Page 126 of Fated to the Frost King

I gestured to the stack in my arms and shrugged.

“I see,” she said softly, stepping back to allow me entry.

“Well, if you need something else, you can take your pick,” she gestured toward the piles of fabric on the small sofa. “I stocked up, so I didn’t have to go back…”

She trailed off, eyes going somewhere I couldn’t see.

I squeezed my eyes shut when I realized what she meant. She hadn’t sent her maid. She had traipsed back into the room with her husband’s body, most likely alone.

“I would have gone for you,” I told her quietly, opening my eyes.

“I know,” she said simply, rifling through the clothes until she found something loose enough to accommodate my curves. “But you had already done enough.”

“By showing up just in time to let your husband and your entire estate be slaughtered?” I asked bitterly.

Her gaze snapped up to mine as she shoved the fabric into my hands. “By showing up in time to save the lives you could. My life, and the lives I’m responsible for… which was more than I could have hoped for.”

“You’re too stubborn to die,” I muttered, like I hadn’t driven myself half to madness with worry for her.

“Oh, is that all it takes? Then I suppose you’ll live forever.” She shook her head, turning to pour us both a glass of water from a pitcher. She cooled them with her hands, like she always did, before setting them on the nightstands.

I pulled on the underwear and nightgown, and the slightest hint of a smile threatened to break through the horrors of the day.

“I’ll stay with you tonight,” I announced once I was dressed.

She glanced up from putting the glass down, meeting my eyes in a mirror that hung just over the low table. Questions churned in her gaze, but she didn’t voice them aloud.

Looking at our side-by-side reflections, it wasn’t hard to understand why. We both looked…tired. Young and old at the same time.

Or maybe I just felt that way, standing by my sister in a nightgown that was too long, my wet hair just dark enough to resemble my mother’s midnight shade, the color it had been when I was younger, and freshly clean from the blood.

It was strangely reminiscent of our first night together, except that now Wynnie was suffering too.

Even in the reflection, I could see clearly the pink tint to her eyes and the puffy circles that hung underneath. She wasexhausted, and whatever her relationship with her husband had been like, some part of her had to be grieving.

So she just nodded, climbing into bed and patting the spot next to her, just as she had back then.

I crawled in next to her, soaking in her familiar scent of snowdrops and honey, using it to chase away the faint smell of blood that still wafted in from underneath the door.

Minutes crept by in silence where neither of us slept. Her breathing was still uneven, hitching enough to belie her steely facade.

I stretched my hand toward hers, linking our pinkies together. She squeezed back, another breath hitching.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “About Yorrick.”

She sighed and stared up at the ceiling. The moonlight caught on her profile, highlighting the slight furrowing of her brow and the tremble in her lips.

“So am I,” she said, clearing her throat. “He had a lot of mana. He probably could’ve found a way to save himself if he hadn’t spent so much time saving me. The seconds he spent barricading me in was time that would have saved his life.”

“I’m glad that he did.” It was probably an insensitive thing to say, but it was true.

I would choose her life every time.

“I know,” she said simply. “And…I’m sorry, too.”

My brow furrowed. “About what?”

She took a breath, her weight shifting as she rolled to face me, never dropping my hand.

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