Winter Princess: A reverse harem novel (Daughter of Winter Book 1)

by Skye MacKinnon

  Basically, it’s magnificent.

  A large door opens at the top of the tower, giving us a way in. I sigh as we finally fly inside and away from the staring crowds. I can’t wait to get out of the PT. It’s not uncomfortable, but I prefer not to be carried through the air like a baby.

  Four attendants are waiting for us, standing unmoving while my Guardians help me out of my throne.

  I’m a little unsteady on my feet. I’ll be glad if I never have to sit on that PT again. Why can’t they just use planes, or helicopters? Then it dawns on me that they may not have electricity. I look around the room. A ball of light is hovering on the ceiling where you’d usually find a lamp. It’s pulsating somehow, and it’s definitely got an ‘alive’ kind of vibe to it. Definitely not powered by electricity, but by magic. I wonder if I could create a ball like that. It’s not really fire, it’s more like concentrated light. I make a mental note to ask Crispin later on.

  A wooden door bangs open behind the guards and the woman from the massive face thingy steps into the room. She’s a little out of breath; I assume they don’t have elevators here to get to the top of the towers.

  She gives me a quick curtsey. “Your Royal Highness, it’s a pleasure to welcome you to the palace. I’m Tamara, the Head of Household.”

  Frost snickers behind me, but I don’t want to be impolite, so I don’t turn around to find out what’s so funny about that.

  “Very nice to meet you,” I say and smile at her. She looks friendly, but there is steel behind her eyes. She’s a strong woman who shouldn’t be crossed.

  She huffs. “And apologies again about Bernold. He’s been assigned bedpan duty in the infirmary for the next month.” She winks at me. Oh, apparently she’s got a sense of humour, too. I like her already. “Follow me, Princess.”

  I do as she says, but Storm is quicker and takes the lead. Surely he doesn’t need to be this protective in my mother’s palace?

  The other three follow, while Ada and her Guardians stay behind.

  There’s a short corridor, leading to a large stone staircase. It goes down a long way; looking down the hole in the middle makes me shudder with vertigo. No wonder Tamara was out of breath; this is like climbing a mountain. Luckily we’re going down now, not up.

  At the sides of the stairwell are two small crystal balls mounted on pedestals, the swirling white clouds inside them reminding me of snow globes. Tamara puts a hand on one of them and it lights up brightly. There’s a rumbling noise and - oh my Gods, the stair case is moving.

  “Stairs or slide?” she asks, but I just look at her cluelessly.

  “Slide,” Frost replies in my stead, and she gives him a conspiratory smile. Surely she’s not talking about a -

  The steps sink down and merge together, forming a slide, gently shimmering like smooth pearls.

  “Wow.” I take a deep breath.

  “Welcome ta the palace,” Arc laughs. “Throne room?”

  Tamara nods.

  “Watch and learn, lass,” he says, and steps onto the top of the slide. “Second floor,” he commands loudly, and a red line appears on the pearl white, snaking down the slide, disappearing into the distance. With a grin, he sits down. “Fast, please.”

  In a flash, he’s whisked away, racing down the slide at breakneck speed. Wow. That looks like fun!

  “You simply state the destination and speed you’d like,” Crispin explains. “There’s slow, gentle, medium, fast and Queen.”

  “Queen?”

  “Her Majesty doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Tamara answers my question.

  “Would you like to ride with one of us?” Crispin asks and I give him an incredulous look.

  “No way!”

  I sit down at the top of the slide, marvelling at how soft and warm it feels. “Second floor, medium,” I say confidently. The floor vibrates slightly, and off it goes. It’s not like a normal slide, where you move down on your own accord. Here, the slide moves and I stay in place. It’s a good speed, but I regret not choosing fast. That looked like more fun. Next time.

  I don’t see much of the floors I pass while on the slide. It’s too fast, all I can see are blurry outlines of doors. After about a minute, I finally reach the second floor where the slide comes to a halt. Behind me, I can already hear Frost cheering and whooping. Sounds like he’s taken the fast option. I jump to my feet and step off the slide to make way for him. Being crushed by a Guardian isn’t on my to-do list today.

