Snowstorm King

by H L Macfarlane

  It took Kilian precisely two minutes of consciousness to come to the conclusion that he didn’t want to get out of bed. His head was killing him, he was freezing, and his shoulder ached from having slept on it badly. He glanced at the mostly-empty bottle of vodka lying on the floor and winced.

  That was definitely full when I started drinking yesterday.

  With a groan he threw himself back against his pillows. But just when Kilian decided that, as king, he could simply choose to remain in bed no matter what anybody said, he heard a knock on the door. He ignored it, of course, but it didn’t go away.

  “Who is it?!” he roared, immediately regretting having shouted when his head rang painfully in response.

  “Your Royal Highness, the messenger from Alder is seeking an audience again,” came the timid voice of a servant Kilian didn’t care to recognise the voice of.

  “Send her away,” he replied, waving a dismissive hand at the door even though the servant couldn’t see it.

  “Ah, you see, Your Royal Highness,” the man said hesitantly, “as regent you really are obligated to listen to the spokespeople of your country, and this is the fifth time you’ve turned her away –”

  “I am aware of my obligations,” Kilian bit back. He rubbed his head. “Fine then. Don’t turn her away, but don’t let her in, either. Let me see what she will do whilst blatantly being ignored.”

  He could tell the servant didn’t like Kilian’s response one bit, but he didn’t care. Shivering as he forced himself out of bed, he threw on a long overcoat that lay abandoned on the floor, staring dolefully at the blackened, empty fireplace opposite his bed in the process. He was about to call out for his personal servant to see to getting a new fire started, but then Kilian remembered that he’d fired him.

  He’d fired most of the castle staff, truth be told. He couldn’t stand them. All hired by his father or his elder brother. All of them judging every disappointing move Kilian made as if they expected nothing more from him than self-indulgent depravity.

  Well, if that’s what they expected then that’s what they’d get. Kilian had kept on barely enough staff to keep torches lit and food cooking in the kitchen. He enjoyed the solitude. If he could get away with it he’d have fired every last soul in the castle – including himself.

  Kilian never wanted to be king, even in a temporary capacity, and he wanted it even less now that it had been forced upon him.

  Staggering over to the tall window in his room, which overlooked the grounds to the front of the castle and allowed him to gaze across the forest to the town of Alder, Kilian felt his mood worsen. The weather was truly awful – the last time it had been this bad he’d been just three years old. That time, the winter had been despicable simply through bad luck. The current bout of bad weather had nothing to do with luck, bad or otherwise, just like the twenty years of good winters that preceded it.

  Kilian didn’t want to think about that.

  Clutching his overcoat tighter around himself against the cold, he gazed down to the heavy iron front doors of the castle. A woman stood there, huddled into her cloak and looking thoroughly miserable. This was, indeed, the fifth time in as many days that the messenger from Alder had coming seeking an audience with him. He had to admire her tenacity.

  I suppose the town must be getting desperate, he thought, looking up at the endless white sky and its blinding, heavy snow. The weather has been awful ever since my father died, and it’s my fault. Not that I care. If they die that’s one less thing for me to pretend to worry about.

  All Kilian had to do was keep the throne warm for his brother’s return. Gabriel had been at war since summer, fighting in the borders for some reason or other that Kilian had never deemed important enough to remember. Any day now he’d come back – triumphant or otherwise – and Kilian would be free of his responsibilities. He could leave the castle. Leave the country. He could go wherever he wanted.

  In the meantime he was stuck inside a miserable, never-ending snowstorm. How could anyone expect him to actually do his job well when he’d never wanted it? His father should never have forced the position onto his youngest son if he’d wanted the kingdom taken care of.

  But his father was dead and his brother gone. Now all Kilian could do was try to wrangle out some form of amusement to fill his days until he was free of the damn castle.

  And I guess she’ll have to do, he thought, a sly smile on his face as he gazed once more down at the woman in her blue cloak, almost invisible through the blizzard.

