Page 12 of Frost and Death
I bristle at Niko’s question, shocked he would ask such a thing to one of our allies.
Vivienne shrinks inward as Bernie huffs.
“I trust each of my daughters wholeheartedly to look over their home with my advisors,” Bernie says, his voice lowering as he crosses his arms.
“As you should!” I interject with my false smile on display. “You are the best judge of character.”
Bernie laughs. “Right, you are there, Tove!”
A twinkle of amusement tugs at Princess Vivienne’s face, and I take that as a good omen. Maybe we could be close friends, especially if I got her to react.
Niko extends his hand to the crowd. “We hope you’ll find the music and refreshments enjoyable. We are so grateful to have Belmur represented during the celebrations.”
“Yes,” I blurt into the conversation. “Although I do need to converse with other guests. We shall have to visit more throughout the week while you are here.”
Bernie’s mouth parts, but Vivienne beats her father in response. “My father and I would love that. Thank you again for your hospitality, Your Majesty.”
She curtsies again as the King of Belmur bobs his head toward me.
He extends an arm to his daughter. “I’ll be sure to save you a dance, Tove,” Bernie says over his shoulder as he descends the dais.
“I look forward to it, Your Majesty.” I beam once more before letting my face fall and glare at Niko.
I elbow his side.
He winces and raises his hands in surrender, knowing he did something wrong. “I know, I know,” he starts. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“What were you thinking!?”
“I wasn’t thinking. I—” He pauses. “I was distracted.”
I raise my brow. “Distracted? Is everything alright?”
Someone coughs at the edge of the dais.
Our heads slowly turn, and the hair on the back of my neck rises at the tall, athletic man standing before me.
His height surpasses Niko’s, his lean frame contrasting with Niko’s broad stature. But even from afar, the man’s muscles peek through his all-black ensemble.
His warm beige complexion is a stark contrast to his onyx shoulder-length hair. It is pulled half-back, with small wisps framing the man’s cheekbones and sculpted jaw. There is a slight wave to it, making it seem messy from afar.
But I bet if I were to run my fingers through it, it would feel luxurious and delicate.
And when I catch the center of his face, my breath hitches.
One scar runs down the center of his eye, making me wish to know the tale behind it. And when I meet his piercing stare, I swear to Yeva his eyes are of the same icy depths I prefer to avoid, only rawer and more intense, like a ragged glacier.
The scarred man I bumped into earlier is more intimidating up close. Especially with his lips…
Sweet Makers.
He looks closer to a freaking deity than a man.
Niko squeezes my arm, reminding me of my role to play.
I don’t know if he is someone who received an invitation about my search for a husband or a guest wishing to converse, but I beckon him forward regardless, my gaze remaining locked on his as if breaking contact will sever my chances of learning more about this stranger.
The man is silent through each intentional step forward, and I am at a loss for words.
