Snowstorm King

by H L Macfarlane

  Kilian was supposed to have heard back from his brother by now. Gabriel and his army had to be well on course for returning from the country’s borders, especially after Kilian had spoken to those diplomats. In a mere few days Gabriel was supposed to – finally – take over the throne from his younger brother.

  And yet Kilian had heard nothing, and it only caused his mood to grow fouler. Watching Elina huddle next to some unknown man from Alder against the snow as she made her way to the castle didn’t help.

  The servant timidly approached the window to glance downward. She frowned slightly and then, with a nod of understanding, explained, “That’s the woodcutter, Daven. He keeps the forest in check for the castle and builds houses in Alder.”

  “I thought nobody in Alder spoke to Elina…”

  “Sire…?”

  He waved the woman away. “You may go. What’s your name?”

  The servant seemed mightily surprised by this. She gulped slightly. “M-Marielle, Your Royal Highness.”

  “Go back to bed, Marielle. Take the morning off.”

  Knowing not to question this rare kindness, Marielle scurried off before Kilian could change his mind. In truth he didn’t know why he’d granted her the time off. There had been something about the way she looked when she’d been hauled out of bed – like she wanted to complain about the indignity of it all but knew she couldn’t – that reminded Kilian of the woman currently smiling at the woodcutter outside.

  I’m growing soft, he thought, shivering inside his overcoat as he moved to his favourite spot by the fireplace and opened a bottle of wine. He didn’t actually know what he’d say to Elina once she reached his chambers, considering how she’d left two days prior. But Kilian would be damned if he was going to let her know her rejection had any effect on him whatsoever.

  “Your Royal Highness,” Elina said after she knocked upon the door and entered. She was still smiling like she had done outside, with the woodcutter. Kilian hated how much it made her face glow.

  “I’m assuming Alder received everything I sent over,” he murmured, not bothering to correct Elina for, once more, referring to him by his title. “Going by your expression, I mean.”

  To his surprise she bowed slightly. “Thank you. It’s more appreciated than you could possibly know, I’d wager.”

  “You’d wager?”

  “Yes, because you don’t care.”

  Kilian snorted into his wine despite himself. He waved her over. “Sit down and drink with me.”

  “The sun hasn’t even risen, Your Royal Highness.”

  “And considering the weather you wouldn’t be able to tell if it had, anyway,” he countered, gesturing towards the swirling snow dancing behind the window. “So drink with me.”

  Elina grimaced but, knowing she couldn’t refuse, took off her cloak and placed it close to the fire to dry off. She was wearing the blue dress she’d worn when she’d originally come to beg for supplies for her stupid town – the one Kilian had first imagined removing before he’d known anything about her.

  He only wanted to remove it more now that he did.

  “You wear a lot of blue for someone with green eyes,” he said as Elina sat as far away from Kilian on the floor as she could whilst still remaining within the fire’s circle of warmth. The distance didn’t go unnoticed.

  She stared at him with those very eyes, expression unamused as she took the bottle of wine Kilian passed her. “I wasn’t aware I was supposed to dress to match my eyes.”

  “That’s what most women do here.”

  “Yes, and their eyes are blue and the clothes are blue. What a wonderful coincidence.”

  “Your mother runs a tailor shop. Can you not simply make your own –”

  “Are you telling me you want me to wear green, Kilian?” Elina interrupted testily.

  “You just said my name.”

  It took a few moments for Elina to realise what she’d done and then, when she did, she gulped down slightly more wine than she could handle. Spluttering and coughing, she barely managed to ask, “Do you like me, Your Royal Highness, or am I mere distraction?”

  He shrugged, laughing as he snatched the wine back from Elina. “Both, I suppose. Does it matter?”

  “It clearly doesn’t matter for you, so I guess it shouldn’t for me.”

