Page 8 of Fated to the Frost King

But of course, she shook her head. “Like hells, Evy.”

Shards, I had known she would be difficult, but I needed her to go. I needed her safe.

“Don’t make this harder on me.” It was a low blow, using her concern to make her leave, but it was the only thing guaranteed to work.

Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t argue again. She only took my hands in hers, pausing when her fingers slid across the fresh wounds on my palms. Gently, she flipped my hands over, her expression falling as she took in my latest assault on them.

She used her gown to wipe away the small droplets of blood before pulling a small jar from her pocket.

“I tried a new blend,” she said of the balm. “I’m hoping it might help with the scars, but for now, it’s at least good for fresh wounds.”

I nodded. The only true healers within the Seelie lands were from Spring Court, but Wynnie had taken up herbalism when we were children, for the everyday injuries we couldn’t afford to ignore.

She carefully applied the salve to the half moon cuts, just as she had so many times before. Her expression hardened as she set the jar between us on the floor.

“There has to be something we can do,” Wynnie shook her head, dislodging several wayward curls. “Anything is better than?—”

She cut off abruptly when the door clicked open. A female in a maid’s uniform shuffled in. She wore a haughty, disapproving expression on her pale features. In her arms was a silver box and a shimmering garment she held out with the sort of reverence I usually reserved for chocolate soufflé.

“The king wishes you to be adornedproperly,” she said with a sniff, casting a disdainful glance over me.

Whether it was because I was huddled on the floor or because I was a bastard trying to marry her king in a hand-me-down gown, I wasn’t sure.

Wynnie got to her feet, tugging me to mine as well. She dropped my hand, the tips of her fingers turning from light brown to icy blue with a warning of her mana. I stepped in front of her before she could make good on the unspoken threat, hoping the maid didn’t notice.

An arched silver eyebrow indicated otherwise.

“If the king had his own dress in mind, why did he insist we all show up prepared for a wedding?” I tried and failed to keep the bite from my tone, recalling the endless hours my sister had spent stitching during a bumpy sledge ride, tailoring the dress to my more pronounced curves and shorter stature.

“It is not forusto question his majesty,” she huffed. “But I suspect it to be an individual decision.”

I heard the crackle of ice forming behind me, and I took a deep breath, hoping my sister would subconsciously do the same. Not that I didn’t echo her sentiments, but it was one thing for me to make my own feelings known.

As she had said, my life was forfeit the moment I was chosen as Queen. I sure as hells wasn’t going to let my sister risk hers, though.

In any event, a downward glance reminded me of the soot on my gown from the fireplace, and I didn’t even want to consider what the back must look like after it had made such dramatic contact with the ice earlier. Or the body parts on it.

Still, every part of me rebelled at wearing something at the icy bastard’s insistence.

Would this be our marriage? Him imposing his will on me for the rest of our lives?

Then again, there was unlikely to be a rest of our lives. At least if I was discovered, I could hope that it was before our wedding night.

Panic started to rise in my chest again, but an icy hand came over mine. My sister was still furious on my behalf, but she didn’t let that stop her from comforting me.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try it on,” I gritted out.

The maid moved forward, but my sister blocked her path.

“Thank you, but your assistance is neither desired nor required.” Her voice was cold enough to rival my future…husband.

“The king himself has asked me to attend his bride,” the female shot back, her chest puffed up with importance.

“Then feel free to attend her from over there, or leave to take it up withthe king himself.” Wynnie called her bluff, imitating her high-handed tone with the last three words.

As much as I wanted her to be careful, I was also just grateful she was here. I didn’t like people to see my scars. Or the dagger conveniently sheathed at my thigh, for that matter, which was an entirely different sort of problem.

Seelie didn’t carry weapons made of steel. They didn’t need to because they could protect themselves with their mana,forming weapons with it or hurling their power at their will. Hollows not so much…

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