  Kilian threw off his overcoat just long enough to dress in a white shirt and pair of trousers before sliding the coat back on top; his teeth were already chattering by the time he huddled against the fabric once more. His head was still killing him, so Kilian picked up the mostly-empty bottle of vodka from the floor and swallowed what was left. Fighting the immediate urge to vomit, he laced on a pair of boots, dragged a hand through his long, unkempt hair and slammed his door open.

  Nobody was in the corridor, as expected. He wondered if he’d have to stop by the kitchen in order to get something for the pain in his head, though Kilian did not possess the patience to do so. When he reached the throne room he collapsed onto the overly-decorated chair, swinging his legs over one of the armrests as he dipped his head back over the other.

  “Bring her in!” he called out to nobody in particular; he wasn’t sure if anybody was even within earshot. “And get me some wine. In fact, bring me wine before you bring the girl.” Kilian had priorities, after all, even if nobody else agreed with them. His first and foremost priority was always to be as drunk as he could physically get away with being, and he was at least a bottle of wine too sober for his own tastes.

  A scrabbling by the door to the throne room told Kilian that his orders had been heard. Impatiently he waited for someone to bring his alcohol. When they did it was accompanied by bread, meats and cheeses. He waved that away.

  “Did I say I needed food?” he demanded. But, upon feeling his stomach pinch in response, he waved the servant back. “Never mind. Keep it here. Now go away and fetch the girl.”

  Kilian scratched his chin as he guzzled down his first goblet of wine. A fine layer of stubble was growing; he needed to shave. He hadn’t had cause to do so for days, though.

  When was the last time I had a woman? he wondered. It had been at least two weeks. Resolving to have one sent to his rooms later that day, he shifted slightly on the throne when the sound of soft, light footsteps made their way towards him.

  When the woman pulled down her snow-covered hood Kilian froze.

  “Your R-Royal Highness,” she said, shivering heavily as she struggled to bow. “M-my name is Elina Brodeur, and I c-come on behalf of Alder to seek your help.”

  But he wasn’t listening. Kilian had never seen a woman like Elina Brodeur from his own country before. She stood out, dark and strange against the snow, reminding him of a man who had once come to the castle twenty years ago.

  He straightened up on the throne and cleared his throat.

  “You’re the magician’s girl.”

  Chapter Three

  Elina

  The inside of Kilian Hale’s castle was barely warmer than it had been outside. Elina’s teeth were chattering so loudly in her skull that she barely heard the man’s question. Well, it wasn’t a question; more a statement of fact.

  The prince regent looked at her with an expression of mild interest. “Well, aren’t you?” he demanded.

  Elina nodded. “He impregnated my mother, yes, but I would not say he was my father, and neither I his girl.”

  To her surprise Kilian shorted in amusement. “No, I guess not,” he said. He settled back against the throne, pouring more wine down his throat before continuing. “So, Miss…?”

  “Brodeur. Elina Brodeur. Daughter of Lily Brodeur –”

  “Yes, yes, I don’t care. You came here seeking my help. What help exactly is it that you need?”

  Something told Elina that Kilian knew e
xactly what the people of Alder needed. Going by his attitude, and the rate at which he was consuming wine, she concluded that he had merely approved an audience with her to provide himself with some kind of entertainment. The castle was empty, after all.

  Disconcertingly so.

  “Where is everyone?” Elina asked, glancing around the cavernous, dusty throne room. When she had imagined the inside of the castle this was not what she’d had in mind at all.

  Kilian frowned. “Did I grant you an audience for you to criticise where I live?”

  “I – no, I just –”

  “Then tell me why you are here.”

  Elina struggled not to bristle against the man’s standoffish attitude. He was royalty; he was allowed to be standoffish. She took in a somewhat shuddering breath, for she was still freezing. “This winter has hit Alder very hard. Too hard. We are running low on provisions – food, cloth, medicine, stone –”

  “So you want me to provide the town with more?”

