AllFreeNovel
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Everything is made of ice. The walls, the chandeliers, even the intricate tiles on the floor are all carved out of ice. A massive dais stands at the far end of the room, with four grand steps leading up to the singular, enormous throne perched before the room.
It's empty.
Before I can turn around, a large white snow leopard prowls soundlessly up beside me. I freeze immediately, my eyes tracking the leopard. Its head comes up to my breasts, and its jaw is much larger than the average snow cat. It snarls, baring its razor-sharp teeth, before it comes up to sniff me.
I don't move, despite the shivers running up my spine. The snow leopard circles me, snapping its jaws. Still, I maintain my position.
Suddenly, the scent of magic fills the air. The leopard is gone, and my heart freezes over. Standing in front of me is the face of my nightmares. She grabs my arm and pulls.
"My sweet Elva," the Winter Court Queen croons, drawing her red fingernails over my skin. "Have you finally come home to beg for my forgiveness?"
I blink at my mother. Ageless and stunning, in a deadly sort of way. Today, she is dressed in a pale pink pantsuit with matching stiletto heels. Her hair, the mirror image of mine, is gathered in an intricate braid that hangs down her back. A crown of ice rests on her head, glittering in the morning sun.
"I'm not here to beg for anything, Mother,” I reply, willing my voice to remain steady and my face blank. "And I don’t want to talk about me. I'm here to talk about you."
She taps that manicured finger on her chin, staring intently at me. Instinct tells me to avoid her gaze, but I don't move.
"Interesting," she purrs, walking around me as she studies me. "Very well. I can’t have my only daughter feeling like I didn't care about what she has to say, could I? Right this way, child." She spins on her heels, marching quickly out into the hallway.
There are no guards following her. She doesn't need them. Power is everything for Winter Fae, and she is the most powerful of us all.
A small voice niggles at the back of my mind.You are the rightful heir. Your power rivals hers now that you’ve matured. Those years spent as a bounty hunter may have made you even stronger than her.
I shove that voice, those words, down with all my emotions. It has no place here. I don't want to be the queen if it means continuing our tradition of being a backwards, brutal, insular people.
Bristling at her words, I watch her back momentarily and calm my breathing before hurrying after her. My mind is blank as I will all my emotions away.
I am empty, a cold vessel of myself, as I walk behind her, surrounded by the icy walls of my youth. People bow as we walk past, my mother in her heels and me in my clothes that have seen better days. I keep my face straight, ignoring them.
I don't care what they say. The news of my return has surely spread through the city. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a flicker of concern about Nathan comes to life. I push it down so fast, like a dagger to my head.
My mother isn't a mind reader, but she has her ways. Her terrible, horrible ways of making you tell her anything. I've spent years trying to forget this place, and now I've walked back in willingly.
I will leave with my life, I promise myself.
Too soon, Mother stops in front of a plain, nondescript door. She flicks her hand, and a gust of wind blows the door open. A spiral stone staircase is in front of us. “Come,” she says.
Wordlessly, I follow her until we reach a landing. I automatically assess the room for weapons and exits, marking my escape route. She has brought us to a room at the top of a lofty tower, and I can see over the entire city.
It's not very large, this small circular room. Two pale blue couches face each other on a furry white carpet. A white stone fireplace is built into the wall, with an enchanted fire burning blue, not orange, in its cage. It gives off no heat, somehow adding to the cold of the palace.
There is a large curved window that overlooks the forest I came from. I turn my back on it, sitting on the edge of the couch as my mother walks around the room, running her finger against the fireplace mantle.
She lifts a finger and turns it over, tutting. "Dust," she says, shaking her head.
I narrow my eyes. Her finger is as immaculate as ever.
“You’re just in time to help me with the flogging,” Mother says. “The servants will not get away with laziness in my home.”
A reminder–to me–that she can do whatever she wants without consequence. It’s always been this way. Her grasp on the Northern Court has been ironclad. Until now.
“Mother, I haven’t returned to help you flog innocent people.”
He whips around. “Innocent?”
I press forward. “I know you are looking for me. So I’ve come to claim to do what’s right.” I’m going to kill her, I pull the icicles to my hands, allowing them to grow to sharp points.
She starts to laugh.
