King of the Frost

by Elizabeth Frost

  A thousand questions burned in her mind. A thousand questions that only he could answer.

  Did she want to open that can of worms? No. She’d told Miku the truth and had already settled that knowing more about her blood parents was the most foolish decision she could make. And yet, now she wanted to see the royal family through his eyes.

  She wanted to understand her history and where she came from. But she didn’t know how to ask.

  Ayla opened her mouth, took a deep breath, only to be interrupted by Storm.

  “Did you come here for something other than conversation then?” He glanced back at the dress. “Or are you wearing your mother’s dress for comfort?”

  Well, she couldn’t tell him that a disgruntled ghost had insisted she be more presentable. Ayla wasn’t even sure if he knew about the ghosts.

  They hadn’t talked that much about important things. She knew next to nothing about this man and needed to know everything possible. Maybe that’s why she had come here. For information. For... companionship.

  “I guess I just…” Ayla tossed her hands in the air, then shrugged. “I just want to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Everything.”

  19

  Ayla held her breath and hoped she wouldn’t regret saying those words. Why had she said she wanted to know everything? She didn’t. She didn’t want to know anything about this court, or its people, or the parents who had left her alone in the care of humans they didn’t know...

  But she did. The realization struck her over the head like a mallet.

  She wanted to know who her parents had been, and why so many people loved them. She wanted to know why her mother’s dress fit her so perfectly and why she looked just like the queen.

  None of those things were as important as spending time with him, however. If it took him telling her what her history was, then she would take it.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his gaze upon her. “Do you really want to know more about your family?”

  “I do.”

  “This is the first time I’ve ever heard you refer to the queen as your mother.” Storm seemed like he wasn’t quite buying her sudden curiosity. “What made you suddenly so interested in the royal family?”

  Ghosts? Her own realization this palace should have been hers? The dress floating around her like a mother’s hug she should have gotten from the woman who birthed her?

  No, that wasn’t fair. Alice had given her hugs. Just because she was in this magical place didn’t make her human mother any less. She had to continue remembering that, so she didn’t lose who she was. Or where she came from.

  Her mind was in a tailspin she couldn’t control. All she knew was that right now, she wanted to know more about this place and the life she could have had. Even if that was so she could be happy with the human life that had been given to her. She was lucky. She was loved.

  Ayla wouldn’t regret her life even if she learned her parents were a righteous king and queen. They were still faeries who wanted nothing to do with her. That was the long and short of it.

  So she shrugged. “I’ve been here for two weeks now. I suppose I should learn at least a little something about them. Don’t you think?”

  “I do, but I never thought you’d share the same opinion.” He narrowed his eyes on her, then seemed to finally give in. “All right, then. We should probably start in your mother’s sanctuary.”

  Sanctuary?

  “My mother was religious?” she asked, trailing after him as he left the perfumery.

  “Sort of.” Storm turned and pulled a key out of his pocket. He locked the room with a resounding click. He turned to meet her lifted brow with a sheepish expression. “I’m not certain there aren’t faeries still lurking in the castle. I like to make sure my perfumes are safe.”

  Well, that was kind of sweet. He spoke of them like they were people instead of just liquid scents capped for a time when he might use them.

  Ayla stepped aside and let him lead her down the hall through the glass corridors where she could stare into rooms abandoned for years. What had this place looked like with thousands of faeries roaming the halls? Servants and royals, most of them wearing clothing just like the floating gown poured over her form.

  She brushed a hand down the chiffon and airy fabric. It was so beautiful, so delicate. How did anyone wear this every day and not even think twice?

  “It suits you,” Storm grumbled. His voice echoed as the glass caught it and bounced it back.

  “The dress?”

  “Yes.” He glanced over his shoulder and swept a heated gaze up and down her entire body. “You look like an air faerie now. Not like a changeling.”

  She’d thought the term was just a slur wandering fae used. “So humans got that right then? Changeling is the word to call me?”

  “Yes.” He turned away from her, but not before she caught the frown on his face.

  “Is it a bad word?” She could only imagine it was. Changelings meant she was abandoned by her family. Cast off like something they didn’t want or need.

  The familiar sting of betrayal made her chest ache. Her own parents, the biological ones that was, had given her to humans they’d never even met. They threw her away to the wolves because they didn’t think she was worthy of their love.

  “Changeling.” The word on Storm’s tongue seemed like a curse. “Yes, that is what many would call you. But it’s a dirty word.”

  “Why?” She had to hear him say it.

  “Changelings are unwanted children, usually too mischievous for their own good. Their parents send them away to the humans and replace their own baby with a human servant. A slave to kneel at their feet, who knows no better.” He turned down a hallway she recognized, one that led to the gardens. “We haven’t used the practice for many years. Most find it disgusting.”

  “It’s disgusting to have humans in your homes?” She wouldn’t put it past faeries. They always wanted things to be so clean and pure.

  “No. It’s disgusting to give up a child, but also to enslave another simply because you’re a bad parent.” He opened the door to the gardens.