  Elina almost seemed to sigh as she stared into the fire, the flames reflecting off her almost-black irises like a mirror. The wine had stained her lips a deep red; before Kilian could find it in him to stop himself from doing so he was staring at them.

  “I’d like to see you in green, to answer your question,” he said, still not tearing his eyes away from the gentle curves of Elina’s lips as she softly blew a strand of hair away from her face. “Or bronze, to match your hair, and gold, to match your skin. Anything but blues and whites and greys.”

  When Elina finally looked at Kilian again he tore his eyes away from her. “This is coming from the man who barely manages to pull on a shirt and trousers every day, and a threadbare coat that should have been replaced years ago.” She pulled at a loose thread from his sleeve to prove her point; he merely laughed at the painfully true observation. When Kilian handed over the wine once more their fingers brushed against each other.

  Neither of them did anything about it.

  After an hour or two Elina murmured, “It’s very warm sitting so close to the fire.” Kilian wasn’t sure how time had passed so quickly and so easily, though the only suggestion that it had passed at all was a lightening of the white sky. There was a slight sheen on Elina’s forehead – evidence that she was indeed too warm – that made her skin seem more golden and lovely that it had been before.

  “So take off your clothes,” Kilian joked, not expecting Elina to follow his suggestion in a thousand years. It was to his surprise, therefore, that she slowly unlaced her boots and pulled them off before sliding out of the woollen hose she wore beneath her dress. Elina’s fingers then made quick work of the top portion of her dress, leaving her in a white undershirt tucked into her long, blue skirt.

  “You’re right,” she sighed happily as she took another swig of wine, which was colouring her cheeks quicker than the fire was. “Taking off some clothes does feel better.”

  Kilian made no effort not to stare, almost wishing for the room to be cold so he could see Elina’s nipples through the thin fabric of her shirt. It wouldn’t take much for him to slide the sleeves down, either. All he’d have to do is reach out and –

  “Your Royal Highness.”

  Kilian’s eyes darted towards the door, the serious tone with which the interruption had been made immediately distracting him from the tantalising sight of a half-undressed Elina.

  He frowned. “What is it?”

  “Word from your brother.”

  He got to his feet immediately, not bothering to fix his hair nor put on boots before crossing his room for the door. When he saw Elina begin to stand up he waved her down. “Stay here,” he ordered. “Run me a bath or something.” She clearly knew better than to protest, so she demurely sat back down.

  It was only once the servant had brought Kilian to his father’s old strategy room that he spoke again. “What says my brother?” he demanded of the messenger who was shivering by the large, oak table etched with a map of the country and its borders. If Kilian wasn’t so desperate to hear what the man had to say he might have ordered the servant to light a fire in the empty hearth.

  He didn’t.

  “Y-Your Royal Highness,” the messenger said, bowing slightly. “I come bearing unfortunate news. Your brother and his army have been delayed on the southern border, and it will take weeks for them to return.”

  Kilian wished he still had a wine bottle in hand simply so he could smash it. Instead he spoke very quietly, though every word was teeming with fury. “He’s delayed? Why? How?”

  The messenger shook his head miserably. “He would not say.”

  “He wouldn’t say? He wouldn’t explain his a
ctions to his brother – his acting king? Is that what you would have me believe?”

  “All he wished to relay to you was that he needed more time!”

  Kilian smashed a fist against the table. “I don’t have time to give him!”

  “Sire, there is little we can do about it from here,” the servant interrupted. Kilian vaguely recalled that the man had escaped being kicked out of the castle because he was one of the only servants who actually told him the truth about the things he overheard whilst working. “It would be better to send someone down to the border – to listen out for why the army is delayed.”

  It was a sound plan. If Gabriel didn’t want Kilian to know what he was doing, then he’d have to go around him to get an answer. So Kilian nodded, the muscles in his neck and jaw so tight that he thought they might snap.

  “You go for me, then. Bring someone with you. Not him,” he said, gesturing towards the messenger with a flick of his head. “You have four days.”

