LORD OF SNOW AND ICE
HEATHER MASSEY
LYRICAL PRESS
http://lyricalpress.com/
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/
I dedicate this book to my wonderful husband, a man who never ceases to amaze me.
Acknowledgements
A hearty thanks to the Lyrical Press team for being so enthusiastic about my story. In particular I’d like to thank my editor, Dianne B., for her detailed and instructive editorial insight.
Author Foreword
“Beauty and the Beast” is truly a story for the ages. Its themes will resonate with fans no matter the time period. For me, Disney's 1991 animated film version deftly captures the elements that make this classic tale so wonderful.
But even more incredible is the film preceding it by 45 years, Jean Cocteau's La Belle et la Bete. Cocteau's 1946 black and white interpretation of the traditional fairy tale is packed with atmosphere, danger, and fantasy.
Disney's Beauty and the Beast bears a striking resemblance to Jean Cocteau's film, including a fearsome beast, a magic-filled castle, and enchanted objects. That kind of homage tells you something about the power of Cocteau's work. In fact, I recommend you drop everything (well, after reading this book!) and watch La Belle et la Bete if you haven't already done so. It'll be the ultimate “Beauty and the Beast” feather in your cap.
Lord of Snow and Ice is my ode to “Beauty and the Beast.” This revisionist fairy tale both inverts and subverts “Beauty and the Beast” while also featuring many of the familiar elements you've come to enjoy in such a story. During the course of this particular adventure, you'll encounter magic, danger, forbidden romance, and erotic thrills.
So don your coat, hat, scarf, and gloves because you're about to enter the mystical, wintry realm of the Lord of Snow and Ice.
Chapter 1
As Prince Stellan bent to quench his thirst in the cold waters of the Elysian River, he didn’t know which sight shocked him more: the beautiful young woman who lay on the far side of the grassy riverbank, or her unabashed nakedness.
A rush of adrenaline coursed through his tired limbs as blind instinct seized control. Bereft of cover, he dropped into a crouch, keenly aware that his lean, black-clad figure left him dangerously exposed against the surrounding grasslands. He knew well his reputation as “the Dark Prince.” If he were caught wandering outside of his icy realm, the consequences would be severe.
Pain shot through his back, the result of a twelve-hour patrol that had knotted his muscles with vicious glee. He ignored it, allowing his wind-parched eyes to fully drink in the vision.
Who was this woman? Why was she here? Such a sight was scarcer than plump, ready game in his desolate world–a realization that only caused his hungry body to ache for more. His ragged, desperate breaths hammered in his ears. A trickle of sweat tortured his right cheek. He didn’t dare make a move to wipe it, lest he cause the fawn across the river to bolt. She was no doubt beyond hearing range, but he couldn’t take the chance.
Stellan sank even lower. His raging heart pounded louder and louder. Were her eyes open or closed? Difficult to tell from this distance. As a hunter, he knew subterfuge was paramount in these situations. He inched forward. Beside him, his great black stallion lowered its head and drank noisily. Stellan’s head spun. He’d almost forgotten about his companion. Sorry, my friend, but I require your absence.
Stellan whirled upward and led the horse back to a copse of trees. Here, it was completely hidden. He tethered the animal and attached a feed bag to its head. Now Stellan could observe at his leisure, for he had to learn more about the mystery woman intruding upon his secret resting spot.
At least, he had thought it secret. Stellan emerged from the trees with a quiet, measured gait. The woman came into his view once more, prompting shivers to course through his body. Springtime had wrought more than just copious greenery and sumptuous blossoms. As befitted the large, wealthy kingdom, Aldebaran’s countryside was bursting with life. This woman was no exception. She looked like a nymph birthed from velvety petals.
A thin, shallow tributary meandering along Aldebaran’s eastern border, the Elysian now brimmed with liquid silver from the melted snow of Falcon Heights. As Stellan crept closer to its edge, he coaxed a bit of saliva down his shriveled throat. A stir of any kind could mean his death. Among the local kingdoms, his reputation for odd, secretive behaviors was hardly one to engender much trust, if any at all.
