Cold Queen

by K. Webster

  “We still have our heads,” Danser grumbles to me from nearby on his horse.

  I pull on the reins. “Whoa there.” My eight steed come to a stop, snorting. Clearly, they are as agitated about the cold as both Danser and I are. “We have our heads. For now,” I tell Danser. “Hopefully we still have them by sunrise.”

  He smirks at me as he climbs off his horse. Danser is nearly as tall as me and lean. But despite his lack of muscle and the two decades of age he has over me, he is quick, intelligent, and clever. And since I’ve known him since I was just a prince, I have grown up trusting him. Our minds are as good as sewn together, for we often think as one. There is no one I trust more than Danser.

  I step off my chariot, sinking knee-deep into the snow. Gripping my whip tightly in my hand, I ready myself to hurt anyone who makes an attempt on my life. Not that Danser would ever let that happen or the twenty thousand Volc soldiers at my back. My black iron crown sits heavy on my head. The cold makes it feel as though the metal is squeezing my skull. I know the queen has weather making powers, and I wonder if she can control the temperature so my crown freezes and shatters upon my head.

  “It’s bigger than yours,” Danser says, waving up at the massive castle. It’s covered in ice and glitters as though diamonds are sprinkled in the walls.

  “Size isn’t always a determination of quality,” I bite back at him.

  He chuckles. “Keep telling yourself that, sir.”

  I’m thinking about cracking my whip at him, but the doors begin to open, halting our banter.

  One of the Eyes of the White with bright green eyes and a diamondblade sword in his hand meets us. “State the nature of your business,” he says gruffly.

  “I’m here for the queen,” I tell him in a smug tone.

  His posture is rigid and he stiffens impossibly more at my choice of words. “She welcomes you to dine with her.”

  “And the princess?” I ask.

  He raises his sword, anger flashing in his green eyes. “The Eyes of the White not only stand before you and in every corner of this castle, but they are behind you and beside you. They are everywhere. You live to breathe at the doors of the queen’s castle because she allows it. I suggest you remember whose kingdom you’re in.”

  I let out a dark chuckle. “Ahh, protective. I’m sure the queen loves that about you. Now tell me, Green, which one are you warming up each night? The queen? The princess? Both?”

  He growls and storms my way. Danser would cut his throat in an instant if I allowed it. Luckily for Green, I’m in a playful mood. When his green, furious eyes are inches from mine, he spits out his words.

  “Your blatant disrespect is unbecoming. My queen has little patience for games or taunting. I suggest you come inside, state your business, respect her highness, and then leave.” His green eyes narrow. “That is, if you want to leave with your warm heart still beating.”

  Ignoring the lowly soldier, I push past him, knocking my shoulder into his. I stalk straight into the castle, knowing if Green attempts to attack me, Danser will destroy him.

  “I suggest you wait outside, young sir,” Danser tells Green from behind me. “Let the men do business and there won’t be any bloodshed.”

  Green will do as he’s told because that’s what soldiers like him do. They obey. And if his queen wanted me dead, they would’ve taken me out miles away. I would’ve never gotten into this castle and he knows it.

  The castle is different than my homely one, I realize as I walk through it. This one lacks warmth both literally and figuratively. The walls are solid white—either painted that way or formed from ice for all I know. The floors are white. The ceilings are white. So much white. As I walk down the corridor, I run my fingertips along the wall, summoning my fires along the way. Hissing can be heard as my heat melts the frozen walls in the path my fingers have traveled.

  I come to an opening in a great room. One painting hangs above an unlit fireplace. Davven Whitestone. The former king and the queen’s father. He is regal in the painting. Regal doesn’t win wars. Regal doesn’t earn you passage past the Norta Layke and onto the Hidden Lands where the fabled Moral War awaits. Regal doesn’t keep you alive. Davven, of all people, learned the hard way.

  He forgot his power.

  He forgot he was a king.

  He let down his guard.

  I never forget. Fire burns through my veins, hot and furious. Men have fallen to my feet, burning from the inside out for lesser offenses than that of pissy Green. My temper remains checked, but if they keep pushing me, I can’t make any promises it will stay that way.

