Frost: Chapter 12

I rubbed my eyes, still groggy as I followed Torin through the shadowy halls.

He’d woken me before the sun had risen, bringing me running clothes, leggings, and something like a tunic in muted shades of forest green and brown. The clothing fit perfectly, but I was struggling to wake. I’d only slept about an hour, and I was fighting the urge to curl up in some creepy castle alcove and fall back to sleep.

“When does the race start?” I asked through a yawn.

He shot me an irritated look. “You look half dead. Were you up drinking again last night?”

I opened my mouth to argue and changed my mind. I didn’t want to tell him I’d lain awake crying over Andrew and Ashley. That was far more pathetic than a night of drinking.

“Yes, but I’ll be fine. But is the race really starting this early?”

“Three hours,” said Torin.

I closed my eyes, marshaling patience. “So why are we up here now?”

“Because parts of the race are dangerous, and I’m going to make sure you get through them without dying.”

I blinked. “Dangerous?”

“We’ll get to that. I have a plan.”

At last, he pushed through an oak door into a gleaming, wintry landscape of snow-encrusted trees and fields. As I stepped outside, the icy air bit my face and hands.

The stark, crystalline beauty of the place made me catch my breath, and the rising sun stained the snowy world in stunning shades of gold and peach. My breath clouded around my face. The wind stung my skin, and I wrapped my arms around my chest, shivering. My feet were already growing cold and wet in the snow, the damp seeping through my sneakers.

Torin turned to look back at me and pulled two things from beneath his cloak, a small paper bag and a thermos. Tiny wisps of steam rose from the metal container.

I took it from him, grateful for the warmth, and inhaled the fresh scent of coffee. Oh, thank .

I took a sip and felt my brain finally turn on.

He removed his thick black cloak and stepped behind me, wrapping the garment around my shoulders. I pulled it close. It had retained some of his heat, and instantly, my muscles began to relax. I inhaled his scent, picking out the particular notes that identified him: moss, wet oak, and the faintest hint of pine straw.

“I don’t even feel the cold anymore,” he said softly.

When he stepped in front of me, I saw that he was wearing black wool trousers and a deep navy sweater that hugged his athletic body.

With the coat over my shoulders, I was better able to take in my surroundings. The castle stood on a small, snow-covered hill that overlooked white fields, which gently undulated to a row of trees in the distance, a dark forest that stretched on either side.

He handed me the little paper bag. “I have fresh croissants with blackberry jam.”

I pulled out the pastry and took a bite, savoring the rich, buttery flavor and the tartness of the berries. It tasted absolutely amazing.

If Torin wanted to charm me, he certainly knew how to go about it.

He stared out onto the landscape, his eyes flecks of ice. “The frost is descending upon us, but Faerie is as beautiful as ever.”

I blinked in the bright light. “I’ve never experienced anything quite like this. Waking up to the most perfect winter morning with an unsullied landscape.” I breathed in, letting the cool air fill my lungs. “I never get up this early.”

“It has its advantages,” said Torin.

“Is an early morning part of your sacrosanct routine?” I asked.

He turned to me, flipping up his middle finger with the ghost of smile.

I blinked.

“Did I do that right?” he asked.

“You did, yes. Impressive.”

“As for my sacrosanct routine, in my mornings, while you’re sleeping off your late nights, I get up at dawn to train. A Seelie king, above all, must be powerful and lethal.” Another faint smile. “And so must his queen.”

He started walking, leading me past the snowy fields to a path that curved around the castle. My damp shoes crunched over flattened, frozen grass. “If you’re looking for powerful and lethal,” I said, “you’ve got the wrong fae.”

“I knew that when I offered you the deal. But we’re going to fake it, and that’s all that matters.”

“You don’t mind cheating, then.” I sipped my coffee, still endlessly grateful that he’d thought to bring it.

King Torin’s eyes glinted. “Not when it’s necessary. We had to get out here before anyone saw us. If I’m caught giving you an unfair advantage, you could be disqualified.” He met my gaze. “And I need you to win.”

We rounded a corner, and I glimpsed the starting line: two maypoles, the frozen wind whipping at their colored ribbons. A silk banner strung between them was labelled .

The path curved down to a ridge of barren trees.

“How long is the course?” I asked.

“Just three miles. The trail was cleared last night. It’s about a mile in the forest and two in the fields. For the final mile, you’ll be coming back up toward the other side of the castle, and the crowd will be waiting there to identify the winner.”