Furthermore, in this very moment, Stellan was demonstrating that he didn’t care about earning any.
Folk thought him oblivious, but they thought wrong. He heard the rumors, the gossip, the lies. They called him savage, bloodthirsty, and a lunatic, among other less congenial terms. Whatever the appellation, it was always spat forth with bile and scorn, underscored by fear.
He couldn’t help his wry smile, for he did nothing to dispel the hearsay. Resentment had hardened his heart as surely as bitter cold induced frostbite. What did he care? Let them think he was a sorcerer of ill repute, of delirium. Let them think he culled his servants from the ranks of the undead, lining the halls of his decrepit castle and summoned forth when the macabre appetites of his kind possessed him.
Then he abruptly sobered. Some of the tales had origins in truth. A pang of regret surfaced, but he ground out the feeling as one would an ember. No matter. He could hardly do much about it right now.
Besides, he had a more pressing concern at the moment. Should the woman glance up in just the right way, she would espy him through the sparse wall of brown-tipped reeds. They swayed in a gentle breeze, enough to block his view with maddening precision. Of all the places in Aldebaran, why had she chosen this one? Then again, most would certainly question his presence in Aldebaran. If she recognized him, he’d be hunted until captured, perhaps even killed. In the Five Lands, a sorcerer–even one of royal blood such as he–was no better than the lowest beast.
Parting the reeds, he gazed around in all directions. A cream-colored mare grazed on verdant grass a mere stone’s throw from her mistress. Stellan frowned. There must be a lady’s maid or husband nearby. Surely this woman wasn’t so foolish as to frolic alone in a remote area! Aldebaran was protected by regular patrols of the army’s finest, but dangers hovered at the edges, constantly searching for entry at the weakest points.
Dungeon Forest, from which he had recently emerged, was also known to harbor certain…things as well, abominations to all life. The woman risked much in visiting this area by herself. He would have to exercise extreme diligence on her behalf. But there was more to it than that. Despite the potential threats, she intrigued him. He stayed to hungrily ingest every vibrant, exciting detail.
She lay on her back, one arm stretched above her head. The other rested across her stomach. Such an invitation! With a heated blush, Stellan fantasized about slipping his hand into her small one as he draped his tall frame upon her. The sight of the blond, glossy hair surrounding her face stirred unfamiliar feelings within him. Ensconced beneath the drab, overcast skies of a snow-laden kingdom he often loathed calling home, Stellan was not accustomed to such brightness.
Skin reminiscent of goldenrod wrapped her petite frame. It betrayed many such hours soaking up fresh air. Casting an eye toward the midmorning sun, he decided it paled in comparison to her beauty. Now thoroughly entranced, he greedily continued his appraisal. Pleasant, unblemished features marked her as royalty. There were other telltale signs as well. Only a member of a royal family would spend time so frivolously. The rich, lustrous sheen of her clothing was another giveaway. The fabric formed a deep puddle on the grass next to her.
Then there were her tantalizing and very full breasts.
The sorcerer stared, drawn to the forbidden nature of the sight. He had only seen one other pair of breasts, ones belonging to his adoptive mother as she nursed her infant son years ago. These before him now were of a different class entirely–exuberantly plump and firm. Pink tips jutted toward the sky, the perfect size for a man’s mouth. Stellan gripped the soft earth beneath him, squeezing it between an ever-tightening fist as he struggled to maintain control.
The woman was easily half a day’s ride from the nearest village. What purpose brought her here other than a sunbath? He had thought this stretch of riverbank to be little traveled by Aldebaran’s citizens, if at all. Needing stealth and seclusion, he came to the spot periodically for respite during patrols. Years earlier he had even built a covered trench here for supplies. Food. Clothing. Medicinal herbs. But mostly for weapons–weapons rife with deadly, magickal properties. Stellan had learned about them from another outcast, an apothecary, but he rarely made contact with him lest he endanger the man’s cover.
