Cold Queen

by K. Webster

I’m dizzied by the way it feels.

  So unusual. So nice.

  Focus, Elzira.

  He’s the enemy.

  I start to pull away, but his fingers bite into my thigh. The heat grows more intense. Not enough to hurt me. It certainly has me yielding to him for fear of what else he can do. I grow still, my eyes searching his.

  “Why my sister?” I murmur. “She’s my only family left.”

  He scowls at me, his grip loosening. “I didn’t say I was going to kill her, Queen. I just wanted to marry her. Are you always so stubborn and protective? It’s as though there’s a heart hiding beneath all those layers of ice.”

  “Elzira.”

  His brow arches. “What?”

  “You can stop with all the names, Bloodsun. My name is Elzira.”

  He drags his stare up my body, lingering at my lips, before his amber orbs lock with mine. “Elzira. A beautiful name.”

  I wait for him to elaborate or call me a cold queen again. Nothing comes out.

  “I’m Ryke.”

  A shiver makes my body shake and he frowns.

  “I thought you liked the cold,” he growls, his amber orbs flashing with anger and confusion.

  “I am the cold,” I mutter weakly.

  He yanks the furs out from beneath me before covering me with them. Then his palms press down on my shoulder and my hip, his heat warming me through the furs. I close my eyes and revel in the warmth. Tears leak out of my eyes as I suppress a relieved sob.

  Ryke leaves the bed, but the warmth he gifted me with remains. I’m about to drift to sleep, thankful for the most comfort I’ve had in years, when I hear him tossing logs into the fireplace.

  A blood-curdling scream leaves my lips. “Ryke, no!”

  He rises to his feet, yanking out his sword as his eyes search the room. But it’s not men I’m afraid of.

  “T-The sichee s-spores,” I choke out. “T-The fire will hatch them.” I wriggle until I’m sitting up on the bed, the furs sliding off me, once again stealing my heat. But I have to protect Yanna.

  He narrows his eyes at me. “What happens if they hatch?”

  My entire body trembles. “T-They escape. Yanna is allergic. S-She c-could d-die.”

  “Sichee crawlers?” he asks, dropping to a knee and setting down his sword so he can peer into the fireplace.

  I’m nodding when the fireplace bursts into flames.

  “Nooo!” I stumble from the bed, tripping over my dress, as I run for him.

  With quick movements, he rises to his feet and yanks me against his chest. “Calm down, Elzira.” His tone is fierce and commanding.

  I stare at the flickering flames with my boot poised and ready to stomp on the sichee crawlers. They’ll find her. I can’t let them escape.

  His strong fingers bite into my jaw, forcing me to look up at him. Up close, I can see flecks of gold in his amber eyes. He’s truly too handsome. It shouldn’t be allowed. I’m distracted by him.

  “There are no sichee spores,” he assures me, his brows furling together.

  “B-But my servant. He c-checked this morning.”

  He clenches his jaw. “Your servant was wrong. Perhaps you should tell me his name so I could light a fire under him as well.” His thumb drags along my jaw. “I’ve had a long journey here and I need rest. You’re swooning on your feet. We’ll talk at dawn.”

  I cry out in surprise when he scoops me into his arms. He carries me over to the bed and once again places me on it. This time, though, he kicks out of his boots and sheds his cape before placing his crown on the table beside my bed. I glower at him as he sheds more layers of clothes. But when he peels away the last of his clothing covering his chest, I gape in wonder. His muscles are perfectly formed and bulging. I’m mesmerized by the grooves that cut through his lower stomach. And the dark trail of hair that disappears into his trousers…

  “I’m too tired for the wicked things you have planned, snowflake,” he says with a dark chuckle. “Tomorrow we can negotiate properly.”

  He climbs into the bed, pulling the covers over the both of us. His palm finds my hip, drawing me closer. The heat is almost addictive. I hate how easily he’s stoked the madness inside me. I should be trying to escape and save my sister. Not hoping he tugs me nearer so I can sleep without shivering for once in my miserable life.