  Finding no one in the great room, I try another long hallway, passing a few Eyes of the White along the way. Wisely, they do not try to harm me or stop me.

  Voices—feminine and hushed—can be heard nearby. I follow the lovely sound, through a door, and into what appears to be the dining room. Before I’m noticed, I take a moment to study the women.

  Yanna.

  Dark hair. Golden skin. Full, red lips.

  She looks as though she is a Volc. As though fire potentially burns through her veins. No doubt, this young Yanna is beautiful. Gray furs, like what come from the icewolves, are thick and wrapped around her body, hiding what lies beneath. She speaks in low tones to the queen. When her blue eyes like that of her father’s meet mine, Yanna sucks in a fearful breath and grips her sister’s arm.

  Queen Whitestone straightens her spine. From behind, I rake my gaze along her silky white hair that’s streaked with gray and blue. Black vines are braided into her hair that hangs halfway down her back. Her dress is white and encrusted with diamonds, dragging on the floor behind her. Unlike her sister, she wears nothing covering her arms. They’re so pale and bluish in color. The urge to pull off my cape and drape it around her stabs at me suddenly, startling me for a moment.

  She is a wicked weather maker.

  You can’t warm up what doesn’t want to be anything but cold.

  The queen turns slowly, rewarding me with a stunning view of her profile. Long, slender neck. Her collarbone protrudes and her jaw is sharp. The woman is beyond thin, but her breasts are full, nearly spilling from the top of her low-cut dress. Hanging from her dainty neck are blue stones that shimmer in the natural light pouring through the windows.

  Sharply, she whips her head my way, her bright blue eyes narrowing on me. Her nostrils flare as though my very presence disgusts her. She doesn’t seem well. Dark, sunken shadows under her eyes that are heavily painted with kohl attest to that. The blue on her lips isn’t something she’s added. It’s natural and unhealthy. I note that her lips are fuller than that of her sister’s. Are they as cold as they look? The queen absently reaches up to her crown. It’s made of diamondblade—tall, shiny, sharp. One of the sharp pieces stands out from the rest. It’s reminiscent of Green’s diamondblade.

  Ahhh.

  Queen, you show your cards too easily.

  You’re sick. You’re vulnerable. You’re dying. You’re scared.

  I thought this would be more difficult than I imagined. But now, with the frail queen and her frightened sister within view, I see I was mistaken. She may rule the Eyes of the White and be The Punisher of The Damned, but I am the Truth Seeker. I have the sight into what isn’t meant to be seen. Besides my fiery gift, I have one of the mind too.

  I see you, Cold Queen.

  You hide in your castle and they do your bidding, but your time is limited. You’re just waiting for someone like me to dethrone you and end your miserable existence. Your wish is my command, your royal frostiness.

  As though she can sense my thoughts, her blue eyes blaze with intensity. “What is it you want, Volc?”

  My lip curls at her blatant disrespect. I am a king and she is to address me as one. “I came to proposition you, snowflake.” I spit back my own bitter words at her.

  The door clicks closed quietly behind me and I sense Danser’s presence at my back.

  Yanna tenses from behind her sister. I
expect the cold queen to explode with fury. Attempt to freeze me into a statue or some other horrific thing she’s been rumored to do. Instead, she approaches me, hate glimmering in her eyes. I note the slight wobble of her step.

  Careful, Queen, you’ll topple right over the next time a gust of wind travels through your drafty castle.

  “You’re wasting our time,” she sneers.

  Why? Because you’re dying?

  I smirk and take a step closer to her. Several Eyes of the White along the walls tense. No one makes a move against me. “Your kingdom and mine are two of the cruelest. Two of the most powerful.” She doesn’t try to have me killed yet, so I continue. “I want access to Norta Layke. The Moral War awaits.”

  She snarls. “The Moral War is nothing but a bedtime story that men tell their little boys hoping they’ll grow up to be noble and brave.”

