Lord of Snow and Ice

by Heather Massey

  “Silence!” Stellan shouted. His voice echoed wildly around the chamber as the animal dutifully complied.

  Gretchen appeared carrying a plate laden with fine victuals. “Well, eat something, at least. Be a shame to let all this food go to waste.”

  “I told you I wasn’t hungry!” Stellan lashed out. The delicate porcelain smashed into a hundred pieces against the floor, leaving a soiled path of food in its wake. Gretchen cried out in surprise. But Stellan was beyond the ability to care anymore. He pushed away from the table and stormed out of the room.

  “Fine!” he heard Gretchen shout after him. “Be that way! You think I’m going to clean up after you? Some prince you are–behaving like a spoiled brat. How about a little spell to make your shitty attitude disappear?”

  She screeched like a banshee, the sound following him up the stairs even to the next floor. Damn that woman and her foul mouth. Stellan rushed through the corridors, melting into the darkness like a ghost. He grabbed an old iron bar and clubbed randomly at the walls as he strode. An old suit of armor crumpled under his wrath. This is how all the kingdoms will fall, by refusing to stand together under a threat. Those stupid fools!

  Stellan hammered away at the armor until his arms burned with pain. When violence failed to sate him, he tore open one of the tower doors and buried himself in a great snowdrift on the balcony. He sat there for countless hours, all the while being pelted by the hail and wind of a newly arisen storm. Go on, you bastard. Attack me with everything you’ve got!

  He mentally worked through the situation at hand, turning every piece of the puzzle over and over from every possible angle. Perhaps he should saddle Midnight–Why do you insist on using that infernal name?–and search the countryside. After all, it was possible the King’s party had become lost. The thought rebounded about in his head for a few moments, only to be immediately nixed. No. The King traveled with an entourage of guards and attendants. The King’s procession did not get lost.

  A more distressing thought occurred. Maybe Clarysa had changed her mind. What if some other man had caught her fancy in the meantime? Stellan wouldn’t doubt it. What would she want with a man known as “the Dark Prince” anyway? She was the stunning princess of a wealthy king. She could have any man she desired. Why trudge through blizzards and hail and biting cold to see a temperamental loser with nothing but a ragtag bunch of servants? He was a fool for having trusted her.

  Never again.

  He trudged indoors. Dripping and wet, Stellan retreated to his quarters. Shivering violently, he lay down, denying himself the comfort of blankets. Flashbacks lodged in his mind of his first few nights in Vandeborg. They struck with the speed of lightning, forceful and unpredictable. Strokes of rejection and abandonment saturated the canvas of his memories.

  This is the way it will always be for me, and I accept my fate. I do not need the aid of others. I don’t need the love of others. I never have, and I never will. Shutting his eyes, he fell into a fitful, haunted sleep.

  Chapter 18

  After five hours of an exhausting ride, Clarysa rode up to the front gate of Vandeborg castle at midday. She was laden with a heavy coat of snow as well as relief. This time, she had wisely avoided the path through Dungeon Forest and had located Vandeborg by way of the main roads, posts and other markings with relatively little trouble.

  Thanks to her cousin Mirabelle and a cleverly planned visit, Clarysa had a cover story that would give her at least two days in which to execute her plan. Before her time ran out, she had to convince Stellan her father was worth the effort it would require to form an alliance.

  The sun slid behind a veil of portentous mists. The blinding white of the Snowflake Kingdom made for a stark and lonely place. Despite the ominous surroundings, Clarysa dismounted and yanked on a lonely bell rope, the only object left to greet her out front.

  The gate creaked open slowly, splashing wan torch light onto the snowy ground. A calloused, milky white hand thrust a lantern forward. “Who’s there?”

  “Ghyslain, it’s me!” Clarysa pushed back her hood and tried to smile past her chattering teeth. “May I enter?”

  “Yeah! I mean, please come in.” He hurried to raise the rusty portcullis.

  Clarysa guided the horse behind her and stepped inside. She shivered. The air felt like an oven compared to outside.

  “Let me get Mum, and then I’ll see to your horse.”

  Clarysa nodded, shaking the snow from her hair. A moment later she heard Gretchen’s voice.

