Lord of Winter

by Ana Calin

  “Jesus Christ,” I cry. “You’re ancient, magical creatures, you’re supposed to be wise. Instead you’re medieval blood-thirsty inquisitors on a witch hunt.”

  The wind blows through the folds of my dress, the salty ocean air enveloping me.

  “It’s time,” Minerva says. The guards approach, slowly, as if to prolong the torture.

  “If I’m about to die, I might as well tell you this, Lady Minerva.” Spite curls my lips. “You’re the ugliest fae I’ve ever seen.”

  Rage lights up her face. She marches over so quickly I barely see her move, and pushes me off the archway. I flail and scream as I fall, the wind blowing sharply against my back. Black strands of hair whip over my face.

  I know that when my back hits the ocean surface it’s going to feel like hitting concrete. It’s going to break my spine and, if by some miracle I don’t die, I’m gonna break so many bones I’ll wish I’d never been born. And all because of King Lysander Nightfrost. He did this to me.

  I race toward the water, my arms outstretched to the grey sky heavy with thunderclouds, the wind sharp against the back of my thighs, my hair whipping my face. The sound of my gown flapping deafens me. The silver markings glow brighter the closer I come to the water, snaking on my body, keeping my power locked in my core so that I can’t use it.

  The moment comes. I brace myself for the impact, pressing my eyes shut, but the sensation I expect doesn’t come. The foam embraces me like cushions. But the water wraps around me like tentacles, pulling me in. I landed softly, but now the force of the ocean sucks me under, the salty water filling my nostrils, and my mouth. It replaces the air in my lungs. I panic and fight it, but then something awakens deep inside me, and I still.

  I stop fighting, giving in to the ocean’s embrace. I let it fill my lungs, which, surprisingly, is only unpleasant for a second. Then I feel myself become one with the water, as if my very flesh becomes fluid. Only then do I feel the water pushing me up, forming a sort of cocoon around my body.

  I emerge out into the air. I take in a deep breath out of instinct, which burns my lungs. I cough and double over, but the water grips me tightly, and pushes me upward. I’m soaking wet, my hair clinging to my face and shoulders, my dress heavy on my body. The higher this cocoon of water rises, the colder I feel, and by the time I reach the archway from which I fell, my teeth are chattering.

  I search for Lysander’s face among the Council members, who are now gathered by the archway. Lysander looks desolate, but when he sees me his eyes regain their glint, and his entire body straightens from his slumped position. I grin. Yes, you bastard, I’m back. And you’ll pay for what you put me through.

  Minerva Midwinter stands with her back at the archway, but she turns around now, probably because of Lysander’s reaction. And when she sees me here, appearing to sit on a throne of waves and foam, her jaw drops.

  “I’ll be damned,” she whispers.

  My shaking turns violent as my body regains its original density, returning to its composition of flesh and bone. They watch the process with open mouths and wide eyes, while I experience all sorts of new sensations on the inside of my body. I know for a fact that I’ll never be the same person again, not after what happened tonight. I experienced too many transformations, and now I grasp how much that can change a person.

  The water sets me back on the archway. I grab onto the column for safety, but this time a whole bunch of fae, Council members, rush over to help me down. I can feel the ocean water still whirling behind me, but the moment I set foot on the cold marble floor, it descends. I hear it splash against the rocks at the base of this castle. It’s a miracle I didn’t crash into them when I fell.

  “She is the one,” one of the fae members exclaims, enthusiasm and hope in his voice. Everyone is trying to touch me, with a few exceptions. Minerva and the representatives of her clan.

  She stands aside with arms crossed, the crimson sleeves of her dress hanging from her forearms. If looks could kill, hers would surely finish me now. As for Lysander, he stands in front of his throne, wrapped in his majestic mailed armor that wraps his warrior muscles, and that appears to be made of a combination of silver and ice. We hold each other’s gaze, him standing there like the king he is, me bracing myself, trembling violently from the cold, a bunch of worshipping hands all over me. Finally, Lysander smiles.