  Storm stopped her with a hand on her hip. There wasn’t enough room in the doorway for the two of them to stand, so she was pressed against him without meaning to be. The cold chill from his palm slowly warmed. She stared down at the lean fingers pressed against the light fabric and wondered if this was what it looked like when he touched his wife. Like a painting come to life.

  “Ayla.” He murmured the word like a prayer or a whispered promise. “Look at me.”

  She was afraid to. What would she see in his eyes? Pity? Disgust as he’d claimed most faeries felt about the practice?

  She looked up, and all she found in his gaze was understanding and compassion. He slid his hand up her side, fingers bouncing over her ribs, to her shoulder blade and up her back to her neck. Those long, confident fingers curved around her throat and he tugged her closer.

  Warm, soft lips pressed against her forehead. His breath fanned out, and she swore she could smell peppermint and lemon.

  “You are not unwanted because of a mistake,” he whispered. “You do not need the validation of other people to be deserving of their love, either.”

  “Strong words,” she replied, her voice choked and stuck in her throat. “Do you believe them?”

  “I do. I’ve had to teach myself a lot of things in my years as king, and that was one of them.” He released her and stepped through the doorway into the gardens. “It doesn’t matter what people think of you, Ayla. It matters what you think of yourself.”

  He strode through the garden with more confidence than she’d ever felt in her life. Shoulders squared, without a care in the world. She couldn’t help but wonder if he really believed the advice he’d given her.

  Did he not care that the air faeries all wanted him dead? Did he not even worry that they were unhappy with their king or that his palace was empty of fa
eries who were supposed to be there?

  She wondered if the truth was easier to handle if he just ignored it. Clearly memories haunted him. But she didn’t have it in her to bring them up. Not when they were having such a pleasant time today, together, and away from the pressures of the world.

  He’d touched her. Willingly. And with no pressure from her. He’d even pressed his lips against her forehead. They’d come a long way in the brief time since they’d met.

  Hustling after him, she called out, “What in the world is a sanctuary, anyway?”

  “It’s where your mother would go to think!” he called back over his shoulder.

  They reached the bridge over thin air where they’d first met. He strode across it but stopped in the middle with an odd expression on his face. His brows were furrowed in anger, but his mouth smiled.

  “Why are we stopping?” she asked, out of breath but ready to find out more.

  “This is where I first saw you.” The smile curved even more. “I thought someone sent you here to kill me.”

  She bit her lip and said nothing. Maybe she had been, maybe she hadn’t. The faeries wanted her to kill him. But no one had trained Ayla to be an assassin, and the idea of trying to kill someone made her nauseous.

  Now, she knew why she’d come. She wanted to see whether the faeries were right. She wanted to find out who she was, and where she’d come from. But mostly, she wanted to meet a Mad King in the sky because her heart told her this was important.

  Ayla held onto the rope handles of the bridge and stared down into the clouds. “I thought you were creepy and pompous.”

  “And now?” He was so hopeful, his eyes wide with innocence and hope.

  She grinned. “That hasn’t changed at all, actually. But I like you now.”

  “Oh do you?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  He leaned against the rope railing. It wasn’t tight enough to hold weight, so he was comically leaning over thin air, far to the side and way too precarious for her comfort. “Princess, I do believe you just admitted to liking the man who stole your throne.”

  “I don’t know if you stole it. I think it was given to you when you didn’t want it.”

  His gaze darkened and his shoulders lifted toward his ears. “Oh I wanted it, make no mistake about that, Ayla. I wanted it more than any other faerie here, and I deserved it. My power is stronger than any faerie I’ve ever met. The crown was mine based on strength, yes. But I would have fought anyone who tried to take it first.”

  “You’ve done nothing but warn me away from the throne.” She shook her head in confusion. “Why regret taking something like this? Because of the madness? If it’s like an illness, maybe it can be cured.”

  Storm tapped the side of his head. “Because of the voice that came with the throne. An elemental like this is more powerful than any faerie and I’m the only person who can keep him in check.”

  She didn’t understand how something could be inside his head, but not physically here. Hearing voices was a sign of mental illness. But she wasn’t a psychologist. She didn’t know how to even begin helping treat what he suffered from.

  “You talk about the elemental as though you’ve had conversations with it.” If her voice was hesitant, it was because she didn’t want to upset him even further. However, she wanted to understand. “Do you believe it to be someone else inside your head? Or just your own voice? Perhaps your power?”

  He sighed. “I suppose it was inevitable you’d want to meet him at some point.”

  Meet him? What could Storm possibly mean?

  Ayla opened her mouth to ask another question. The words caught in her throat.

  Storm closed his eyes and something took over him. That’s the only way she could describe it. The man standing before her was not Storm. His shoulders squared, and she realized he normally stood with a slight hunch. He opened his eyes, and they were now pitch black. Darker than the deepest night, with clouds covering the stars and the moon.

  But his expression was the worst change. He looked... hungry.