  “F-four days…?”

  “Ride quickly. Take my horse. Now.” He looked at the messenger. “And you…go back to where you came from before you went to war.”

  Both men left immediately without another word. Kilian paced back and forth by the table, hand to his head as he forced his brain to think. But he couldn’t think. He could barely see. All he could feel was anger and –

  Helplessness.

  I don’t want to be here, he thought as he left the strategy room. I want to leave.

  Chapter Eleven

  Elina

  Kilian was acting strangely when he finally returned to his chambers. Elina couldn’t place quite what was wrong – he seemed on edge, which was strange because Kilian was never on edge. That was largely to do with the fact he was always drunk, of course, but here he was, on edge and drunk.

  Perhaps I’d know what was bothering him if I wasn’t drunk myself, Elina thought as she finished pouring water into the bathtub, as per Kilian’s request before he’d left with his servant. She’d been drunk a handful of times in her life, though only with her mother and usually whilst playing card games or after completing particularly difficult embroidery. It felt different to be drinking with a man – especially a man she didn’t like who was also her sovereign.

  Elina at the very least identified that whatever was wrong with Kilian obviously had to do with his brother. Maybe not to do with his brother and more to do with the throne, she corrected, thinking about how little he wanted to be king. Elina had to wonder if he cared at all for his sibling, given his attitude towards everyone else.

  Kilian didn’t speak a word to her as he stalked back to the fireplace and sat down, a bottle of vodka in hand from which he’d already drunk a sizable quantity. Elina resisted the urge to comment on it. She badly wanted to know what news he had received about his brother and their country’s army but, at the same time, Elina thought she’d rather remain ignorant. She didn’t want to become any more involved in Kilian’s life than she had to be.

  “Your bath is ready,” Elina said as she tucked away an errant lock of hair than had grown loose from her braided crown.

  Kilian did not look at her. He merely stared into the fire with dispassionate eyes. It was a world away from the look on his face when he’d stared at Elina undressing.

  Only partially, she thought, blushing for nobody to see. I’m still mostly dressed. But mostly dressed was still more undressed than she’d ever been in front of a man before, and having the skin of her arms and chest exposed was making Elina feel self-conscious. And yet she didn’t cover up; the alcohol in her system and the heat from the fire urged her against it.

  “Your Royal Highness?” she eventually said when Kilian still made no motion to move. When she’d accidentally uttered his name before, Elina realised she hadn’t liked doing so at all. It made her feel too vulnerable. Kilian’s official title was much safer.

  If men want me to use their first names to encourage closeness then I’d prefer to avoid them to encourage distance, she thought, even as part of her longed for Kilian to look at her like he had done earlier. Perhaps it was because of Daven’s now very obvious interest in her, sparking a desire in her to be watched and wanted, as stupid as she knew that to be.

  “You –”

  “I heard you the first time.”

  Elina was struck by how flat Kilian’s voice was. Uncertainly she took a few steps towards him, her bare feet soft and silent on the large, luxurious rug that sat in front of the fire. The air was full of steam from the bath, spicy and heady and fragrant. She inhaled it deeply before speaking again.

  “What news did you receive from your brother, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  It took Kilian a while to respond. He swigged from his vodka bottle several times; Elina saw that his hand was shaking. Looking even closer she saw the muscles of his neck were bunched and tight – far worse than they had been when she’d massaged them two days ago.

  “Gabriel and the army are delayed in the south,” Kilian finally said. “For weeks at least. He didn’t deign to tell me why.”

  “That’s – these things happen. It’s war. I’m sure there’s –”

  “If there’s a reasonable explanation then Gabriel would have seen fit to tell me. He simply doesn’t want to return.”

  Elina frowned. “Why would that be the case? When he comes back he’ll –”

  “Be king. I know. That’s why.”

  “He doesn’t wish to be king?” she asked, torn between curiosity and a burning desire to simply leave the conversation before finding out any more.