  “Arielle de Saelaria,” he decrees, “you truly are the daughter of the ocean, the ocean king’s only living descendant.”

  “F-f—f-fuck you,” I stutter.

  Some councilmen gasp and murmur, but Lysander just starts down the stairs as if he didn’t hear me. “You will be treated as a queen at my Court. I am sorry you had to go through this test in order to establish your true identity, but now there is no doubt in the world left, and you will be given your rightful place among the fae noblemen.”

  I can feel Minerva’s glare. She would crack my skull open if she could. Is it weird, that I feel satisfaction at having my status elevated before her eyes?

  Now Lysander stands in front of me, his impressive blue eyes locked on my face.

  “One thing I can promise you now, Arielle,” he says. There’s solemnity in his voice. “You’ll be honored as a high fae from now on, and no one will ever look down on you again as a half-breed.”

  “No sh-sh-shit.”

  Some of the Council members gasp at my nerve, but most of them are still busy worshipping me. I slowly start to become aware of what happened—I just proved to everybody, myself included, that I am the descendant of the ocean god, of the entity the world knows as Poseidon, even though the truth of him is somewhat different.

  Which also means I’m not only human and fae, but I also carry the blood of a god. I start to remember a few things Aunt Miriam said about the Trinity of Blood, hybrids that carry the genetic makeup of three kinds of creatures, not only two. But that’s where my brain stops thinking. I’m insanely cold, and my body is still going through changes.

  Lysander winds an arm around me, scooping me away from the worshipping hands. Every inch of me wants me to slap his arm away, kick and punch him for what he put me through, make him suffer.

  But there’s no fighting Lysander, at least not in my state. I actually find myself welcoming the support as he leads me back to the room I occupied before, followed by a retinue of guards. I’m relieved to see Edith, chewing her fingernails nervously on the bed. She seems to snap back to life when she sets her eyes on me.

  “Arielle, thank God,” she shrieks and rushes over. She throws her arms around me, holding me tightly for moments. Her warm body sends heat into my frozen flesh like needles. Compared to me, she feels hot as a stove. I cringe, and she disengages, helping me to the bed. I walk hunch-backed, bracing myself.

  “Why did the king come here with you?” she whispers in my ear, looking behind as Lysander follows us like a shadow.

  “I d-d-d-didn’t f-f-f-fuckin’ invite him.”

  “Wait.” She grabs my shoulders, her fingers drilling painfully into my frozen flesh.

  “If you’re here it means... By the blessed realms! The ocean rose you back to the castle tower on a throne of water!”

  My lips tremble in an attempt to smile. Edith pulls me in a tight hug, then helps me out of the dress—tearing bits of it in the process. She’s quick to grab the duvet to tuck me in, and cover my nakedness.

  “I’ll take it from here,” Lysander’s powerful voice vibrates inside my skull. As he moves closer Edith stands from the bed, staring at him as he takes her place by my side.

  I’m lying down on the soft warm pillows, looking up at Lysander. I would cringe and hiss like a cat that doesn’t want to be touched, but the bed feels good, and I can’t bring myself to protest when Lysander raises a hand over my face.

  Right before my eyes, his silver-ice gauntlet transforms into the hand of the warrior. He touches a finger to my forehead, and in the moment of contact I become sharply aware of my body. I shudder violently, clutching the
duvet to my chest, my hands balled into frozen fists. I become aware of my nakedness.

  “Relax,” Lysander whispers, his breath touching my face.

  I close my eyes and breathe in his scent of frost, and freshness, and magic winters. He now touches me with his entire hand, cupping my cheek. I feel small and fragile against his big rough palm, but what surprises me most right now is how warm he feels.

  “I’m going to restore your body temperature,” he says in a voice that calms me down, making me feel accepting of everything. “I would have already started on our here here but you needed to lie down, and be comfortable.”