  As if in tune with my thoughts, he brings me closer. His scent is unfamiliar, but nice. Evil, villainous kings shouldn’t smell nice. Letting out a sigh, I give in to the fact I’m his prisoner. At least for the night.

  That is why I rest my forehead against his chest.

  That is why I don’t revolt at the way his thumb rubs at my hip.

  That is why I fall into the first deep, comfortable sleep in years.

  Ryke

  Shivering.

  I wake to shivering.

  Not my own, but that of the cold queen. It’s not quite dawn and the fire has died out. I grip her bare arm and call my fire to the surface. Slowly, I guide my palm down the length of her slender arm to where my whip has her bound from behind. Her fingers are even colder due to the lack of circulation.

  Don’t untie her.

  Don’t do it.

  Ignoring my own sane thoughts, I loosen the whip so I can pull her hands free. Then, I tug at both limbs until they’re curled up in front of her between us. Laying my hand over her arms, I increase the level of heat, hoping to warm up her chilled arms.

  But why?

  Because we need to negotiate and I can’t do that with a dead queen.

  If she’s dead, though, negotiations are a moot point. I can take whatever I want.

  It’s not supposed to be this easy. The hunger for truth becomes a ravenous beast within me. Why is she so weak? Why does she not summon her weather making abilities? Why is the frozen-hearted queen dying?

  It was only a few years ago that I caught wind of The Punisher as she annihilated The Damned. Witnesses came forward—always rewarded handsomely for their truths—to testify of her greatness. Blades and spears made of ice shot from her hands, slaying The Damned as if they were nothing. The witnesses said it was terrifyingly beautiful. More powerful and wicked than her father.

  What happened?

  When I came to the Norta Icelands to meet with Queen Whitestone, I researched everything there was to know about her. Her mother and her early death. Her father and her stepmother. Her sister. Her Eyes of the White army. And her. Nowhere in all of my hunt for the truth did I find anything that said she was weak, incapable of using her ability, and dying.

  I shouldn’t care.

  She’s an obstacle in my way.

  Now, I can easily jump over her on my ultimate trek to the Hidden Lands. Something sinister lurks beyond the stories and the secrets. The whispers of monsters who feed on human flesh make me that much more eager to seek out this Moral War and slay those on the wrong side of it. I’d love nothing more than to bypass this entire ordeal with Elzira, pushing past her as though she is insignificant.

  But that’s not who I am. I don’t leave stones unturned. I wouldn’t be the powerful Truth Seeker king I am today if I did. I’m meticulous when it comes to knowing my opponent. With the fading queen, I feel as though I know nothing.

  That will change.

  Starting now.

  I climb from the bed, making sure to tuck the furs in around Elzira before dressing. I don my cape, wrap my whip up and hook it to my belt, and then place my crown on top of my head. Now that we’ve commandeered the castle, I’ll need to meet with my men. The Eyes of the White follow strict command from their queen. Meaning, they won’t shed blood unless she instructs them to do so. Walking over to the window, I confirm my thoughts. My twenty thousand Volc army litters the pristine snow with black tents and fires as they camp. The Eyes of the White must be holding their position. I’ll need to make sure my men know to remain steady as I continue with my visit with the queen.

  Slipping from the queen’s quarters, I’m pleased to find two V
olcs protecting my door. Fayden and Jorshi. Two of my best.

  I close the door and nod at Fayden.

  “Castle is secure, sir,” Fayden assures me. “The Eyes of the White aren’t happy, especially their leader, Cavon, but they remain steadfast.”

  “And the princess?” I ask with a lifted brow.

  Jorshi speaks up, “I’ve met with Danser this morning. She’s nearly feral. Worrying to death over her sister. Demanding to speak to her. Danser has her sequestered away. She won’t be escaping, but he hasn’t harmed her.”

  “Where’s Yashka?” My attention is back on Fayden.

  He refrains from rolling his eyes. “Yashka is throwing a tantrum that would make the littles back home proud.”

  I arch a brow. “And why is that?”

  “He cannot work in these conditions,” Fayden mimics in a huffy tone.

  “Shall I remind him whom he works for, your highness?” Jorshi growls, always eager to punish.