  “Perhaps. But it’s always been my desire to invade the Hidden Lands, Moral War or not. No one, not even my ruthless father, has ever stepped foot in those lands.”

  “My father has,” she says coolly, a glint of satisfaction in her blue eyes.

  I will not insult her. I will not insult her. I will not insult her.

  “Let’s not compare fathers,” I grit out, unable to keep my anger in check. “Mine once battled with fifty thousand of The Damned. And do tell me where The Punisher of The Damned was when that happened. Ahh, that’s right, he was killed by lowly nomads.” I don’t mention how my father was killed.

  She presses her plump lips together but otherwise remains emotionless.

  Is your heart frozen, cruel one?

  “As you know, beyond Norta Layke in the Hidden Lands, are unchartered territories. I want to explore those territories. I want to own that land. If there’s a Moral War, I want to fight in it. And I want this union of our kingdoms,” I finish with a sinister smile. “That is why I propose that a Whitestone marry a Bloodsun.”

  “I am a queen. A vicious ruler. You think I would bow to you, Volc?” she scorns. “You’ve made your obnoxious proposal and now it is time for you to leave.” Her blue eyes glint with evil amusement.

  “Actually,” I growl, stepping closer and running my fingertip along her cold collarbone. “I had a better idea, Punisher.”

  I can hear her teeth grinding together in fury. Laughing at her would infuriate her. I can hold in my mirth, but a smirk sneaks out.

  “I will marry young Yanna now that she is of age,” I tell the queen simply. Yanna is twelve years my junior, but I don’t mind the age difference. A younger wife means she will be easier to break.

  Queen Whitestone’s lips curl into a wide smile. And then she laughs. What a beautiful sound from such a wicked woman. Her almost sweet giggles echo through the dining room. Then, as though all humor fades in an instant, she steps closer, bringing her sharp, pointy nail to my throat.

  She smells decadent. Too good in fact. My cock does an inappropriate jolt in my trousers. I’m thankful for my cape hiding the movement.

  “Listen, Volc,” she breathes, her breath cold against my face. “You’ve wasted both my time and yours. Leave.”

  When I open my mouth to speak, she slashes her hand down so quickly I’m thrown off. Pain sears down my neck. I press a gloved hand to my throat.

  This cruel cunt cut me!

  Yanna smirks at me as Queen Whitestone glowers my way.

  “Oh, snowflake, you’ve chosen incorrectly,” I seethe, catching Danser’s eye hidden in the corner. With a crack of my whip at the floor at our feet, I signal my advisor to do what it is he does best.

  Time to add some color to this kingdom.

  Red’s always been a favorite of mine.

  Elzira

  He’s positively wretched. Just as Yanna presumed. A terrible man with a face that could make even the coldest of hearts catch fire. One look and I’d been spellbound.

  From the rumors, King Bloodsun was old. Awful. Ugly. But with one look at his angular jaw, scruffy cheeks, and blazing amber eyes, those theories were proved wrong. His sharp, iron crown sits proudly on top of his messy black hair. His skin is a warm tanned hue, not unlike that of my sister. It’s the crooked, evil smile that had my heart stuttering in my chest.

  For all of two seconds.

  Somewhere, deep inside me, that girl from before still lives. She’d hoped he’d come to choose her as a bride. I would have still turned down his advances, but I would’ve been flattered nonetheless.

  But no.

  The Volc with fire in his veins didn’t want a queen. He wanted a young princess. My sister. An innocent. This evil king drips with malevolence and cruelty. I would never in a thousand years allow her to wed such a monster.

  He holds his neck with his gloved left hand as he raises his other hand that holds the whip. I’ve heard stories of this whip of his. How he can cut one of The Damned in two with one hard strike. I shove Yanna behind me.

  His amber eyes meet mine, hateful and calculating. With a hard sling of his arm, he cracks the whip at my feet, forcing Yanna and me back. Behind him, one of his men slinks forward, withdrawing two swords.

  The Eyes of the White will kill him.

  And then we’ll put King Bloodsun’s head on a platter to send back with his worthless army. The Volcs can mourn the loss of their king, but I will not feel guilty. No one comes into my land and threatens to take my sister from me.