  “Is it truly the lady there?” The gypsy woman strode forward, extending her hands. “Oh, how wonderful to see you!” They embraced. Gretchen observed Clarysa at arm’s length, a concerned stare etched across her face. “What are you doing? Don’t tell me you rode out here all alone?”

  Clarysa withdrew the invitation from her cloak pocket. “Gretchen, I know I’m late, but I’ve come. My father…sends his regrets. Is Stellan here?” She held out the invitation.

  “What’s this?” Gretchen read the parchment, and then bit her lip. “Oh. Well, he’s in his tower, but… I don’t know if he’s up to receiving any visitors.”

  “Please, you must tell him I’m here.”

  “Of course, but as to what’ll happen then only the gods know. But enough chatter out in the cold! Go to the kitchen and warm yourself. I’ll be right back.”

  “Thank you.” Clarysa strode into the now-familiar setting and settled onto a chair by the kitchen hearth. She held her frozen hands out to the blazing fire and focused expectantly on the doorway.

  Several anxious paces around the kitchen later, an ashen-faced gypsy appeared. Clarysa rushed toward her. Gretchen walked forward with feet of lead. Clarysa frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  Gretchen held out cupped hands. Coarse shreds of the invitation filled them.

  Clarysa gasped. Icicles stabbed at her heart.

  “You have to understand, Princess, he took it very hard.”

  Clarysa fingered the pile, her gaze softening. “I knew he would. That’s why I’m here. I must see him, Gretchen.”

  “He won’t budge. Around here, his stubbornness is legendary.”

  “Then I’ll have to convince him.” Clarysa donned her cloak. “Please tell the prince I’ll be waiting for him. Outside.”

  Gretchen’s chin dropped. “What?”

  “You heard me.” Clarysa bustled from the room.

  “But that’s insane. You’ll freeze to death!”

  Clarysa turned with a wry smile. “Perhaps, perhaps not. My fate is in Stellan’s hands, now, isn’t it?” She exited the castle through the postern gate and stepped out into the subzero environment.

  The wind had picked up. If Stellan didn’t come soon it was going to be a very, very frigid wait. But wait she would. She had to prove herself to Stellan. Aldebaran’s future depended on her perseverance.

  Clarysa pulled her hood down low over her eyes and covered the lower half of her face with a scarf. Giant snowdrifts towered above, leaving little room to maneuver. Very well. She had planned on standing there anyway.

  After a few moments of fretful hovering, Gretchen disappeared inside.

  An hour or two passed. Maybe three. Abstract concepts such as time began to muddy. Clarysa had difficulty concentrating in the white hell surrounding her. The air’s frigid fingers had sapped all of her warmth some time ago. After her feet had given out, she hunched down in a groove of densely packed snow. A thick coating of flakes devoured her in a suffocating blanket of white. But she didn’t move. He’ll come. I’ll wait as long as it takes.

  Faith in her strategy, however, began to wane ever so slightly. Lest she forget, Stellan was a sorcerer born of the Western Wastes. They were demons in human guise, all of them–or so she’d been taught. Only the might of Aldebaran had kept them from taking over the Five Lands. Was Stellan as civilized as he seemed? Or would his true nature call him back into the abyss?

  It was now perilously dark. Her body was numb from the cold. Findin
g her way home now, in this condition, would be nigh impossible. Failure loomed heavily. And fear–she could die out here. What if Stellan meant for her to die, to teach her father that only fools would dare incur the Dark Prince’s wrath?

  The gate sprang wide open. Footsteps crunched loudly in the snow and then stopped. Clarysa strained to gather her wits. Had she really heard those sounds or only imagined them? With stiff fingers, she rubbed the coating of ice from her eyes.

  Black boots, black cape. Definitely Stellan. He said not a word, only motioned for her to stand. She lurched to her feet. With a wobbly gait, she followed him back through the entrance.

  The prince led her to his study. Pointing to the fire, he said, “Warm and dry yourself here. Dinner will be served in half an hour. After eating, you will leave.” He turned sharply on a heel and left.

  She stared after him in dismay, ignoring the fierce needles of pain as her limbs began to thaw. Nothing in this kingdom came even close to matching Stellan’s icy demeanor.