  A chuckle escapes me. My personal chef is quite a princess himself. Being a king, you can never be too careful. I trust the portly man who always complains about as much as I trust Danser. If he ever wished to have harmed me, he would’ve done it long ago. Yashka, despite being fussy, will do his job. He prides himself on making the best meals no matter the circumstances. Even on the battlefield, I am served delicious meals to keep me strong.

  “Yashka will figure it out,” I assure Jorshi. “Once he does, bring me something to eat this morning. Enough for the queen, too.”

  “Still alive, yeah?” Fayden questions. “Rumor was she was barely standing yesterday.”

  His comment grates on me. “Report back to Cavon she is alive and well. And whomever is starting rumors is playing with fire,” I growl, my eyes narrowing on him. “Keep the rumors squashed. The queen is well and we’re working out a deal for me to marry the princess. Understood?”

  Fayden nods quickly, chastised. “Of course, sir. Anything else?”

  “I’ll be by later to see Danser. Make sure the princess remains secured. I need to speak with him about something rather important.”

  I dismiss both men with a wave of my hand and then slip back inside the room. The queen has rolled on the bed, now facing the door. Her blue eyes are trained on me. She doesn’t try to attack me or escape. I’m not sure she has the strength to try.

  “My sister?” she croaks out.

  “Safe. Cared for. If anything, she’s driving Danser mad with all her ranting about protecting you.”

  A smile ghosts over her lips. “She looks after me.”

  I walk over to the bed and sit on the end near her feet. “Queens don’t usually need looking after. Why is it that you do?”

  She presses her full, bluish lips together. “None of your concern.”

  “Of course it is,” I say with a snort. “I am the Truth Seeker. Everything is of my concern. Just as cutting down The Damned is your concern. Although…”

  Her eyes narrow at me. “Although what? Spit it out, Volc.”

  So fiery this weak, dying queen is.

  It makes me want to stoke that inner fire.

  My cock jolts in response to the images that flood my mind.

  “If you’re sitting up in your tower, slowly freezing to death, who eliminates The Damned, Punisher? Do you send your boys to slay them on your behalf? How many die protecting you, hmmm?”

  Her nostrils flare. “The Eyes of the White are trained well. They’d destroy your useless Volcs at the snap of my fingers. Do not ever insult me and my army. Because I am not out there with them doesn’t mean they aren’t winning the continual war we have with The Damned.” She disparages me. “For centuries we’ve cleaned up the Volcs’ messes. You damn those souls and drive them from your lands. Right into ours. And we have to eliminate them. Tell me where the power lies, Ryke.”

  My name on her lips has me taking pause for a moment. I wish she’d say it again.

  “Perhaps we’ve been secretly hoping The Damned would overtake you all. That, at some point, you’d all become crazed like them. Then, it’d be my army who comes through and cleans up at the end. Some moves are strategic enough they take centuries to carry through.”

  “Are you always this arrogant and disgusting?” she snaps, her blue eyes seemingly glowing brighter.

  “My consorts back home don’t think I’m disgusting at all.” I wink at her. “Now focus, your frostiness. I want the true story. What happened to you? Why are you in this tower feeling sorry for yourself?”

  She launches herself up from the bed to claw her nails across my face. I hiss at the cold pain as my flesh opens up under her attack. Her fury is short-lived, as I easily pin her body back down on the bed beneath my stronger one.

  “Did you not learn the first time, Queen?” I snarl, snagging both her wrists with my large hand. “You can’t hurt me.”

  She struggles and curses at me, but she’s going nowhere.

  “Let me go,” she shrieks. “Now!”

  Ignoring her, I hold up my hand in front of her. As I summon my fires, I watch her eyes. The blues glimmer as she becomes transfixed on the way my fingertips glow orangy-red. Slowly, I drag them along my scratches, sealing the wounds closed.

  Her nose scrunches. “You smell like roasted pig.”

  “And you look hungry,” I taunt, licking my lips as I grind my erection against her soft body.

  I love the way her mouth parts open and her lashes flutter.

  Why?

  Why do you love it, Truth Seeker?