  Crack!

  Yanna shrieks behind me as we’re forced farther back toward the far wall. King Bloodsun’s eyes narrow as he herds us into a corner.

  Crack!

  The whip hits the bottom of my dress, sending diamonds scattering across the floor. His smile is sinister. The monster clearly is enjoying this.

  Reaching into my crown, I loosen my diamondblade. Once it’s in my hand that is still streaked with his blood, I stand ready to flay him. He tentatively pulls his gloved hand from his throat. The blood has stopped its flow. With his eyes on mine, he bites the tip of his glove, and pulls his hand out of the material. The glove falls to the floor and he brings his fingertip to the top of his cut. The tip glows reddish-orange as he slides it down the open wound, cauterizing it along the way. My stomach churns as the scent of burnt flesh invades my nostrils.

  He has a very obvious gift.

  The rumors were true.

  My own gift has forsaken me.

  I’m no match against a fire maker.

  A grunt steals my attention from the powerful king and to my men. The room is painted crimson as his man slays each one of the Eyes of the White. His man is outnumbered, yet he cuts through them so easily.

  Yanna whimpers from behind me. I hope she knows as soon as the opportunity presents itself, she must run. I’ll die before I let this man take my sister. She edges out from behind me, seemingly aware of my unspoken plan.

  When the king’s wickedly handsome face turns toward her, I make my move. With a shriek, I charge for the fiery king. Lunging, I swipe my blade out, hoping I make purchase. At the last moment, he steps out of the way, causing me to stumble. His whip slices through the air and cuts through the back of my dress, sending more diamonds rolling across the floor. But the diversion was enough. Yanna runs through the sea of dead bodies toward the door.

  I pounce on the monstrous king and try to stab him with my diamondblade. He shoves me back, barks out something to his man, and then cracks his whip at me. The diamondblade gets knocked from my grasp, shattering at my feet.

  His amber eyes nearly glow as he circles me. This is the moment where I die. But my sister will be free.

  A scream echoes through the dining room and I take my eyes off my opponent on a desperate hunt for Yanna. The man—the killer who slayed all my men in this room—has her in his grip.

  “Nooo!” I cry out, charging their way.

  As the man drags her out of the room and out of sight, an arm slides around my front. I’m jerked back against a firm, strong chest.

  “Let me go!”

  “Not a chance, snowflake,”
he growls. “We’re not done negotiating.”

  He releases me for a moment and then he’s binding my wrists behind me with his whip. Before I can take off running, he throws me over his shoulder as though I weigh nothing. My crown falls to the floor, cracking in two. I scream for Cavon, but I’m met with silence. King Bloodsun stomps in puddles of blood as he storms through my castle.

  “Where did he take Yanna?” I demand, blinking back the tears of defeat. “Don’t hurt her, Volc, or so help me I will turn you inside out.”

  He chuckles as though I’m here purely for his entertainment. “So feisty for someone who is at my mercy. You are bound and in my arms, yet you continue to make threats.”

  I wiggle and attempt to throw myself from his grip, but I fail. I was feeling weak before he showed up and now I’m completely drained. When he smacks my bottom hard, I accept momentary defeat. He walks through my castle, trying doors and muttering to himself. Eventually, he climbs the many steps to access my tower.

  “Ahhh, this room bears your scent. I think we’ll negotiate in here.” He smacks my bottom again, but I don’t even flinch.

  He drops me onto the bed. I have the urge to burrow beneath the furs and sleep for eternity. I’m so tired. So weak. So broken.

  “Untie me,” I croak.

  He arches a brow and smirks. “Anything else, your royal frostiness?”

  I hiss at him.

  “They said you were a force to be reckoned with. They were not wrong,” he says as he sits on the edge of the bed. “But it was all for show, hmm? Look how easily I captured the queen and took her as my prisoner.”

  His hand snakes its way toward me. I don’t have the energy to pull away. A shiver rattles through me when he palms my thigh over my dress. Heat radiates through the material.

  He’s so warm.