Winter Cursed

by NIcki Chapelway

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  Winter Cursed

  ~*~*~*~

  Nicki Chapelway

  Copyright © 2018 by Nicki Chapelway

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in print or electronic form without prior permission of the author or publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents bearing any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art by Ivie Brooks

  ~*~*~*~

  For Ivie Brooks.

  Thanks for being such a good friend,

  and for loving my story so much.

  ~*~*~*~

  Prologue

  “Snowflakes flutter in the sky,

  Let me tell you of the day you die.

  The world around you concealed in ice,

  All that you do comes at a price.”

  Ismena paused singing and leaned over the cradle. She felt her lips pull up slightly as she watched the sleeping infant breathing deeply as if she hadn’t a care in the world. The naivety of youth... She traced a cold finger across the infant’s flushed cheeks and began the way she always did. “There were once three great kingdoms that made up the island of Illesya.”

  Ismena sat back and stared out the window at the falling snow beyond. “Only one kingdom remains now, but as I’m sure you will someday learn from your tutors, this,” Ismena paused and swept her arm in a wide arch, “is not the way it always was.”

  She watched in silence as fat snowflakes drifted past the window before continuing her tale. “The dark kingdom of Mooraven laid to the south, the noble Havenkeep resided in the east, and the lovely Alain to the north.” Ismena held up her finger, counting them off. “Three rulers governed these three lands. Of these rulers, one desired power above all else. One beauty. And one love. It was these great desires that would be the downfall of the rulers, and their kingdoms with them.”

  Ismena sighed deeply and laid her needlework down. “Now, it came about that one winter, Stephan, the king of Havenkeep, sparred with one of his captains in the courtyard of his winter palace. As he was doing this, an ice-nymph by the name of Dahlia was blowing past on her way to freeze a river. However, she must have paused when she heard the clang of steel on steel, for instead of moving on and joining her sisters, she flew closer to investigate. This was how she came upon a king with raven black hair gracefully wielding his sword.”

  Ismena stared at the wall, her hand moving to the golden locket hanging from her neck. She looked back down at the baby to see her staring at her with deep blue eyes. Ismena smiled coolly. “You recognize your father don’t you? Well, Stephan was a handsome man, far more handsome than any human Dahlia had ever seen, and so she lingered to watch the outcome of the match rather than leaving the mortals to their business as she should have done. As was the way of the nymphs.”

  Ismena waved her hand above the cradle and at her movement snowflakes began to form and flutter down. The princess laughed and grabbed at the snowflakes. “Stephan always said that at that moment, a chill fell upon the courtyard and he knew that he and his captain were no longer alone. He looked up, trying spot the newcomer, but as he was distracted his sparring partner slashed at him, cutting his hand before he could pull back.” The infant’s eyes widened as Ismena poked her finger with the tip of her sewing needle. She held her finger above the babe’s satin sheets so that the blood dripped, marring the white.

  “Three drops of blood fell from Stephan's hand, mingling with the freshly fallen snow,” Ismena whispered, staring at the red drops contrasting the white sheets, as pale as the infant’s skin. She leaned over the cradle and brushed the babe’s black hair back. “Dahlia found the colors quite appealing and was overcome with the idea of having a daughter whose skin was as pale as that of the snow around her, whose hair was as black as the king's ebony locks, and whose lips were as red as the blood on the snow. So enraptured was she with this thought that she did what was forbidden of nymphs. She took human form.”

  The princess gurgled happily and reached for her hand, but Ismena pulled away, frowning. “King Stephan fell immediately in love with this maiden, clothed all in white and as pale as the snow around her. He claimed that she was by far the most beautiful maiden he had ever seen. And when Dahlia explained who she was, and declared that she wished to wed him, Stephan, overcome with the nymph's beauty, agreed.”

  Ismena chuckled darkly as she adjusted a curl of pale gold over her shoulder. “Though the foolish king had forgotten one key fact.” She turned to Elisabeth and arched her brow. “He was already engaged to the sorceress Ismena, the queen of Alain.”