  Elina kept her gaze steady. “Yes.”

  “Denied.”

  “…excuse me?”

  “You heard me,” Kilian said, glancing at Elina out of the corner of his eye with a smirk on his face that was begging for her to react. “No. I will not help your stupid town. You can all die. Now if that was all…”

  “You can’t be serious!”

  “Oh, but I am.”

  “But so many people really will die if you cannot help – this isn’t a joke!” Elina took a few steps forward, slipping on the snow that had fallen from her cloak and melted on the floor.

  Kilian merely chuckled. “All the better for the kingdom if there are fewer people for me to rule. And besides,” he pointed to one of the long, narrow windows, which were white with snow, “this kind of winter is made for culling the herd. You shouldn’t expect everyone in Alder to survive this. So why even try to save them?”

  Elina was torn between speaking her mind and keeping polite. This cruel man was her king, even if only until his far more capable brother returned. If she couldn’t reason with him then the entire town would suffer.

  She bowed her head. “Please, Your Royal Highness, I beg you to reconsider. I understand your sentiment, but –”

  “You do, do you? And why would you understand such a deadly sentiment?”

  “Because the people of Alder don’t exactly like me, and I don’t exactly like them, either.”

  Kilian seemed to consider this. “You would wish them dead for such a reason?”

  “No,” Elina murmured, shaking her head, “but I have thought it nonetheless. Thinking such a thing and allowing such a thing to happen are different, though.”

  “Not when you’re king, they’re not,” he joked.

  Elina looked up; Kilian was watching her carefully with eyes as pale as glass. They were not the brilliant blue of the people of Alder; instead, they were as icy grey as the snow outside the window. Elina found them unsettling.

  She supposed Kilian really was handsome, though his long, pale blonde hair was tangled and knotted down his back. His sharp jawline was covered in stubble, and it looked as though he had hardly bothered to dress for meeting Elina. He wasn’t wearing enough to combat the cold which, upon further notice, had resulted in the man shivering almost as much as Elina was in her snow-sodden clothes.

  He frowned at her. “What are you looking at?”

  “You aren’t wearing enough. You’ll catch a cold.”

  “Says the woman currently half frozen to death.”

  “I wouldn’t be if I had been granted an audience earlier, Your Royal Highness.”

  Elina didn’t know why she was baiting Kilian, but if the man truly wasn’t going to help Alder then she didn’t see why she had to remain polite.

  He could lock me up in a cell and let me freeze to death, I suppose, but if that will be Alder’s fate anyway then what does it matter?

  Kilian brought his glass up to his cruel mouth and drank deeply. He swept his eyes up and down Elina, which she forced herself not to shy away from.

  “You say your town does not like you. Why is that?”

  Surprised by the question, Elina carefully considered her answer before replying. “It isn’t so much that they dislike me – that would involve them actually knowing me first. They simply do not wish to acknowledge my existence.”

  “Because of the magician?”

  She nodded. “They don’t like how different I look. And I was born out of wedlock, and my mother had many suitors at the time. She shamed my grandparents by doing so, though they loved her too much to let her – or me – go. Fortunately my mother is a talented seamstress, so she took over my grandfather’s tailor shop, so the town’s scorn for me means little and less.”

  “And yet, clearly, that’s a lie.”

  Elina said nothing. Of course it was a lie.

  “You would not be here if you didn’t care for them,” Kilian continued, almost to himself. “So tell me, Elina Brodeur, how much do you care for this town that hates you? What would you do for them?”

  “I…what are you asking of me, Your Royal Highness?”

  His lips twisted into a smile; Elina did not like the look of it at all.

  “Become my personal servant. Wait on me, tend to my fires and my room and serve me food and wine. Do my bidding, no matter how humiliating that may be. Do all this and I shall provide Alder with the provisions it needs.”

  “Surely you must have far more qualified servants for such a role?” Elina asked, dumbfounded by the request.

  Kilian shrugged. “No. I fired them all.”