  Gretchen appeared bearing hot towels. She busied herself by warming Clarysa back to life.

  * * * *

  White linen draped a hastily prepared table in the throne room. Candles glittered upon gnarled bases. A fire blazed in an imposing hearth. Stellan slumped in his chair, exuding an air of guarded sullenness. He refused to meet anyone’s gaze.

  Next to him, Clarysa sat straight with folded hands while Gretchen ladled soup into porcelain bowls. The gypsy attended to them like a skittish cat. Silence held the room firmly in its unyielding grasp.

  “I like what you’ve done with the place,” Clarysa said after Gretchen left.

  Stellan crouched low over his bowl, shoveling the vegetable medley into his mouth. No answer came.

  Clarysa gazed at him undaunted. She began to eat. Every so often she would speak, complimenting the dishes or posing idle talk, but Stellan ignored her each and every time. It was as if she were nothing more than a pesky spirit.

  Gretchen served the main course. Large platters crowded with hearty slabs of pork, roasted garlic mashed potatoes, savory greens and other root vegetables landed on the table. It was truly a feast fit for a king, as this was the same type of food so painstakingly prepared for her father. Clarysa thanked Gretchen effusively, prompting her to prattle on at length about her recipes. A warning grunt from Stellan quieted her, his face now masked in a constant scowl.

  Time passed slowly. Clarysa became bored with carrying on a one-sided conversation. Craving Stellan’s interest more than refreshment, she started playing with her food. The only explanation possible was that the snow and ice must have addled her mind. As she pushed the food around on her plate, she giggled under her breath. She couldn’t help it. The tension filling the room threatened to suffocate her.

  After this went on for some time, Stellan pounded the table so hard a few plates crashed to the floor. “What is so infernally funny?”

  Clarysa showed him her plate. “Remind you of anyone?” Laughing, she pointed at her plate. By now, she didn’t care how powerful a sorcerer he was–the man was acting like a sullen twit. And he had a thing or two to learn about how to properly receive a guest.

  Stellan shot her an astonished look and then glanced down. His brow furrowed. He looked at her again. Then back to the plate. “You dared… I can’t believe you did that.”

  “It’s my best work yet, don’t you think?” She collapsed into giggles and snorts.

  His lips twitched. Then they spread into a wide smile, for Clarysa had shaped her vegetables and mashed potatoes into a face bearing an exaggerated grimace boldly rivaling his own.

  She looked into his eyes, and soon they were both wiping away tears of mirth.

  Taking a deep breath, Stellan spoke in a resigned voice. “My deepest apologies, Clarysa. I’ve been a terrible host.” He met her gaze, and his words came aloft like a warm summer breeze. “I’m glad you came.”

  Clarysa placed her hand over his. His skin felt warmer than she expected. “Me, too.”

  The meal progressed much better after that.

  * * * *

  They finished dessert an hour later. Immediately, Clarysa stood. As was her kingdom’s custom, she offered Stellan poetic thanks for his hospitality. After her speech ended, she gave her leave.

  Stellan set down his wine goblet. “Wait, where are you going?”

  Halfway across the room, Clarysa stopped. She spoke over her shoulder. “Your instructions were to leave once I ate.” She shrugged nonchalantly even though her heart was breaking. “Dinner is over. Now I’m leaving per your order. Good night.”

  Clarysa had barely reached the doorway when Stellan rushed over and blocked her way. “You’re not going anywhere right now. There’s a storm. Naturally, you must stay. End of discussion.”

  “But you said–”

  “Forget what I said. I was acting like a fool.” He smiled, his cheeks bearing a hint of warmth. “Come with me,” he said with a proffered arm. “There’s something I want to show you.”

  Clarysa gladly accepted. Her heart thumped hard as she grasped his elbow. “What is it?”

  “A surprise.” He began escorting her upstairs.

  Clarysa held a hand to her chest. She was being taken–alone–deep into the lair of a mysterious, unpredictable warlock. Much as she craved adventure, this encounter was propelling her into new territory. Was she ready for whatever surprise Stellan meant to show her?

