have understood anger. He must not have been a huge fan of her parents to take the throne away from their bloodline. She might have even understood fear. Someone who knew her less might have thought she intended to take the throne back just by wearing the queen’s clothing.
But his expression was none of those. Instead, his brow wrinkled in sadness and his eyes grew wide with such sorrow it made tears burn in her own. “You look like her,” he murmured.
This was so different from Miku’s reaction. She understood a servant having blind loyalty to their royals, but him?
Suddenly, she wanted to know everything. Why did a man like this miss her mother? Why would he look at her as though a ghost had appeared and he wanted to hug her again?
King of the Frost Page 12