  Because who wants a princess when they could have a queen?

  That’s my truth.

  She lets out a sigh that’s so cold it makes my nose hurt. Ahh, yes. I need the princess because the queen is fading before my very eyes. I need strength. I need power. I need access to the Hidden Lands. The Moral War is real, I know it. This chilly queen is only a stepping-stone to get there. I’m not supposed to turn her over and see what’s hidden beneath. I’m supposed to use her.

  “When I turned eighteen, it began,” Elzira murmurs, her eyes growing stormy.

  My grip on her hands loosens and I let her go to run my palm down her arm to warm her up once more. When I reach the dip under her arms, I linger there before ghosting my hand over her full breast. She gasps, which does nothing to help the state of my cock. I reluctantly drag my palm to her ribs and keep it there, hoping to get her core body temperature up.

  Why?

  Why make her comfortable?

  Because I can.

  Simple as that.

  “Go on,” I urge, my thumb brushing along a diamond sewn to her dress.

  “I was angry,” she whispers. “We had visitors from my stepmother’s homeland. A cousin and her husband. They were so…happy. Five children. All of them were smiling and running about the palace without a care in the world. They were good parents who truly loved each other. It showed with their smiles and the way they touched each other.” She presses her lips together. “I had Yanna. Not a child of my own, but one I was responsible for anyhow. I love my sister, but in that moment, I resented her. One day she’d have the life of her cousin. All because I’d make it happen for her.” She swallows and guilt shines in her eyes. “But who would make it happen for me? No one. I resigned myself to the fact I’d never have normalcy.”

  “You’re a queen,” I remind her. “Better than normal.”

  A small smile tugs at her lips as her blue eyes find mine. My heart tightens in my chest. Then, she wipes it away as she continues. “The anger was burning up inside of me. I wanted to do something. Destroy something. Hurt someone. I can’t explain the anger. It was like a living beast inside me.”

  Not unlike how I summon my fires.

  Interesting.

  I was nearly eighteen myself, with a similar chip on my shoulder after my mother had died. Extreme emotion brings out the abilities. Once I learned the feeling, I was easily able to manipulate it for my advantage. It became second nature. As easy as breathing.


  “What then?” I urge.

  “I’d never encountered The Damned before. Only heard the stories my father told. Seen them from afar.” Her haunted eyes lock with mine. “The fear had always been the driving motivator in everything I did. But this time, anger walked me right along our lands to a nest of them.”

  I frown at the image of a young Elzira walking through the snow-covered lands alone, angry, and secretly frightened. Right into a nest of The Damned. Suicide. A nest usually holds hundreds if not thousands of them.

  “They sleep, you know,” she whispers. “Huddled together for warmth. So reminiscent of the people they were before.”

  Back when they’d murdered, stolen, raped, or any other crime that would get them banished. The Damned weren’t good people. They’re monsters who are punished by being forced into madness and then driven to their icy deaths. My people—and the same with the Easta and the Westa—drove them to Equatoria. Barren wastelands. Nothing living besides the kimilla trees, bursting with juicy fruits, just begging to be bitten into. No matter how strong those people were or how they know of what the fruit does to them, they always succumb. Starvation and thirst will make the strongest of men wither and give in to the temptation. But the fruit is the beginning of the end for them. It sours their minds and destroys their sanity. And when the wastelands become too crowded, the Volcs kill them, but not before chasing a good number of them right into the Norta Icelands.

  “I was so angry for being weak. Angry for not having a future of my own choosing. Angry at those who were happy. Angry for not having the gifts my father had.” A single tear slides down her temple. “I wanted to die.”

  Fury bubbles up inside of me. She is a queen. Queens don’t give up because things aren’t going their way. It screams of weakness. No wonder she is fading. Elzira isn’t worthy of being a queen. Her heart isn’t in it.

  “I stood before them,” she whispers. “I waited. And then they smelled me. Just one at first. His head poked up and his soulless eyes found mine. Starved. They eat human flesh, you know.”

  Yes, I do know.

  I’ve seen one too many of my men with their throats ripped out by these mindless savages.