  Chapter 19

  “Oh, how beautiful!” Clarysa gazed in wonder at the ancient pipe organ before her. So this was his surprise. He was a musician, too?

  She sat on the organ’s bench, running her fingers lightly over the keys while Stellan tended to the fire across the room. I wonder what it sounds like? A sidelong glance revealed Stellan’s back was to her. She pressed a key.

  A pipe shrieked in protest. Clarysa covered her ears and screwed her eyes shut as the noise continued to reverberate again and again in her head.

  Stellan turned around, chuckling. “I guess I should have warned you.”

  Clarysa cracked open an eye. “Now you tell me!”

  Stellan joined her on the bench. It hadn’t been built for two, which forced their thighs to meet. Clarysa shivered.

  “Are you warm enough? That’s about as high as I can get the flames, unfortunately.” He gestured to the diminutive fire struggling to stay alive.

  Concern tinged his green eyes. For a moment, she was lost in them. His desire for her comfort more than made up for the drafty room. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  Stellan aligned his hands atop the keys. “Well then, what would you like to hear?”

  “I don’t know anything about this type of music. Play your favorite piece.”

  Stellan thought for a moment and then began to play. Booming power chords filled the room.

  Clarysa listened and watched, entranced not only by the melancholic tune, but also by Stellan’s virile features. He’s an expert musician, a sorcerer, a skilled hunter and a prince. What more could I possibly wish for? His thigh flexed against hers as he worked the pedals. The harmony of his movements made her wonder if he would play her body in the same way. Then Clarysa’s neck and cheeks became warmer, for Stellan had chosen that moment to turn and look at her.

  After a moment he grinned. Clarysa shot him a questioning look. The man was up to something. “Look at the keys,” he urged.

  Clarysa glanced down. His hands were dancing on air above the keyboards, and yet the music still played!

  She gasped, the blood quickly draining from her face.

  Stellan laughed, and the transformation made him seem a man unacquainted with the meaning of sorrow. He rose and motioned for her to join him by the fire.

  Clarysa hesitated. She peered intently at the moving keys, tossing a mystified glance in his direction. “Is this magic, or some kind of mechanical devilry?”

  “Does it matter?”

  She moved cautiously toward the hearth, half-worrying the organ might
rise and follow her. “I suppose not.” She nudged Stellan playfully on the shoulder as they sat on the floor, but the Prince seemed deep in thought. For a long time, they both stared into the flames.

  Quiet moments like this propelled her thoughts into directions that were perhaps better left alone. This time, however, was one she could hardly let be, especially since she didn’t know when they’d have another rendezvous. “Stellan,” she said, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…” She paused for a moment, gathering the words. “I don’t want this to come out wrong or upset you, but I can’t help but wonder.”

  Stellan glanced up. The intensity of his gaze made her breath catch.

  “Will I have to read your mind or are you going to tell me what it is?” His voice sounded grim and mildly sinister.

  She smiled nervously. “You can read minds?”

  He shrugged noncommittally.

  “Oh, I see. Well, continue playing Sir Mysterious if you like. Anyway, Lionel and I… Well, we’ve heard stories about you for so long I must admit it’s strange to think about how I’m standing here with the real flesh-and-blood legend. It’s quite surreal.”

  Stellan rose to lean against the wall. He folded his arms. He smiled devilishly. “Go on. I think I like the sound of this.”

  “Well, with all I recall hearing about you, I can’t help but wonder, where are your parents? Should we be thinking about arranging a meeting between them and my father?”

  Stellan’s grin quickly faded. “No.”

  “But why not? I think…”

  “I said no, and that’s all I have to say about it.”

  Such harsh words. His sudden change unnerved her, but she decided to press onward. Her kingdom’s safety depended on her ability to break through Stellan’s carefully constructed defenses. “I understand what it’s like to have your family members against you.”

  Stellan lifted his head, his eyes two smoldering coals threatening to wither everything in sight. “Do you? Well let me ask you this, Princess. As you and daddy dearest squabble over important matters like what kind of pheasant to feast upon or which gowns to wear, have you ever had to wonder when your next meal might be? Better yet, as a child, were you ever awakened in the dead of night by the cold steel of your father’s blade against your throat? Have you ever…” His voice faltered.