Page 25 of Gifted to the Frost King

Determination settles along his features.

“I want to. Let me be the one to guide you. Please, Dove.”

Not knowing what else to say, I nod.

Frosty inhales deeply, his eyes briefly falling shut. His whole body shivers as he slowly opens them. Their glow is so intense that it nearly causes me to lower mine. Dropping his hand from my throat, he drapes it along the small of my back and guides me towards one of the tables.

Nestling upon the upholstered chair, the Frost King waves his hand, and a blank piece of parchment appears. Next to it is a quill and a small pot of black ink. Frosty settles into the seat beside me, our legs brushing under the table. Awareness prickles my skin, and I try to still my trembling hand.

“Do you know how to spell your name?” he asks.

Reluctantly, I shake my head, tendrils of hair falling loose from my braid.

“Then that will be our first lesson.”

Pulling the parchment toward himself, he gently dips the quill into the inkpot. Once coated in the black substance, he settles the tip atop the paper and elegantly scrolls four symbols. My name. It looks beautiful, even if the symbols—letters—mean nothing to me.

“Here, try and replicate each shape that I did.”

Taking the quill from him, it fits awkwardly in my grip. My pressure is off, and my penmanship is shaky at best. I try to copy what the King did, but my work is a crude imitation. Setting the quill down, the two sets of letters couldn’t look less alike if they tried.

“It’s terrible.”

A warm hand rests on my leg and gives me a gentle squeeze. Lifting my head, I meet his eyes shining with pride.

“You are trying. That’s all that matters.” He squeezes my leg again before pushing back in his chair. “Your grip on the quill is too harsh. Allow me.”

He stands beside me and gently adjusts my hand around the quill. Fitting his hand atop mine, my heart races as he slidesour joined hand over the parchment. Over and over, we spell my name until we need more ink.

My hand tingles as he gently pulls away.

“You try again,” he encourages.

Slowly, I mirror the movements we’ve been through together. It is not perfect, but it is a vast improvement on my first attempt. The lines hold the same weight, and the curves are more elegant. I glance up at him and am rewarded with a smile.

“Wonderful,” he praises.

Using his finger, he taps below each letter from left to right.

“‘D’, ‘O’, ‘V’, ‘E’,” he reads. “Dove.”

I follow his finger, tracing each rounded edge and line while committing them to memory.

“‘D’, ‘O’, ‘V’, ‘E’. Dove,” I repeat.

“Perfect. My perfect Dove,” he whispers before clearing his throat. “Next, we'll do the alphabet.”

I nod, eager for more.

My perfect Dove.Something settles in my chest, a warm radiant light that tingles from my fingers to my toes. It feels familiar, though I’ve never experienced anything like it.

The sensation is quickly forgotten as Frosty settles in beside me, and I give myself over to the task at hand.

My head poundsas I brush out my hair for the evening.

I’m not used to focusing on one thing for so long. The King had been kind and gentle during his teaching. Nevertheless, he was a dutiful instructor. He made me trace over and recite the alphabet countless times. My hand began to cramp near the end of our lesson. We’d had to have been at it for a few hours while enjoying each other’s company.

Then, in an instant, things changed.

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