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Stillness settled over the room as patients and healers stared at Garrick. And then, the silence was broken as more talk erupted. One of the healers, the burly antlered man, stalked forward until he was chest-to-chest with Garrick. “You’re the imposter Nerissa’s lackey,” he accused. “Why would we listen to a word you say, when you love to run about doingherbidding?”
Apparently he had no fear of insulting the siblings here, with other rebels nearby. The only ones who might be loyal to Preston and Nerissa were likely the injured, though I doubted many of them held the royals in high esteem after being left, forgotten, first at the border and now here in the castle’s very shadow.
Garrick stiffened, and without warning, the antlered man shoved him, hard.
My anger flared. “Stop,” I commanded.
“You worthless, traitorous dog,” the man snarled. “You’re the reason my brother is dead. You hunted him for them like the mindless puppet you are.” Something silver flashed in his hand—a hidden blade—as he swung a fist at Garrick. The hunter dodged but didn’t draw one of his own weapons.
“Don’t you dare touch him,” I warned.
The man only snarled at me before lunging for Garrick again.
I didn’t think, only reacted. A whirlwind of snow and black daggers of ice tore through the building, slamming into Garrick’s attacker. It was over in seconds, shards of glistening ice stained red with the man’s blood as he gaped and then collapsed. Still. Dead.
No one moved. I could scarcely breathe. “Garrick Darkgrove is loyal to me, and is here as my subject,” I announced, forcing my voice to be steady. “Does anyone else wish to threaten him or defy my orders?”
Silence answered me.
And then, the first of the healers stepped forward, her eyes wide with wonder and terror as she dropped into a kneel. Throughout the building the rest followed, joining her as she spoke:
“All hail Queen Ren Silverfrost.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The following days were a whirlwind of preparation. King Preston and Queen Nerissa gave me permission to order their seamstresses about, calling on them for any materials I needed. I worked cloistered in my chambers, utilizing a mannequin provided by a seamstress to hold my work-in-progress and a screen set in the corner of my bedroom to conceal it from view. In between communicating in secret with the rebels and tending to various tasks the king and queen gave her to help prepare for the ball—mostly, concocting various potions and tinctures that only a pixie could make—Aspen would visit with me or bring me untainted food.
In free moments, Aspen and Garrick each took turns escorting me to private areas of the castle where I could practice my magic undisturbed. Neither let me wander in the evenings anymore, not wanting to risk a chance encounter with a demon. The creatures were escaping earlier each night we drew closer to the solstice. More than once my sleep had been interrupted by the sounds of claws scraping along a stone corridor and shouts from guards fighting to subdue the creature.
Despite the power in my blood, Preston and Nerissa never called on me. Instead, they’d started commanding the guards to lock me in my rooms at night. The first evening I’d tested my doorknob, fury had burned in my chest, followed by worry. Did they know I was sneaking out to practice magic? Did theysuspect Aspen and I were plotting? Or were they only being overprotective, ensuring their precious tool wasn’t injured or killed before the solstice?
If they did suspect us of anything, they made no accusations. At every dinner feast, Preston made a show of having me sit at his side, his willing possession. His trophy to display on his arm.
He and Nerissa didn’t tempt Garrick and me again either by sending the wolf shifter to my rooms to guard me. And they didn’t punish him for touching me either time I’d been attacked—not by demons and not by the fae in Northelm. But I didn’t fool myself for a moment into thinking the siblings’ lack of playing games with the two of us, their sudden disinterest in tormenting us, was a good thing. Instead, I knew it meant they were busy in preparations for the ball, solstice, and the coming wedding.
Each day, new items were delivered to my rooms. A wispy fae gown in shades of silver and black that was declared to be my wedding dress and was stored carefully in my wardrobe. A delicate silver tiara in a carved wooden case—one I knew was all for show, for I was to be a consort, not a ruler. A pair of flimsy black slippers to wear with my dress. Every time, maids with glazed eyes dropped off the items, leaving my stomach in knots at the way they avoided my questions about their personal lives or stared at me blankly.
I had to free them. I had to free usall.
The day of the ball dawned frigid, with billowing grey clouds gathering on the horizon, threatening a snowstorm. My stomach was a tangled ball of nerves as my maids brought me my breakfast, one I knew was laced with forget-me-nots, like always. After my days of exposure to the flowers and practice with my power, I felt more confident, though not nearly as confident as I’d hoped. I’d managed to conjure an ice blade on one occasion, but that was all. Anything beyond that or toying with frost and ice that I could dismiss with a flick of my hand had beenimpossible. It wasn’t as if I could have called on a snowstorm within the castle walls without giving myself away.
As I cradled my steaming mug of tea and gazed out the window, studying the clouds and wondering what the weather would bring, I tried to assure myself that the land was on my side. It knew my magic, my blood. It was connected to me, and I with it. I wasmeantto be here, meant to rule. Meant to protect this land from the undead souls and demons slipping through the entrance to the underworld.
The door creaked open, and Aspen, settled in a guard’s hand, dismissed the servants with a few whispered words before ordering the man to deposit her on my bed and leave. Once the door closed behind him, she sat cross-legged on the covers and studied me thoughtfully. “When the time comes, you’ll know what to do,” she said, as if reading my mind.
