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The icy wind tore across his face, pulling his white hair into his eyes. Through the tendrils, the cracks grew as their groans echoed off the structures.
Against his better judgment, he moved in the village’s direction, but this time, a shriek pierced the air, accompanied by the distinct sound of nails clawing at the frozen ground. As he peered down once more, a face peeked from the other side—pale, mouthless, and wide-eyed.
“Get ready to—” Before he could finish, the ground tilted and sent him careening forward. He didn’t crash to the snow—he leaped onto a solid piece of ground and cast an accusatory glance toward the waxen figure slipping from its hole. The creature chittered at him, stretching out a long, gangly arm.
A blanket of snow dropped from the sky, and Morozko squinted, trying to see through the clouded air. Slowly, another figure took shape. This time, he didn’t hesitate to pull his jagged ice blade free.
Morozko hissed, lifting the sword before charging. But at the last moment, before he struck the unknown foe down, a face came into view. Messy, obsidian hair, dark brown eyes that were almost black, and features that would never draw his attention like the females he brought to his bed. Her face softened, giving him pause. Not because he wouldn’t strike a female down, but because she was saying something.
“Morozko,” her voice came, disembodied, echoing from every corner of the village.
Who was this impudent female?
As the creature sprung to the side, she lifted her hand, and the bastard fell to the ground, writhing in pain. She was wielding magic that no human ought to, and it rankled him to consider that she could be a danger to him—to Frosteria.
“Who are you?” he growled, lifting his free hand to strike her, but when his palm should have connected with her flesh, it didn’t. It passed through her. She was gone.
Morozko jolted from his slumber, his chest heaving. He didn’t have to glance in a mirror to know he was coated in a slick sheen of sweat. It rolled down his back, forehead, and chest.
Sometimes, it was difficult to decipher what was a dream and what was a vision. But that female’s face, the creatures in the ground… he shuddered. While he had never seen his mother’s creations, she had certainly threatened to unleash them—her changelings, she called them— frequently.Do as I say, or Frosteria as you know it will end.He’d watched as she pulled the strings of the humans, using them as nothing more than a puppet to stir trouble in the villages and the city. She pinned brother and sister against one another. Morozko loathed it. They were subjects of the realm. And all he strove to do was keep the balance. Yet, the damnable village had refused to make an offering.
Pitiful humans.
He snarled and threw his fur blankets off, exposing the female he’d chosen to bed last night. The cool air licked at her bare ass, and even though she was a frost demon, she slapped her hand down in search of the warmth that had been there only moments ago.
“Fucking dreams,” he whispered, pacing his room. The blazing fire had long since burned out, lending a numbing cold to the air. Although, he couldn’t know because ice might as well have flowed through his veins.
“My king, come back to bed.” The female sighed, rolling over so her breasts teased him, her nipples pebbled, begging to be flicked and tasted by his tongue.
He had his fill of her, though—two evenings was far too much.
“Get dressed and leave. I’m done with you.” Morozko didn’t wait for her to stumble out of bed—he grabbed her discarded dress and coat, then threw them at her. “Now.”
She opened her mouth, readying to argue, but as the muscles in his face tensed, she leaped from the bed and hurriedly dressed before storming out of his chambers. They always got attached after a night of fucking, as if they truly believed that would make him want them as his queen. Naïve things that they were.
Another one will replace her.Morozko combed his fingers through his hair and padded across the room.
A knock sounded on the door as he pulled on his trousers. He sighed, rolling his eyes, half expecting the female to sprint back into the room. “Come in.” He opened his wardrobe doors and pulled out a navy-blue vest with silver brocade and snowflake embellished buttons.
“Your Majesty, if you’ll be eating before departure, I can have it brought up to you now.”
Morozko glanced over his shoulder, spying Xezu chewing on his cheek. “A light breakfast, in case we encounter any issues.” Like what, he wasn’t certain. The ungrateful village of Vinti could spring a trap, thinking of doing away with him in the same fashion they’d killed his mother—by ambushing, pushing the guards off, and piercing her heart with a spear.
“Sire, it is midday.” Xezu’s eyes darted to the side, perhaps regretting the correction.
Midday? Hehadspent the night rioting away with—what was her name again? Gita? Katlin? It didn’t matter.
“Very well, bring up food befitting of a light breakfast.”
He tapped his fingers against his bare chest, then pulled on the navy vest. His movements reflected at him in the floor-length mirror across the room, and he strode toward it, staring at himself.
Maranna’s clone. From the ivory hair to the pale gray skin, lacking the pink undertones, even to his pointed ears and sharp canines. Harsh angles all around. He was every part his mother, not that he remembered anything about his father, and she certainly never told him.
“Are you happy, Maranna?” he cooed to his reflection and dragged a slender finger down the glass. “That your curse lives on while you rot and fester in the ground?” A slow, sinister smile spread across his face. “You wicked bi—”
Someone cleared their throat from the doorway—it wasn’t Xezu but Ulva. She scuttled into the room, deposited the tray onto the small table, and fled as quickly as she came.
Morozko grunted and swept his hair back, pulling it into a messy top knot, but at least it wouldn’t brush his neck or fall into his face. Once he was dressed, he made quick work of his breakfast. A honey cake, winterberries, and sweet custard.
