Page 5 of Gifted to the Frost King

Something inside my chest clicks—a decision being made, and I’m sucked down deeper in the void. The sound of hooves echoes in my ears as I go under until I hear nothing.

Nothing at all.

3

THE FROST KING

This is a useless task—a yearly ritual he has grown to hate.

It’s the only emotion he feels now—hatred. For this task, the snow, and what he did to make things this way. It will be over soon, and he will give himself over to his beast's waiting jaws. Who’s to say he hasn’t already—it is a rare day the monster isn’t in control.

Atop his horse, he can barely see them. He has not been at this settlement in some time. All of these villages look the same, and there are all without what he needs. Even if he can’t remember what it is he’s been looking far all this time. Still, he must visit them. A different one each year no matter what.

The five figures atop the platform appear as all the others do.

Near death and freezing, their skin blue and their lips cracked. His horse snickers, its head already turning in dismissal. He grabs the reins, ready to return, when something gives him pause.

A biting breeze blows past him, tousling his hair. Its scent causes everything within him to shudder. Turning towards the platform, he wonders how he missed her.

She sits in the center—glowing in comparison to the other humans.

Snowflakes decorate her dark hair. Her round cheeks and full lips are pale. She’s fallen onto her side—twitching periodically. It is the only indication she still draws breath.

Something that’s laid dormant for centuries rises within him. It pushes to the surface, bringing magic and warmth. It unfurls from his chest and reaches for her.

Her eyelashes flutter on her cheeks and a puff of cold air blooms between her lips. The human’s dark eyes lock with his. Gazing into their depths, he nearly falls from his horse. His cold heart hammers against his ribs. A long forgotten feeling tickles the deep recesses of his mind.

The Frost King turns, her scent settling into the marrow of his bones. There is only one word he knows as he stares at her.

Mine.

4

DOVE

One moment I’m tumbling through an unending dark, only to find myself thrust into the light.

It’s staggering, blazing white, and warm—ohsowarm. The icy wind that had dug its claws into my flesh has been replaced by a heated, gentle breeze. It's the type of warmth one feels sitting before a roaring fire as it thaws your frozen body. It makes my muscles lose their rigidity. I can flex my fingers and wiggle my toes.

My eyelids flutter. At first I can only make out the thick gloom surrounding me.

It’s why I didn't see him at first. Slowly he comes into view. Like a demon from my worst nightmares, he appears through the heavy fog—theFrost King.

Only he’s not a demon at all. At least not in the way I was envisioning. There are no curling horns and sharp fangs. I’d feel smug about Mrs. Pendleton’s status as a liar not being exaggerated if the very real possibility that I was about to die wasn’t so present.

His horse blends in with the snow, as does his furlined cape. His face is a smudge of light blue skin that gives way to glitteringwhite hair. It’s curly and barely reaches the tips of his arched ears. Nestled atop his head sits a pointed silver crown. Not that he needs it—power radiates from him. Even the snow slows its descent in his presence.

At last, he has come. For a brief moment, I think all of this must be some horrible figment of my imagination. However, the gasps and broken whimpers echoing down the platform, remind me this is all too real.

Did this creature pull me back from the brink of death? For what purpose? My stomach sinks realizing I’m about to find out.

Heavy footsteps stomp along the frozen ground. I remain unmoving atop the platform—the chain around my wrist would prevent me from getting far anyway. Fear grips my heart at his approach. His intense, blue gaze never leaves mine.

Warmth licks over my skin, the same languid touch that pulled me from the darkness. The cold air is no longer painful in my lungs. However, I feel little comfort as he continues his approach. My body screams at me to run—to scream and thrash so that he may be persuaded to choose a more docile tribute.

His eyes never deviate from me, as the world around me fades. Heavy fog encases the Frost King and I on the platform.. I’m transfixed. My heart hammers painfully in my chest. I reach for the fear I felt earlier, arming myself with it before he gets much closer.

Only, the longer I look at him, the less on edge I feel. Magic must be at work here. That is the only way to explain why the tension is leaving my body. My shoulders relax even as my mind screams at me to stay on guard.

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