  She shook her head bitterly and smoothed out her dress. “Before the arrival of Dahlia, Ismena had been the fairest in the land and upon their wedding they would have united two of the three kingdoms that made up Illesya.”

  The babe stilled and stared at her as if in a spell. Ismena turned to the infant and adjusted her blankets. “When Stephan finally remembered Ismena, he put all thoughts of their wedding aside. Surely Ismena would not care about the broken engagement seeing as Stephan had found love.” She chuckled once again, this time amused. “He should have known that sorceresses were by nature vindictive and will extract revenge for even the smallest slights, but love often makes a fool out of even the wisest men. And I dare say that even before he fell in love, Stephan was not a wise man. So...” she trailed off and shrugged. “Dahlia and Stephan were wed.”

  The princess giggled and Ismena held up her finger. “Do not rejoice just yet, little princess. That is not the end of the tale. For we shall not forget what Stephan so foolishly did. The sorceress Ismena. Driven by vengeance and humiliated to have been scorned, she sought out the Dark King Morren of Mooraven. With him she made a deal, for her kingdom alone was not strong enough to defeat Havenkeep. Morren would provide the army and Ismena would brew them a magical concoction that would turn Morren's men into wights, therefore making them virtually unstoppable. To seal the deal, Ismena gave Morren a Nytheran Mirror, a valuable object that had the ability to tell its owner anything.”

  Ismena pulled a small silver hand mirror out of her fur cloak. The flowers carved out of blue glass twinkled in the flickering torchlight of the tower room. She turned the mirror over in her hands and held it up so the infant could see. “They had once been a common commodity, until a jealous ruler of the ancient days destroyed all but his own so he alone would have the power of knowledge.”

  The babe reached for the mirror, but Ismena moved it from her grasp. “This is the last mirror of its kind, and Morren, who always craved power, gladly accepted the gift. Never once did he consider that treachery was afoot.” Ismena shook her head as she slid the mirror back into the embroidered satchel she always kept the mirror in. “He was a fool as well.”

  She turned back to the princess. “Meanwhile, King Stephan and Queen Dahlia were expecting a child. They invited their fellow rulers of Illesya to Havenkeep, for surely, the christening of an heir was not too far off. Morren declined a visit, but Queen Ismena arrived at the castle on the eve of the baby's birth. That night, the wights attacked the castle, at the same time the queen went into labor. While Stephan fought off the wights, the sorceress Ismena went to the queen. Dahlia, as a nymph was unaccustomed to pain, and so was having a hard labor.”

  Ismena pressed her finger to her lips as she smiled at the memory. “Seeing her chance to finally extract her revenge, Ismena brewed a drink for the queen. She claimed that if the queen drank it, it would relieve her of all pain.” Ismena laughed quietly. “And it did, but not in the way that Dahlia had expected. It was a poison, a special one brewed to not only rob the queen of her life but also the powers
over ice and snow that she had retained even after becoming a human. Both her life force and her powers were given to the person who made the potion. Upon drinking it, Dahlia died, but not before a baby was born. A girl, with black hair, fair skin, and lips as red as blood.”

  She leaned over the cradle. “A princess born of blood and betrayal. Every bit as beautiful as her mother and every bit as doomed to be hated.”

  Elisabeth began to cry and Ismena stood up. She reached into the cradle and pulled the babe out, holding her gently in her arms. “Oh, little princess,” Ismena cooed, brushing at her soft black hair. “Such a beautiful little princess. You have so much to fear. For that beauty, which your father craved so, you are cursed. For that hair, as black as ebony, so you shall have an enemy with a heart just as black. For those lovely red lips, red as the blood in your veins, so a price shall be required of you in blood. And, for your pale complexion as white and fair as the snow, it requires a death in winter.” Elisabeth stopped crying and stared up at Ismena with her clear blue eyes. Ismena swiped a tear from her stepdaughter’s cheek with a smile. “You will be as fair as day, little princess, but fear the coming night.”

