Page 79 of Fated to the Frost King

I shoved the memory aside, ground it down beneath my boots like ash. Yes, pain was an old friend, but I wasn’t here to visit.

The Arcane Chamber opened ahead. The Elder Mage looked up from a scroll, blinking behind his spectacles like I’d caught him mid-theory. He started to smile, then stopped.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted carefully.

“What were you planning to do to her?” The question spilled out of me on another wave of rage.

His brow furrowed. “Pardon?”

I took a step forward. “My wife. Earlier. You were about to say something before she cut you off. What were you going to suggest?”

He hesitated, then reached for the nearest pile of scrolls like their ink might save him. “Only the gentlest methods, I assure you. Crystal resonance. Breath channeling. Guided attunement?—”

“Do not insult my intelligence with courtiers’ language,” I growled, ice crystals forming around my fists. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been there? If she’d been brought in alone?”

The silence sat between us like a glacier.

He swallowed audibly. “There are… other options that often produce the most consistent results. Mana responds well to extremes. Pain. Fear. Heightened emotional states. It wakes things up.”

A slow, seething burn spread through my chest. “Pain. That you were going to inflict on your queen?”

“Well…not without your approval, of course.” His placating tone threatened to unravel what little control I had left. “But if the gentler methods fail, it’s worth exploring before we need to resort to more permanent solutions. After all, she is a Hollow, Your Majesty.”

His eyes darted to the door, just as they had earlier. Ice spread through my veins.

“Show me.” I barely forced the words out through my bared teeth.

He blinked. “Your Majesty?—”

“Now.”

The Elder scrambled from behind his desk, gesturing for me to follow him down a corridor. It was one I hadn’t walked in years. One of the older wings, long sealed, far from the ceremonial halls where mana was studied and praised.

The door was warded, but it opened at his touch.

The scent hit me first—metal and mildew and something worse beneath. Old blood, soaked into stone.

I stepped inside.

Long, narrow beds lined the walls, with straps bolted to their sides. Tables covered in neat rows of small, gleaming tools—ones forged of silver or steel. It was an array of instruments, some that I might find in a Healer’s infirmary, others would belong to a butcher.

The rage inside of me flared white hot as I glanced over the hooks and brands and sharpened coils. A drain rested in the center of the floor. Stained dark.

And this is where they would have brought her…

From the first time I caught sight of my wife, I had sensed the potent concoction of fear and disdain and accusation that rolled off of her in waves, but had she really believed that I would knowingly subject her tothis?

Something inside me went quiet.

I raised my hand and the frost answered. It snapped to my palm, coalescing into a hook of solid ice, just like the one on his tables.

He backed away, stammering something I didn’t hear.

I crossed the room in two slow, deliberate steps. I tilted my head, and the ice in my veins stretched out to wrap around hisfeet and hands, anchoring him to the wall just as he had done to so many others.

“Your Majesty—” he tried again.

If I wasn’t so angry, I would draw this out. Take my time with him, with every single mage in the Sanctum who knew about this room, who had ever set foot in it or used itstools. But instead, I caved to my fury, stoking its flames like a raging fire.

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