  “You – why?”

  “You may have told me about your pathetic, sob story excuse for a life, tailor girl, but that does not mean I have to tell you mine.”

  Elina said nothing. Kilian clearly wanted her to lose her temper. Or maybe he didn’t; maybe he simply always spoke like this. Either way, Elina hated him for it. Frederick had wanted a young woman to beg Kilian for help on the hope that he’d take a liking to her and help her on a whim.

  Well, this is clearly a whim, but not the kind the town was thinking of. Elina supposed this way was better. She hadn’t wanted Kilian to take a liking to her in the way they’d been hoping. She didn’t want to end up in his bed, giving up her virginity for the sake of a town who responded to her mother losing hers with disgust.

  “…is there a limit to what you would have me do, as your servant?” she asked quietly, keeping her eyes downcast.

  Kilian finished his wine and threw the glass to the floor, where it smashed. He picked up a thick slice of bread and tore off the crust, gnawing on it as he considered Elina’s question.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I guess that’s something you’ll find out after accepting it.”

  “You act as if I will accept.”

  “Do you really have a choice? Something tells me you don’t.”

  Elina hated being told this. Because of course she didn’t really have a choice; if the town died then so would her mother. At least, for her, Elina had to endure the whims of Kilian Hale.

  “I will not live in the castle,” she said, looking up at Kilian as she spoke. He didn’t seem to like this at all.

  “You will. What if I require your assistance at night?”

  “My mother is poorly; I will not leave her.”

  “Then have her live here too.”

  “We have the shop. It’s our livelihood. I will not move her, or me. This is the only way I’ll accept your proposal.”

  This is the only way I can tolerate your proposal.

  Finally, after what seemed like minutes but was actually seconds, Kilian swallowed the bread he was chewing and nodded.

  “Fine; live in the town that hates you. But you have to arrive at the castle before sunrise and stay until after my evening meal.”

  “Which is…?”

  He grinned. “As late as I can make it.”

  Elina felt her temple twitch in irritation. “How long must I act as your s
ervant?”

  “As long as I want.” And then, at the look of indignation on Elina’s face, clarified, “Until winter ends. You will serve me for as long as your town needs assistance.”

  “And you will provide assistance immediately?”

  “Yes.”

  Something told Elina her idea of immediately and Kilian’s idea of immediately were entirely different things. But she didn’t want to push her drunk, cruel king too far, in case he changed his mind.

  With a yawn, Kilian stretched his arms above his head until his spine cracked in several places. He looked at Elina from heavy-lidded eyes hazy with alcohol.

  “First order of business, Elina: run me a bath.”

  Elina had never wanted to do anything less in all her life.

  Chapter Four

  Kilian

  “Where are the baths situated?”

  “Oh, I have one in my room. Follow me.”

  Kilian lazily unfolded himself from his throne, sweeping past Elina as he exited through the door, not stopping to check if she was following him.

  “Clean up in there,” he ordered the same man who had served him food and wine. “Some utter heathen smashed my wine glass on the floor.”

  When Elina rushed to match Kilian’s strides he did not slow down to accommodate her. It was far more amusing to watch the frozen, soaking woman struggle to keep up with him.

  “I’m assuming you know how to light fires and prepare bathwater,” he said.

  “Of course I do.”

  He opened the door to his chambers and gestured towards the large, ornate bathtub. “Then get to it.”

  Elina stared at it in confusion. Her gaze lowered to the floor beneath it, which was scratched and damaged as if someone had literally dragged the heavy, ceramic tub into the room.

  She glanced at Kilian. “Something tells me this wasn’t supposed to be in here.”

  “It’s easier to roll out of the bath and straight into bed if it’s here,” he explained simply, leaving Elina’s side to wander about his room in search of a forgotten bottle of wine or vodka. Finding none, he collapsed on top of his bed. “If you don’t get a fire going soon you’re liable to genuinely freeze to death, so I suggest you be quick about it.”