The trench was invisible to the naked eye. But if someone like this young waif decided to go searching for pebbles or flowers or whatever females yearned to collect… Stellan grimaced. It would not do for common folk to tamper with them. Not at all. The weapons were for one purpose, and one purpose only: extinction of the abominations.
He had depended on this area remaining deserted. Obviously, that was not the case now. With a quiet sigh, he realized he would have to relocate. Though the woman’s presence indicated a definite intrusion, it was one Stellan found he didn’t mind so very much. The feeling both surprised and troubled him.
Movement roused him from his thoughts. The living painting stretched her arms back and rolled lazily over to one side, facing away from him. This left him with a clear view of her ripened bottom, a curvaceous peach ready to satisfy his hunger. He wanted to burst from his hiding place and claim her. Then he’d steal her away to the darkness from whence he came.
But Stellan made no such move. He’d given up on the idea of a lover long ago.
Like a barbed, relentless torture device, exile had eroded vital parts of both his mind and temperament. It was sapping at his humanity despite his sworn mission to protect the Five Lands from the nameless blight. He couldn’t escape the loss no matter how many hours he spent diverting time with his ancient pipe organ, seeking solace that withered away with each passing note. Stellan sighed. Then another beguiling sight beckoned him.
The woman’s legs… She was rubbing them together. The golden thighs alone promised untold pleasures far into the night. Stellan wiped the sweat from his eyes. Damn this temptation! What was he thinking, anyway? He had another patrol ahead of him and a long, cold trek home once he left the fertile lands of Aldebaran. The woman was proving a dangerous distraction.
And yet, he couldn’t look away.
Now she had rolled back, apparently restless in her sleep. This action provided him with a view of not only her breasts, but also the seductive curve of her belly–and her sex. It glowed as temptingly as her hair.
The lush tableau prompted such wild fantasies that Stellan had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek. Either that or release a loud moan of primitive longing. Though resigned to a lifetime of bachelorhood, he still had needs. This woman, with her wanton display of rapturous, unaffected beauty, wasn’t making his solitude any easier to bear. Neither would she appreciate his intrusion, if he made his presence known. So why was he prolonging the torture?
As his conscience waged a debate about his inappropriate advantage, a swift, hard rush of heat caused a stirring and lengthening between his thighs. The prostrate position into which he had flung himself grew increasingly unmanageable. He ached for much softer, wetter comfort than the unyielding ground. Even though his mind didn’t know quite what it wanted, his body definitely did.
Above, a few light, fluffy clouds cavorted with the sun. The blue sky seemed particularly vivid today. But it wasn’t the golden orb’s shameless heat or the breathtaking panorama of distant, white-capped mountains making his blood thrash and boil with arousal.
As anguish tempered overzealous attraction, Stellan clenched his teeth. Truly, why was he entertaining such boyish daydreams? He had left those behind even at the age of fifteen, the year of his banishment. Thanks to his purported “family,” he had neither time nor inclination for romantic relationships. His sister’s betrayal still burned hot in his soul. Up until that point, he had thought he and his twin were inseparable. Impregnable. One mind, one soul, and one heart. Together, they would have ruled a powerful, mystical kingdom. But in a single hour, Stellan had destroyed everything. The Black Mage may as well have killed his son, “the traitor,” than forced him into the depths of that cursed region–an endless hell of frozen horrors deep in the heart of the Five Lands.
Painful memories surfaced with their usual vigor. I only did what was just, and for my action I was rewarded with nothing but ruin. Inside, locked away in the deepest pit of his being, a sense of abandonment gnawed with sharp, voracious fangs. Sexual relations merely scratched the surface of the closeness he craved. But he was far too damaged to be of value to anyone. Far too bitter.
Because of all these factors, the woman who lay in peaceful repose would never want him. The knowledge that she–or any woman–could never be his sent a sharp lance of pain into his heart. She would sooner toss lye into his face than to look at him. Seeing one so enchanting was a stark reminder of his barren life, one made all the more egregious by the chilly wastes blanketing his kingdom. Even when the sun shone feverishly everywhere else, brutal winter storms draped his habitat with veils of ice.
