Page 10 of The Enchanted Frost

Once upon a time I might have believed without question, but after all I had endured, I wasn’t sure if my heart was even capable of the childlike faith I once treasured. Yet despite the magic that had been absent from my life, I still yearned to recapture that belief in its existence.

As if his power allowed him to sense my unspoken wish, Frost caused magic to shimmer against his palm, directing it towards the snowflake he had been carving. I watched in astonishment as a single caress of his power caused the snowflake to shrink. He carefully placed it in a basket with the others, each one destined for one of the future storms scheduled on the small desk calendar beside him. Then he cast me a mischievous smirk, as if daring me to deny what I’d just witnessed.

Pride kept me from admitting my mistaken assumption, so I averted my gaze to take in the spectacular room, nervously fiddling with the fabric of the new skirt he’dprocured for me. His eyes followed my movements, and I gratefully seized the opportunity to change the subject.

"Thank you for the clothes." The words emerged uncertainly, my lips unaccustomed to expressing gratitude. Poverty had hardened me, making it difficult to be thankful for anything after everything had been stripped away.

His gaze flickered over the outfit he had provided and he gave a nod of satisfaction. “It appears to fit. You’re fortunate to be a similar size to the woman whose clothes I procured from her clothesline after she froze to death last night.”

My breath caught in my throat and I shrank inside the suddenly less comfortable clothes. “Did you take her soul?”

He nodded, seemingly unconcerned by the horror in my voice at such a shocking revelation. “Naturally. Souls don’t just wander off on their own—all the phenomena in this world are carefully orchestrated by magical beings behind the scenes.”

Though his explanation possessed a strange logic, a shiver tiptoed up my spine. “I used to read about the King of Winter in my book of legends—according to its descriptions, you’re a being who only creates winter, not one who acts as a grim reaper.”

“You’re correct in assuming I possess no such role,” he said. “I take no part in the actual death of any of the people whose souls I take. And as the embodiment of Winter, I can only claim souls that fall under its jurisdiction—those who freeze within the elements I create. Each acquired soul extends my life, rendering me immortal thanks to the countless I’ve collected throughout eternity. I’ve never failed to extract a soul...until yours. At first, I feared there was something wrong with my powers, but I had no trouble acquiring the souls I collected last night; it was a particularly cold night, so there were several.”

His voice remained matter-of-fact, but there was afleeting shadow of something else in his eyes—regret, perhaps—before his expression smoothed into neutrality. Despite the grim duty he spoke of, that brief flicker of emotion suggested there was more to him than the coldness of his role.

His brow furrowed as he pondered the unresolved puzzle, one he had mentioned before but which took on a new significance now that exhaustion no longer clouded my thoughts.

“You mentioned I’m currently between life and death. What does that mean?” I twisted the cuff of my brown sleeve, dropping my eyes as I waited for his answer.

“I’m admittedly not certain,” he confessed. “I was studying the matter when you first awoke.”

I recalled the moment he referred to, the memory deepening the implications of his words. My eyes flew upward in alarm. “You’re trying to figure out how to kill me.” The realization chilled me more than the icy air ever could.

His long hesitation confirmed my worst fears. Seeing my shock, he quickly clarified, “Technically, I’m not the one killing you; the only death that comes by my hand is through the winter I create. I’m simply duty-bound to find a way to finish the process that should have concluded in the alley where I found you.”

To my mind, dying from the cold he created still placed the blame squarely at his feet. I wanted to argue, but I knew it was a pointless technicality—his goal of obtaining my soul was the same, regardless of the details.

I was ashamed to admit how often, in the depths of my misery, I had wished for death—anything to escape a life measured not by happiness but by a constant, cold struggle. But now, faced with the reality of my mortality, a deep, long-buried desire stirred within me.

I don’t want to die.

At that desperate wish, a spark of shimmering light ignited above my heart. Frost extended his hand, capturing the light on his fingertip like one might catch a falling snowflake. He examined it closely, his vivid blue eyes widening. “This is magic.”

The doubt I had only just managed to suppress resurged and I stepped back, shaking my head. “It can’t be. As a human, it’s impossible for me to possess magic.”

“True,” he conceded. “But while you’re in this state—neither dead nor truly alive—you’re not exactlymortalanymore. Quite the puzzle.” By the excitement lighting his eyes, this riddle intrigued him deeply. The spark of magic illuminated his already striking features, quickening the flutter in my chest.

He continued to study it, as if that tiny glimmer held all the secrets of my heart—secrets I likely didn’t even know existed. “Where did it come from?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Magic exists all around us, even when we don’t recognize it. You must have given voice to words that acted as a form of a spell.” His tone was thoughtful, as if piecing together an enigma.

I considered his theory as I stared at the glistening light birthed from my realization that I wasn’t ready to die. It seemed that even when everything else was lost, a part of me had clung to the hope that there was still something worth living for. This newfound desire made me hesitant to ask him about his progress in completing my death. I’d never struggled to speak my mind before, but whatever forthrightness I’d once possessed seemed to have vanished along with my previous privilege.

Despite the limbo trapping my soul, my stomach growled, a stark reminder that I was still physically bound to this world. Frost blinked, as if momentarily forgetting that ahuman needed more sustenance than the bowl of winter fruit he’d given me earlier.

He led me through the frozen corridors to a vast icy dining hall, where he awkwardly handed me a plate of fish, shyly admitting he’d caught it from a nearby frozen river. I watched the steam rise in misty curls, almost afraid to look away from the first real meal I’d had in what felt like ages, as though it might disappear if I did. Whatever his ultimate purpose for my soul, he at least possessed enough kindness to see to my basic needs while I lived here.

I took a tentative bite. The flavor was subtle, lacking the rich seasonings I once enjoyed in the dishes prepared by my highly trained chef, yet it was somehow the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted, second only to the winter fruit Frost had given me earlier.

He fidgeted, his eyes filled with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. “Is it…alright? I’ve never prepared mortal food before and had to summon a portal to visit a nearby village to see how it’s done.”

Despite my lingering wariness, my heart swelled to find myself the object of anyone’s consideration after the isolation that had defined my life for so long. While my servants in my former life of luxury had done everything I asked, it had never been out of the simple desire to bring me pleasure. Overcome with emotion, I simply nodded, noting the endearing way his shoulders sagged with relief at my response, as though he truly cared about my opinion.

As I ate, the sensations I once took for granted washed over me—the texture and taste of the food as it danced on my tongue, the smell of the world after a fresh snowfall, even the chill of the air—all reminders that I was still alive. I wanted to embrace whatever life I had left, in whatever form it might take.

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