  “I don’t know,” Kilian said simply, swirling the contents of the bottle in his hands round and round even as he looked as if he sincerely wished to smash it.

  Elina tried to feign a smile. “If you don’t know then perhaps you should find out.”

  “Do you not think I know that already? Or do you believe me to be stupid?”

  “I – no. I suppose I don’t.”

  He glared at her. “You suppose?”

  In her drunk boldness Elina decided to speak her mind. “It’s hardly as if you’ve given me much evidence either way. Other than your obvious cruelty and general disrespect for your country I hardly know anything about you.”

  Kilian’s eyes flashed as he stood up and rounded on Elina. She held her ground, though she desperately wanted to take a step back.

  “I don’t understand you, Elina. You say you hate Alder, and with good reason. You could leave at any moment – literally any given moment – and improve your circumstances elsewhere, and yet you don’t.”

  Elina frowned. “What’s your point?”

  “I would kill to be in your position – to have that opportunity to simply up and leave with a puff of smoke like that magician father of yours.”

  “Then leave.”

  “I can’t!”

  “Then you’re no different than me, who won’t leave Alder!” she exclaimed. “You say you don’t care about anyone but clearly, deep down, you must do. There’s some sense of responsibility in you that knows you have to look after –”

  Kilian grabbed her arms with such ferocity that Elina took a step back; he followed. “You weren’t listening to me,” he growled. “I. Can’t. Leave.”

  For the first time since Elina met Kilian she had to admit she was frightened of him. His fingers on her arms were like steel, bruising her skin even as she stood there. Pale, tangled hair was wild around his face; his even paler eyes aflame whilst he breathed heavily and his overcoat slipped from his shoulders.

  Kilian looked mad – downright insane – and it was in that very moment Elina realised he quite possibly always had been.

  “What do you mean you can’t?” she whispered, too afraid to raise her voice.

  “It means exactly that,” Kilian said, unblinking. “It means that my father, on his deathbed, knew that Gabriel had to go to war and that someone needed to sit on the throne whilst he was gone. It means that my father also knew his second s
on would never do it, because said second son would rather spend his days in a foreign whorehouse drinking wine until he died. It means that my father subsequently knew he had to tie that son to the throne.”

  Elina didn’t say anything. She merely stood there, trapped by Kilian’s vice-like grip, until he spoke again. He laughed bitterly. “Your father really did gift mine with magic all those years ago, when the winter was so bad it would put this one to shame. To him the spell that was cast was a blessing; I always thought it a curse.”

  “‘You can control the weather of your country,’ your father said, “with your heart and soul you will control the weather. You will become your country and your country will be you.’ I was only three and yet I remember it word for word. It was terrifying, you see. Gabriel would agree with me, if you were to ask him in private.”

  Kilian finally let go of Elina to pick up his forgotten bottle of vodka and took a long draught of it, then thrust it out towards her. “Drink,” he demanded.

  “I –”

  “That was an order.”

  So Elina drank, wincing at the burn in her throat as she swallowed the liquid. She took a careful step or two away from Kilian for fear that he would grab her again, but he didn’t. He ran his hands through his long, tangled hair until his face was clear of it. In the firelight he looked gaunt and hollow; his cheekbones too well-defined and his jawline too sharp. Elina wondered when he’d last eaten properly.

  “There were conditions to your father’s magic, as there always are with these things,” he said quietly. He glanced at Elina as he brought a hand up in front of his face, counting down each condition on his fingers as he spoke them. “One: the king – my father – could not leave the castle. The spell was tied quite literally to who sat on the throne. Two: the weather was linked to the king’s mood. If he was happy and gentle then the winds and sun and snow would reflect this. If he was…less so, the weather would be harsh and stormy.” Kilian paused, taking a breath before continuing. “And three: the spell must be passed on to the blood relative who succeeds the throne.”