  Arc is waiting a few steps away from the landing, in a large and bright chamber, decorated with delicate wall hangings. There are no chairs; the only furniture is a pedestal at the front, next to a massive set of doors. A man is standing there; from his perfect features it’s clear that he’s a Guardian. His immaculate suit and meticulously styled beard give him the air of someone important. When he sees us approach, he steps away from his lectern and bows deeply.

  “Your Royal Highness, it’s an honour to finally meet you. My name is Jonathan, and I am your mother’s Lord Chamberlain. I trust the journey wasn’t too difficult?”

  Apparently, no one has told him that there’s been assassination attempts and a battle in the past few days. Well, I won’t enlighten him. Maybe there’s a reason Beira is keeping it to herself.

  Instead, I smile sweetly. “Oh, it’s been no trouble at all. Is my mother awaiting me?”

  Behind me, Arc is trying to suppress a grumbling laughter. I imagine the vibrations I’d feel on his chest if I was leaning against him... No, don’t think with your ovaries, think with your brain. You’re a princess now, Wyn!

  Jonathan scoffs. Apparently, I didn’t respond royally enough. Sorry, I’m new to all this.

  “Her Majesty is in a council meeting, but it should be over any minute or so. Please, do make yourselves comfortable while you wait.” He makes a swooping gesture, as if he was pointing towards some non-existent chairs we could sit in.

  Uncomfortably, we wait. The other Guardians have joined us, and we stand together, not quite sure what to do. Now I know why my mother hasn’t put any furniture into her vestibule. It makes her guests uncomfortable and insecure - and likely more pliable in negotiations.

  I square my shoulders. This shouldn’t affect me. But it does. I’m having to wait here to see my mother, who is busy in some meeting. I’ve gone through so much to get here, and now she can’t even hurry up? Does she even want to see me?

  Someone grips my hand and I look up into Storm’s calm eyes. “It’ll be okay,” he whispers, and I nod. Right. I’ve got my Guardians with me. Even if my mother doesn’t care about me, they do.

  With a creak, the doors open and we break apart. The guys take a step back, respectfully letting me go first. I’m not sure if Guardians are always this... let’s call it familiar, with their charge. Maybe it’s better if I don’t show how much they mean to me? There’s so much I need to learn.

  Jonathan clears his throat. “Your Highness, please follow me.”

  I take a deep breath and do as he says, accompanying him into the throne room.

  Wow.

  My breath catches in my throat as I take in my surroundings. It’s beautiful and intimidating at the same time. Everything sparkles and glitters in the bright light that comes from hundreds of pulsating stars floating close to the high ceiling. White marble columns carved with intricate designs lead the way to the throne. High stained-glass windows line the walls, interspersed with tapestries. There are animals and people woven into the fabric, and I make a mental note to inspect them closer later on. I’m sure they tell some kind of story.

  Trying to ignore all the beautiful things around me, I turn towards the throne. It sits on a dais at the far end of the hall, accessed by crystal steps. At first, I think that the spikes emanating from the back of the throne are part of a star, but then I realise that they’re actually one giant snowflake, surrounding my mother like a halo.

  As always, I’m amazed at her ethereal beauty. Her long, white hair reaches her thin waist, a
nd her eyes are as piercing as the winter she represents. She is tall and slim, but still imposing on the large throne. It was built for her, that much is obvious. It highlights her power, her shine, her majesty. Only now do I realise how powerful she really is. She’s not just a queen, she’s a Goddess. The mother of all Gods, they call her. Who knows if that is true. Ewww. That would mean that I’ve got lots of half siblings. Most of which are ancient. No, maybe it’s just a figure of speech. And who knows how Gods are born. Created. Thrown into this world.

  “Wynter,” she says softly and gets up in one smooth motion. “It is so good to see you, my daughter.”