  “Hello, Princess.” His voice was unfamiliar too. Deeper and far more intimidating. “I’ve been waiting to meet you. Just you and me now.”

  “Hi.” She hesitated to say more. “Nice to meet you?”

  “Is that a question?” The elemental leaned forward and took a deep inhale of her scent. His black eyes rolled back in his skull with pleasure. “Ah, a lie. I haven’t tasted that in the air for such a long time. And a faerie who lies? All the more enjoyable.”

  She didn’t want him close to her. Ayla took a hefty step back and blew out a lengthy breath. “I think I’d like Storm back, if you don’t mind.”

  “Storm is here,” the elemental replied. He followed her back down the bridge over air. “He and I are the same, you know. What I see, he sees. What I hear, he hears.”

  “Then can I talk with Storm again?”

  He reached forward and caught a strand of her hair between his fingers. The elemental rubbed the lock, then lifted it to his face and took another deep breath while it turned white as snow. “You smell like a warm spring morning,” he murmured. “Did you know how much you smell like the breezes of old?”

  She didn’t want to smell like anything he wanted. This wasn’t Storm. This was some kind of monstrous being who was odd, uncomfortable to be around, and didn’t care if she was all right with him even being near her. “Thank you? I think? Now, I’ve met you and I can go back to talking with Storm.”

  “I don’t think so.” He crowded her too close to the edge of the bridge swaying in the breeze.

  She slipped back, losing her balance and nearly plummeting over the edge. He reached out at the last second and caught hold of her dress. The elemental fisted the material at her waist and held her suspended over open air and clouds darkening with storms.

  The look in his eyes made her shiver. He enjoyed her fear. This was a man, or creature, or whatever he was, who enjoyed pain. He grinned at her wide-eyed stare.

  “Come now, Ayla. Don’t you know how to fly? You got all the way here. Why are you so afraid now?”

  Because she didn’t want to plummet off the edge of the palace. Just because she could fly didn’t mean she wanted to fall.

  She swallowed hard and tried to still her shaking hands. Slowly, she reached out and wrapped her fingers around his, holding the material of her dress with him. “I would like to come back onto the bridge.”

  “Ask me nicely.” The elemental jerked her closer. He grinned and released his grip on her dress.

  She was suspended for a few seconds before she started sinking backward. Ayla let out a squeak of fear, but he caught her dress again at the last second. The fabric ripped. Threads snapped, then caught on each other and just barely held.

  The elemental held his other hand up and laughed. “Don’t tease me, Princess! Beg.”

  Was this what the other air faeries hated? She understood their anger now. This man was a horrible person who enjoyed knowing others were afraid. This was a terrible king.

  Her biceps shook and her heart thudded so hard she feared she was having a heart attack. “Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t let me fall.”

  “Ah.” He tilted his head to the side and grinned a sharp toothed smile. “What a lovely sound.”

  He let her scramble back to safety. Ayla gripped the fabric of her dress against her stomach and ran off the bridge, back toward the palace, back to safety. Once her feet were on the glass, she spun around to angrily shout at the air elemental who thought she was little more than a toy.

  But it wasn’t the elemental staring back at her. It was Storm, with his slumped shoulders, dark eyes, and self hate painted across his expression.

  He took a step forward, reaching out his hand. “Ayla-”

  “That is the elemental?” she interrupted. “That monster who just threatened to kill me?”

  “You can fly. He wouldn’t have killed you.” But Storm let his hand drop. He then r
an it through the long locks of his hair. “I wouldn’t let him.”

  “Would you have a choice? It didn’t seem like he wanted to let you have any control.” She was still shaking. Both with fear and anger now. He argued for the elemental who just let her dangle over the edge of the bridge? The elemental who was getting off on her fear?

  “Of course I have a choice. He told you everything. What he sees, I see. What I hear, he hears. We live together and share power, I don’t...” Storm stumbled for words. Finally, he stopped talking and just lifted his hands. “What do you want from me? You asked to meet him. To understand what I’m living with.”

  Her heart broke for him. Ayla could understand why he struggled, but now she also understood why the air faeries didn’t want him as their king.

  It wasn’t Storm they hated. She knew for a fact he would be a righteous king. The elemental, on the other hand, was a dangerous beast who wanted to see pain and suffering wherever he went.

  If he could hang Ayla over open air, the woman Storm was friends with, then that elemental could do anything.

  She shook her head and took another step back. “I don’t know what I want from you, Storm. But now I understand why this palace is empty of everyone but ghosts.”

  “Don’t say that.” He hung his head, no longer looking at her but his own hands held open before him. “Please don’t say that.”

  She took a step away, then another. More. Until she finally was running from him, back to the safety of the palace where she could gather her thoughts. The man she thought she knew had just become someone else.

  Ayla didn’t know how to reconcile the kind perfumer with the bitter elemental.

  20

  He’d messed up.

  Again.

  He slumped over his desk in the perfumery and sighed. Storm should have known the elemental wouldn’t behave. The creature had no reason to not scare her. That’s what the elemental did.