  “Bring her some food, please,” he tells Edith, big hand still on my face, and his eyes fixed on mine. “Hearty food, croissants, maybe a latte—you like latte, yes, Arielle.”

  I nod faintly. Anything that will warm me on the inside, and latte sounds fantastic.

  “Pablo will help you, he’ll show you to the royal kitchen. He’ll know what to choose.”

  Edith hurries to the door to meet the boy, leaving me alone with the ice king. He now puts both hands on my face, moving his eyes down to my lips, then to my neck. The lower he goes, the faster I breathe, my body growing hotter. I can feel the blood flush into my chest. His gaze feels like a caress.

  His blond hair falls over the chiseled sides of his face as he looks down at me, and I think I read something in his eyes, that I see intrigue in his eyes. Like he’s curious about my body.

  But I’m sure the ice king has experienced lust before. A king like him, beautiful and terrible, with the body of an ice god, women must throw themselves at him. I saw the covert lusty stares that Minerva witch gave him, too, and now I wonder if they actually have something going with each other.

  But why do I care? Why do I feel like this while his eyes caress their way down my body? I breathe fast, my blood running all through me as I feel those big warrior hands on my skin. They are the hands skilled at bringing death, hands that I should fear and shriek away from. Instead, here I am, losing myself to his touch, heating up as his hands slide all over my body like he owns me.

  I arch my back, pushing my head into the pillow and losing a moan. My body is uncomfortably hot, making me squirm with my legs.

  “Please, that’s enough,” I tell him, and he removes his hands from my body. My temperature lowers to normal, but I’m so ashamed of my reaction that my cheeks are still burning. “I, I’m sorry,” I babble as I pull the duvet to my chin. “That wasn’t about, you know....”

  “No, it’s my fault,” he says. It’s as if he searches my gaze for emotion, as if he’s trying to gauge what I’m feeling. “I had to raise your body temperature fast, and I might have overdone it. I was worried about the consequences if I didn’t act fast.”

  That reminds me why I’m here, now that my brain has thawed as well. “Oh, really?” I grunt through my teeth. “But you weren’t worried when you had your people push me off the window ledge.”

  “It was a test you had to take.”

  I kick my legs in anger, causing him to get up from the bed. I notice that his body had been half bare of his ice-metal armoring, which now starts crawling up his body again, covering his beautiful sinews.

  “I didn’t have to do anything, you bastard. You pushed me into it.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “Watch your language, Lady de Saelaria. Your position has been elevated, but I am still your King.”

  “Watch my language or what? You almost killed me, twice, I’m not afraid of what you might do to me. Lysander.”

  He squares his shoulders and lifts his chin, his large shape intimidating. But I’m too angry to stop. I’m no white-knuckling the duvet over my chest.

  “Get some rest,” he commands, and turns to leave the room. “Your friend will be back with food and drink. Have it all, you need to regain your strength.”

  “What I need is to know exactly what you intend to do with me now.”

  He stops in his tracks, but doesn’t turn around.

  “You better start talking, Milord. Why am I valuable to you, as a descendant of the ocean king? Because forgive me, but I don’t believe you just wanted to establish my origins, and that is that.”

  The door opens, and Edith walks in, balancing a tray of food in her hands that are clearly not used to that kind of work. Pablo manipulates a tray of drinks—I can identify from here water, orange juice, and coffee with milk. My nostrils flare when I sniff the latte.

  “Leave it all on her bedside table, and leave,” Lysander commands, returning to me. He only movies a hand in the direction of a fancy armchair with silver cushions, and his magic pulls it over.

  “Help yourself,” he invites as soon as the two have left the chamber, motioning to the rich trays they left on the bedside table, the croissants steaming hot. “It will be a long conversation, and you’ll need your attention set on me, not on your grumbling tummy.”

  CHAPTER IV

  Lysander

  Arielle keeps the duvet close to her chest with one small hand as she swings her legs over the edge of the bed, and grabs a croissant. She would drop it and hiss under normal circumstances, the croissant is hot, but her body is even hotter now.