  Her voice is full of chimes and snowflakes - both warm and cold, friendly and distant. I can’t get a read on her. Is this just an act?

  “I am happy to see you, mother,” I reply just as formally.

  “My advisors have told me of your difficult journey. I’m sure you’d like to rest.”

  I huff. “No, actually, I would like to talk to you.”

  My Guardians wince behind me, but I ignore them. This is about my mother and me. We’ve got some talking to do. Lots of it. We’ve got twenty-two years to catch up on.

  A muscle twitches on her cheek. “Very well, follow me. Your Guardians can go to their quarters. I’ve assigned them rooms close to your own.”

  Storm gives me a quick look, and I nod. I’ll manage this on my own.

  I walk towards the throne where my mother is waiting for me. She’s wearing a long, flowing gown that hugs her figure. If you just looked at her body, not her face, you’d think she was in her mid-twenties. But it’s her eyes that show that she’s a very old soul in a young body. They are full of wisdom and knowledge, and just as much pain. And right now, they’re smiling at me. Maybe she really is happy to see me.

  Beira leads me through a narrow door hidden behind the throne, and along a dark corridor until we reach a small room. After all the pomp and grandiosity in the throne room, this is very different. I prefer it, though. Two large sofas face each other, and a few armchairs surround a lit fireplace built into the white stone walls. Again, there are tapestries, but these are warm and colourful, depicting animals that I don’t recognise. I’ve never thought about what kind of wildlife they have here in the Realms, but apparently it’s very different from Earth’s fauna.

  My mother beckons me to sit, and I take my seat on the sofa opposite. She looks a little disappointed that I didn’t sit down next to her, but her expression quickly smoothens.

  She snaps her fingers and suddenly a yellow light appears around the doorframe.

  “Now nobody will be able to listen in,” she explains with a smile. With another gesture, two wine glasses appear on a little table between us. Instead of taking one though, she looks at me. I squirm a little under her inquiring eyes.

  But then she smiles, “I’m glad you requested to speak with me in private - had it come from me, people may have become suspicious.”

  I stare at her, not understanding what this is about. Apparently, she can see the questions on my face.

  “There is a lot going on that I have not been able to explain to you, Wynter—”

  “People call me Wyn,” I interrupt.

  She smiles again. “That’s what I call you in my mind. How wonderful that I can finally address you as such in real life.” Her expression turns serious again. “Not everything is as it may seem to you. There are many things we have to talk about, and I’m sure you have questions... but first, tell me, what’s going on between you and those yummy Guardians?”

  I gape at her, speechless. Excuse me? My mother - who’s been absent for most of my life - is asking me about my... love life? And did she really just call them ‘yummy’?

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she laughs. “It’s obvious - even if I didn’t have my sources telling me how close you have become. And I’m so happy for you - they are the best Guardians I could find.”

  I still don’t have any words to respond. This is too surreal. Ground, please swallow me now. I need to change the topic.

  “My magic is gone,” I blurt out. She raises an eyebrow, knowing exactly what I’m doing. But then she turns serious as she realises what I just said.

  “What happened?”

  I tell her about the battle, how I did that stupid thing of trying to kill lots of demons at the same time. When I finish describing how I was trapped within my own body, she frowns.

  “I will have my court physician examine you.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t think it’s anything physical. It’s like my magic is trapped and I can’t get her out.”

  “Don’t worry, our physicians deal with both physical and magical emergencies,” she says soothingly, but a small line has started to appear between her brows. Not as unfazed as she seems. “I had planned to talk to you further, but this shouldn’t wait.”

  She snaps her fingers again and the yellow glow around the door disappears. My mother closes her eyes for a few seconds, then opens them again, looking straight at me with her sparkling blue eyes.

  “Theodore will come to your chambers. Tamara is waiting outside to show you the way. I will join you there shortly.”

  She’s all back to business, the earlier smile a faint echo on her lips.