  Chapter

  One

  Elisabeth pressed her fingers to the cool glass as she stood at her window, staring out into the night at the dark winter landscape beyond. A shadowy carriage sat in front of the entrance of her palace. It was unmarked, as if that could somehow hide its occupant's identity. As if there was anyone else who would arrive at the palace in the middle of the night with an entourage of fifty personal guards.

  Outside, the wind howled. Gusts of snow and ice wrapped around each other, forming yet another blizzard. But inside, separated from the elements by a thin pane of glass, Elisabeth was warm. The winter palace had thick walls that protected her from the bitter cold. If only the walls could protect her from other things.

  Footsteps thudded behind her. Elisabeth whirled to see Luk, the captain of her guard, rush into her chambers. He dropped into a quick bow, breathing hard. “It is as we feared, My Lady.”

  She let out a shaky breath, but then forced herself to straighten. “So, my stepmother has come at last? I suppose we should have known this day would eventually come.” She was no stranger to death threats. Ismena had been trying to kill her since she was a young child. When Elisabeth turned seven, her stepmother gave her a corset that she had laced too tightly in a purposeful attempt to stifle the young princess. And again when she was ten, Ismena gave her a poisoned comb. Fortunately, by then she had learned not to trust her stepmother's “gifts.” A light-fingered maid had not been so lucky.

  She pressed her lips together and turned back to the window. From the outside, the palace looked still and peaceful, safe from the raging storm. Anyone standing outside would not know that the true danger lay within, but already she could hear the clang of metal on metal and shouts. She turned back to Luk. “How much time do we have?”

  He shifted his position, gripping his sword. “The guards are doing their best to hold her off, but they are no match for her magic. She is giving them one chance to swear allegiance to her, or be turned to ice. You are losing many guards both ways.”

  Elisabeth flinched. She had known that the fight would go poorly, but to be over before it even started? And for her stepmother to be turning her guards to ice? Ismena was more powerful than Elisabeth could have thought. She clenched her trembling fingers into a fist. “I must stop her.”

  “How?” Luk asked bitterly.

  “I-I shall fight her. Challenge her for the crown, as I should have done long ago.”

  Luk shook his head. “You know you cannot win such a battle. She is too powerful.”

  “Then I will surrender myself in the hopes that she will show clemency to my guards.” Elisabeth stepped past Luk and toward the door.

  “You cannot do that, My Lady!” Luk cried, grabbing her arm. “You have a duty to your people. As long as you live, you give us hope. Hope that someday the tyrant's rule will come to an end. Do not rob us of this hope. For some, that is all they have.”

  “I have to do something!” she cried. “I cannot leave my guards to die!”

  Luk’s expression hardened. “If they die tonight, they die in service to protect you. Do not let their sacrifices be in vain.”

  Elisabeth snatched her arm from his hold and stepped away. “So what do you say I do? Hide like a coward from my stepmother until my twenty-first birthday? It is still three years away, and in that time, Ismena will continue to oppress my people.” She shook her head and pressed her fingers against her temples. “Besides, we are both fools if we believe that Ismena will simply hand over the throne because I have come of age to rule.”

  Luk fingered the crest on his tunic before glancing up at her with sincere dark eyes. “You forget that the law states that you may also inherit the throne if you marry someone who is of age.”

  Elisabeth snorted, not exactly a response befitting a princess, but Luk did not press the matter. “Only someone of noble blood, if the clergy is to accept the marriage and deem it binding. And how in Illesya will I find someone of noble blood to help me stand against the queen?”

  “Perhaps you will have to look beyond Illesya.”

  Elisabeth gasped but Luk continued speaking, his eyes shining with a fervor, “Sail to a new land and marry a prince who will fight for your cause- it should not be hard with your beauty- then return and reclaim your kingdom.” He stepped away, rubbing his chin. “Your people will help you to a port and shelter you from your stepmother until you can escape.”

  “You expect me to leave Illesya?” Elisabeth's heart clogged her throat at the thought of leaving her home, the island that she had been born to rule.

