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He spent the rest of the day attending to trivial matters, but when the sun dipped on the horizon, Morozko was outside, waiting for the small party of frost demons to assemble. Behind him, Nuka paced back and forth. His white fur rippled in the breeze, and his clever yellow eyes watched on, waiting for what came next. He was the size of two war horses stacked on top of one another, and considering Nuka was a frost wolf, he was intimidating to most.
In his youth, the wolf had been Morozko’s only companion, and because of that, their bond was unbreakable.
Nuka whined, agitated that they weren’t moving yet. Someone had already equipped him with his saddle, which usually meant patrolling, and, if the wolf was lucky, a battle.
“Settle. We’ll be off soon enough.” And as the words left Morozko’s mouth, a team of frost demons approached, clad in their black attire.
Andras took a step forward. His crimson hair was pulled back into several rows of braids, and the sides of his head were shaved down to the skin.
“Your Majesty,” Andras offered with a bow. “It’s time we leave.”
Morozko’s red cape flapped behind him. “Very well.”
Finally, they could venture to the wretched village and be done with it all. Morozko turned to Nuka, who laid down obediently and allowed him to climb onto his back. The wolf stood as Morozko gathered the reins. Instead of connecting to the wolf’s mouth like a horse, they were attached to a leather collar, and when tugged, Nuka took the cue to turn.
Morozko lifted his hand and motioned forward. Nuka leaped into a smooth trot, padding softly on the tundra as the frost demons followed behind on their horses, elk, or reindeer. There was no need for a rallying speech. For one, it wasn’t in his nature to build his following up. Two, they were harbingers of death.
Whoever he chose for the maiden sacrifice would die before the next day. What a waste it all was when it could’ve been avoided if the mortals had just obeyed. But the wretched humans didn’t want to listen, and now they must pay the price for their betrayal.
When the party reached the village, the sun gave way to the full moon. Music hummed in the air, but it was neither joyful nor celebratory. Townsfolk bustled in the streets, but no cries of gaiety rang out, which was just as well with Morozko.
Small shops dotted the dirt road, and a few log homes stood in between. If he followed the main road through town, it’d lead to the farmlands, where they kept livestock and large frozen-over lakes used for ice-fishing. But this was the heart of Vinti. The very heart the changelings wanted to crush in their clawed grasp.
Morozko wouldn’t dare let it happen, not if he could help it. Frosteria belonged to him—he was every part of the land as it was him.
Nuka halted, and Morozko dismounted. His fingers dove into the fur on his familiar’s leg, then scratched roughly. “Stay alert,” he commanded, not only to his guard but to the wolf as well.
Dregs of his vision entwined with reality, making it difficult for him to decipher whether it was only a dream. But he’d seen the changelings before, the demons his mother created, writhing in his dreams, clawing at the seal. The maiden’s face was unknown, and Morozko decided then, whoever she was, she belonged to him.
4
EIRAH
After the chieftain finished speaking, he left with Desmond to prepare for the king’s arrival. Per the chieftain’s command, Eirah and the other villagers helped decorate the outside of each shop and home over the next week. Making the village grander forHis Majesty, even after he’d murdered one of their own. On sacrificial nights, they did nothing of this nature, but this was a way to cater to the king, to woo him.
They strung cascading garlands and bows across the village. Some elders entwined yellow camellias and other flowers into the decorations as if this was a celebration of happiness, not death. Even the poles of the torches were draped in blue and white ribbons, ready to be lit once night fell.
Eirah wiped the perspiration from her brow as she bid farewell to Saren and went inside her cottage. Her father was getting cleaned up for the evening, so she grabbed a few apples, then sat on her stool in front of their shared work desk. She knew she should bathe and dress in her finest, but she refused. Jonah hadn’t been the kindest man, lived alone, and was generally a fool, but did the king have to send his hand back to the village as a token?
She took a wooden doll from a shelf behind her that fit perfectly in her palm. It was meant to be a future piece for a customer, but she had other plans for it now—she would make a representation of Frosteria’sgraciousking.
The prick, she thought as she bit into her apple.
Although Eirah had never seen Morozko, she’d heard tales of his ivory hair, pale gray skin, and elongated canines that could rip apart any throat. Or she imagined that was what he would do, followed by lapping up the victim’s blood. Women swooned at tales of the immortal king, wishing for an opportunity to be in his bed for a single night, praying to be his queen. Even though the rumor was that he would toss any maiden aside once he’d had his fill. Yet none of the maidens spoke ill of him since he apparently had brought them to the utmost bliss, and besides that, he was their king.Bah, she didn’t care how good of a lover he was. If he had done that to her, she would have slapped him across the face. Not that she would ever bed such a male, amurderer, when she finally decided to.
The doll’s trousers were already painted a deep black, and after finishing her apple, she carved out a few areas of his white shirt to make it more pompous. She then colored the doll’s hair white and dipped her brush into blue paint to make two dots for the eyes.
Once complete, she studied the Morozko figure and smiled. When the celebration ended tonight, Eirah would burn the wooden doll, and she swore to herself that Saren would be at her side to watch.
The door to her father’s room creaked open, and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he came out from the hallway. He wore his finest attire: a silken blue tunic, black trousers, and leather boots that didn’t have a single scuff. His gaze fell on her, and his eyes widened. “Eirah, you aren’t ready!” he hissed.
“Oh, Papa, I certainly am.” She motioned at her dress speckled in paint. He couldn’t see the hem or her dirt-covered boots just yet.
“Don’t act like a child.” He ran a hand down his face. “This is the king of Frosteria. I know what tonight is, and I know you’re angered at what he did to Jonah. But the man never listened to anyone, and he shouldn’t have been near the palace. Now please, for me, for your mother’s respect, at least brush your hair and put on something that isn’t covered in muck.”
Her father’s words rang true, but did it make it right? “For you, fine.” She stood from the stool, taking the doll in her grasp. “I was only making a gift for the king.”
Her father gripped the back of his neck but fought a smile. “You are as stubborn as your mother was. Just pick a clean dress, or you really will stand out.”