Despite his woes, he wanted to sweep his fingers across her flawless skin, delight her with provocative touches. Her parted lips begged for capture, for feasting, and Stellan was one to deliver. He felt sure of it. The thought of one of her breasts in his mouth was almost enough to soothe his dry throat, especially as he also imagined burying a hand between the folds of her sex. By now, under a hot, steamy sun, it must have been dripping.
Ah! Stop it! Stellan shut his eyes fast against a tide of raging libido. He willed his dark part to take over, the part that hated, seething with anger. He could know neither pleasure nor comfort, nor beauty or love. A crusade such as his couldn’t be swept aside for mere indulgences of the flesh or the heart. Much work lay ahead, and he ought to be planning a clean escape. He had to exercise better control. His conscience demanded nothing less.
But when he opened his eyes, there was movement again. One more look, then. One more to last me the rest of my life. Stellan angled forward, breathing hard. He was now at the water’s edge. Dragonflies and gnats buzzed about his dampened black locks, but he didn’t care. He hoped the woman would turn onto her stomach so he might catch a glimpse of her bottom again. The anticipation made such a tightness of his leggings that they threatened to tear. Heavens but he wanted to drink every drop of her!
Then he frowned. It wasn’t the woman who was moving.
Stellan rose a few inches and gazed around. He studied the river, the woods, and the long stretches of grass. In the end, he found nothing untoward. Perhaps in the heat of his fixation he had let his imagination run wild. All the more reason he should depart. He had just begun to edge back from the river when a blur of movement passed across his vision.
He narrowed his eyes. There it was, near the woods! Something had moved the tall grass bordering the trees on the opposite side. Tufts of greenery jerked back and forth. At first, it seemed random, as though the victim of impish field mice. But the longer he watched, the more quickly a pattern emerged. Every muscle tensed, turning to stone as he poised for the worst. Surely one of them wouldn’t be so brazen as to travel this far?
He glimpsed a patch of brown. Could it be a swarm of rodents? Or perhaps an earth tremor loomed, threatening a cave-in. A large swath of grass shifted unnaturally, disproving his suppositions. Stellan wiped sweat from his forehead. What was causing the mysterious movement?
Then his scalp tingled, and not because of sexual arousal. Squatting, he parted the reeds. Though his eyes could not yet discern the type of animal coursing through the grass, other senses, evolved among his kind for generations, had different means of analyzing this new development.
Magick was present, and one of the most hostile sorts in existence.
The creature began to emerge more clearly. Its mottled-brown hide stretched far back into the woods even as it pushed forward toward the river. Stellan could both sense the enormous size and see the disturbance it created among the flora. As though revolted, the trees and grass seemed to flatten themselves away from it. This undulating menace was not indigenous to Aldebaran, of that much he was certain.
Stellan rose. The new vantage point revealed startling details. Before him was a huge slithering entity, not quite a snake, but not exactly a lizard, either. With its misshapen legs and crooked, gangly protrusions, it reminded him of a centipede, albeit the largest he had ever seen. The image was too fantastic to describe, even for the tallest of tales.
A chill passed through him. He’d been so busy studying the pulsing quagmire of flesh that he’d momentarily failed to gauge its purpose.
The creature was heading straight toward the woman.
Cursing, he leaped forward–and then fell. Snarling, he glanced down. Ropy weeds latched fast to his black boots as if trying to yank him underwater and drown him like the merfolk of legend. But only one thought dominated his mind: save the woman.
To accomplish that goal, he needed supplies from his saddlebag. With a violent kick, he freed himself and lunged toward the trees concealing his horse. It seemed too great a distance to cover. But cover it he must, or feel his soul burn eternally for failing.
Once at the horse’s side, Stellan wrenched the bag free. After affixing a coil of rope to his right shoulder, he ran back toward the river. He gulped in great breaths, pumping his legs past their limits. At this point, it didn’t matter if the woman saw him.
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