  I refuse to dwell on why I went so far with her temperature. I felt this undeniable curiosity towards her body, I wanted to explore it. But with every inch I freed from under the duvet, the more I craved to see.

  “Start talking,” she says. I need a moment to remember what I was supposed to say.

  It’s strange, how this girl can distract me. What is it about her that makes her so compellingly attractive? Is it the contrast between her shiny black hair and milky skin that’s so pleasant to the eye? Or is it those dreamy blue eyes that could drown the onlooker in their mystery? As a fae king I’ve seen many beautiful women in my life, and many of them have thrown themselves at me. But none of them intrigued me the way this one does.

  “The ocean king never intended to have children, or so they say,” I begin, leaning back in the armchair. “I don’t know if it’s true, because I didn’t exist back then. Back when the waters were created, millions of years ago. But when water nymphs appeared, the temptation was too great even for him.”

  “Water nymphs, are those mermaids?”

  “No, mermaids are something else.”

  “So they’re real, too?” There’s wonder in her eyes. “Aunt Miriam said they were, but she never actually saw one.”

  “They’re real, but they exist in the supernatural realms, and rarely ever cross into the mortal realm. It did happen a few times, otherwise the stories wouldn’t have been born.”

  “So the ocean king fell in love with a nymph.” She takes another bite of the croissant, and a sip of the latte. It’s strange, but I like watching her eat.

  “He fell in love with a number of them, and had many children. But one of his mistresses was special, and he announced he would make her his queen, which enraged the ocean witch, who had other plans for the ocean people. So she sent word to the ocean king asking for an invitation to his castle, alleging she’d had a vision which she would announce to his subjects, and which would elevate him and his wife-to-be in front of the sea people. The ocean witch was famous, feared and respected in the entire ocean of the Flipside, and having praise come from her was valuable.

  “So the king accepted. But what the ocean witch had to say did anything but elevate the king—she prophesized that the child would bring doom to all the ocean’s supernatural folk. She did it in such a way, that the merfolk lost their minds, and started a massacre, killing all the king’s mistresses, and all the children he had fathered. Any descendant the ocean king might could become a danger to the ocean people, the witch alleged.”

  She swallows dryly, finally blinking again.

  “The pregnant nymph managed to escape, but her only chance was the mortal world. That’s where she gave birth to your father, who was a water fae, a hybrid between the ocean king and a water nymph. He returned to the Flipside milli
ons of years later, as the only blood descendant of the ocean king. He was a hunted man ever since then, but he was strong enough to protect himself—until he met your mother, a human, and fell in love. Falling in love weakens people, makes them vulnerable, which made what followed unavoidable. Your father was one of the oldest fae alive, it was a great loss to all the realms when he passed.”

  “But then...” she whispers, “How about Aunt Miriam, how are we related? She said she was my father’s sister.”

  “That’s very possible. Your grandmother had more children later in her life, with other men.”

  “What about the ocean witch. Is she still alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the ocean king?”

  “Taken with grief, he cried until his entire being liquefied, turning into sea water. He never fathered other children, and he was never seen in his king shape again. He became one with the ocean. The last thing he ever said was that, since he didn’t know where his pregnant bride was hiding, he would be everywhere for her, and the waters would obey her orders wherever she was. Every drop of seawater contains at least an atom of his organic body, and will respond to his descendant’s calling. Which brings us to the subject of your powers—as the descendant of the ocean king, every drop of water in the ocean obeys your command. All waters bow to you. I hope you can grasp how huge this is.”

  “Heaven’s sakes,” she says, pressing the back of her wrist against her mouth. She stares at me with big eyes, as if peering through the universe’s grand design.

  I watch her deep blue eyes change as she grasps the power she must have felt when she fell into the ocean’s embrace, and her body shifted into water. I watched that process in reverse form the moment she rose on a throne of water to the tower.

  “You were impressive to behold,” I tell her. “A water queen, made of rippling waves. If you could have seen yourself.”