  I give her a short nod, not sure what to say, and leave the room.

  Chapter Twenty

  I stare at the girl in the mirror. She’s so familiar and yet so foreign. Smooth, flawless skin, beautifully curved cheekbones, eyes surrounded by long lashes that make makeup obsolete. Her eyes are brighter than they should be.

  This is supposed to be me. And until a moment ago, I hadn’t even realised that I’d changed. The last time I saw myself was in Chesca’s house. Before I got wings. Before the rainbow. Before Aodh died.

  Someone clears their throat behind me and I turn around, ripping my gaze off the mirror. I don’t want to think about looking different. I liked me being normal, ordinary. I never wanted to look like a demi-goddess. Wings, I can get used to, but those cheekbones? Nah.

  “Your Highness, I am Theodore, her Majesty’s physician. I’ve been told you’ve been experiencing problems with your magic?”

  Yeah, you could call it a problem. A rather big one.

  “Yes, ever since... I think I used too much magic at once. I blacked out, and ever since I can’t access my magic.”

  “Do you still feel the connection to it?”

  I shake my head. “I know it’s still in me, but I can’t reach it. She’s buried in her cave and I can’t get her out.” I huff in frustration. Telling others about it makes me feel like a total failure. How the hell did I manage to bury my own magic?

  He looks at me in confusion. “She? A cave?”

  I frown. “Yes, my magic lives in a cave close to my heart. I thought it was that way for everyone?”

  “Magic presents differently in each person, but a cave... and talking about magic as a person... I’ve not come across that before.”

  I shrug uncomfortably. “What does your magic look like?”

  He’s clearly taken aback my question and takes a moment to think. “It’s a large ball of light in my chest.”

  I wait for more but apparently, that’s it. Seriously? How boring is that!

  I almost imagine my cat stretching her claws in response, but no, the boulders are still covering the entrance to her cave.

  “May I examine you, Princess?”

  No? “Yes, what do I need to do?”

  “Just sit on the sofa; most people prefer to sit or lie down. Close your eyes, and I will feel for your magic and try and connect with it. You might feel a gentle tug, but don’t respond to it for now.”

  That doesn’t sound too bad. I do as he asks and wait for something to happen. All I notice is something pressing against my bum from below the lining of the sofa. Princess and the Pea, that’s what I feel like.

  Nothing is happening. At least, nothing I can feel. Maybe he’s doing stuff with my magic? I resist th
e urge to open my eyes. Patience, Wyn, is a virtue. Well, the same could be said for impatience. In my opinion.

  Finally, he clears his throat and I take that as a sign to look up at him.

  “I could not reach your magic. It’s like... you’ve never had any in the first place.”

  I gape at him. “I can reassure you that I have had magic. It’s still in there!” I jump up, but then I don’t know what to do. I feel like running out of the room. Real mature, I know.

  I manage to swallow my anger somehow. It’s not his fault that I feel like something has been ripped away from me, mangled, then pushed inside again, but with a new lock that I cannot open. Damn that magic. Damn me for being cocky. Damn those demons. Damn the whole wide world.

  I punch the wall.

  It hurts.

  What a surprise.

  My mother chooses this precise moment to enter my quarters.

  “Wynter, whatever are you doing?!”

  I look down at my bleeding hand, grimacing sheepishly. “Having an argument with the wall?”

  My voice quivers, and I hope that she doesn’t notice. I’m not sure I can deal with my mother’s frosty response to my emotions. I remember, once, on one of her rare visits, when I fell and hurt my knee. I must have been no older than five or six. It hurt like hell and what I would have wanted is for my mother to kneel beside me, give me a hug, put a plaster on the wound... eh, scratch. Instead, she walked on, calling me to follow her, totally ignoring my pain. I was limping after her, crying, devastated by the complete lack of empathy. Back then, I didn’t understand why she was so cold towards me. When we got back to my adoptive parents’ home, I showed my knee to my mum and she did what I had been craving all afternoon: a long, warm hug.