  A muscle in Luk’s jaw twitched as he nodded. “I expect you to do your duty, for your people.”

  Elisabeth turned away. She hated to admit it, but Luk was right. She was not strong enough to defeat Ismena on her own. She may have inherited powers over the ice and snow from her mother, but Ismena somehow had them as well. And Ismena had far enhanced her power with sorcery. Elisabeth would not be able to defeat Ismena alone.

  She stepped away and grabbed her cloak. “Very well then, we can escape through the catacombs.”

  Luk hesitated in the doorway. “By now Ismena's guards will be combing the palace. How will we get to an entrance undetected?”

  “You shall see.” Elisabeth stepped to the fireplace along the wall of her chamber. Elaborately carved engravings covered the mantel, illuminated by the dying embers of the fire. It took her a second to find the emblem of the Tree of Life hidden amongst the other carvings. She twisted the emblem to the side, and with a loud click of stones falling into each other, the fireplace rolled to the side. She scrunched her nose as the smell of dirt and rot washed over her. The signature scent of the catacombs.

  “If I had known that you had an entrance to the catacombs hidden in your chamber I would have taken more care to guard it,” Luk said reproachfully, his dark eyes narrowing.

  Elisabeth flashed a smile over her shoulder as she started down the stone steps that led into the dark abyss. “Now where would have been the fun in that?”

  The catacombs were faintly lit by flickering torches. They had to have been enchanted, for they never burned out. They had been burning since Havenkeep was first built on top of these remains of a great civilization that fell long before Elisabeth's time.

  Their footsteps echoed around them- the only sound other than their own breathing. After following a series of twists and turns, Elisabeth stopped at a section of stone wall. An exit, the fact revealed by the many pictures of their mythology carved into the wall. Elisabeth twisted another emblem of the Tree of Life. The wall crumbled to the side with a moan and Elisabeth was greeted by the icy air of night.

  She stepped out into the ruins of a crumbling tower, thankful for the added warmth of her cloak. This tower was one of the few surface-level remains of the ancient cities of old. The only si
de of the tower that still stood faced the castle, blocking them from view from everyone within. The other three sides opened up to a forest of white, leafless trees.

  Elisabeth stood for a moment considering the trees as they swayed softly.

  The forest had no name, but it had been called many things by her servants.

  Enchanted.

  Forbidden.

  Cursed.

  Legend had it that it was once the home of the fae before they departed from this land leaving only their gifts of magic, bestowed upon the mortals they favored. Since then, the forest had become a dark place, a wellspring of unbridled magic, and home to creatures no longer accepted in the mortal world.

  Once, a fearless king of old had built a city in the center of the forest. A century later all that was left of the civilization were the ruins of the castle and whispered warnings.

  She only hoped that she would fare better than they did.

  “You mean to enter the forest?” Luk asked behind her, sounding surprised.

  Elisabeth lifted her chin and painted a brave expression on her face before turning to Luk. “It is the quickest way to escape. Once my stepmother learns that I am missing she will come for me. At least in the forest I can hide, since it's not her domain.” She suppressed a shudder as a hollow wind blew out of the trees. “It is no one's domain.”

  Luk placed his hand on her shoulder, his face etched with concern. “But what of the people who were banished here at the end of the Seven Years War? I doubt they will take kindly to the daughter of the man who banished them.”

  Elisabeth shook off his arm, despite the fact that she did not wish to lose the extra warmth. She needed to be strong now. She would fail her people if she wasn’t. She forced a laugh to hide that she worried the same thing. “You mean Morren's son? Please, Luk, it has been eleven years. I doubt he's even still alive.” The only reason her father banished the boy to the forest in the first place was because he did not want to kill Morren's son himself. Young Prince Cedric had only been ten at the time. However, her father couldn’t allow the boy to run free. He had powerful magic that he inherited from his father and would surely incite rebellion from loyal followers in Mooraven. The forest was an easy solution- banish the prince there and allow him to die on his own.