A broad path of frozen grass cut straight across the rolling fields. As we walked, my shoes crunched on the icy ground. When we crossed the fields, I was inundated with a multitude of new smells: the raw earth, the sun warming the wool of his jacket, and the faintest hint of woodsmoke. What would I have been like if I’d grown up here?

Snowflakes fluttered in the air, and ice glinted off distant thatched roofs.

We walked deeper into the snowy field, and I looked back at the castle. Despite its enormous interior that seemed to stretch for miles, it didn’t look that big from the outside. Intimidating, yes, with its sleek black rock and sharp-peaked towers, but not miles long. I wondered if there was some sort of magic or enchantment at play.

It gleamed in the morning sun. Flying from the tallest tower was a white flag emblazoned with a dark blue stag’s head.

When I glanced at the distant cottages and the smoke curling from their chimneys, curiosity stirred. “Tell me about Faerie,” I said. “What do people here do? Besides the tournament.”

He inhaled deeply. “Farming is important. If I weren’t born a prince, that’s what I would have done. Farmers are crucial members of fae society. They grow the crops that feed our people. Without them, we’d all starve. But with the frost encroaching, their job is becoming more difficult than ever.”

“And what do people do for fun?” I sipped my coffee. “Oh, you wouldn’t know, would you?”

“I do know, as it happens. In Faerie, the summer season starts on what you would call May first. And that’s when we celebrate Beltane.”

“What happens then?” I asked.

The look he gave me was incredulous. “You don’t know? Even the humans celebrate it.”

I shook my head. “Not anymore.”

“Well, they should. It’s when the veil between the worlds thins. Once, humans offered us food and drink. I suppose I never see it these days. No wonder we’re starving here.” The wind whipped at his dark, wavy hair. “Beltane is a fire festival. The children decorate the trees of the forest and thorny bushes with yellow ribbons and flowers, like flame. And after they go to bed, we sacrifice to the old gods. Usually, it’s one or two humans who have trespassed in our realm.”

My stomach swooped. What the hell had I gotten myself into here? “I asked you what you did for fun, and your answer is human sacrifice? How do they die?”

“We burn them.” He slid me a sharp look. “It’s not quite as terrible as it sounds. They’re drugged ahead of time, and there are drums to drown out the screams.”

I must have had a horrified expression because he added—somewhat defensively, “It’s our ancient tradition, and we still have a sense of the sacred here in Faerie. A reverence for the primordial forests, the bounty and mercilessness of the earth. To ask the blessing of the old gods, we lead the cattle between two bonfires. It helps to protect them. Then there are the forest rituals. Our gods are very important to us, and stags are, too.”

I glanced back at the castle’s flag. “Is it some kind of masculine thing?”

“A stag can move back and forth between the realms of the living and the dead, the human and the fae. They’re powerful, dominating. They’re like nature itself—mystical, beautiful, and brutal at the same time.” He met my gaze. “They take what they want. And for this one festival, this one night a year, the old god Cernunnos blesses us. The mists twine through the forest oaks. For one night, the Horned One transforms the worthy males into stags. We race through the forest and fight each other. Sometimes to the death. If I ever lost a fight in my stag form, I’d be dethroned.”

Okay. Maybe the king had a darker side than I’d imagined. “None of this sounds…fun. It sounds sort of horrific.”

When he met my gaze, his eyes burned with a cold intensity. “But that’s what we’re like. The fae. We are creatures of the earth and mists. We are warriors. And when we are at our best, we transcend our bodies and commune with the gods. When was the last time you really felt alive, Ava?”

Not anytime recently, I’d give him that. “I have no idea. Probably yelling at you in the bar.”

“That’s quite sad.”

I sipped my coffee. “Just so I’m clear, it would be better if my ‘good time’ involved murdering people in the woods?”

“There are more pleasurable sides of Beltane,” he said, his deep voice turning sultry.

I felt something coil tight inside me, but I ignored it. “Do you batter baby animals to death with clubs or something?”

He turned to me and tucked his finger under my chin, lifting it so I couldn’t look away. His pale eyes burned with a dominating ferocity that made my heart race—an otherworldly power that transfixed me and made me want to drop my gaze at the same time.

“No, Ava. We fuck each other hard up against the oak trees, rending the forest air with the sounds of our ecstasy. We fuck around bonfires, bathed in their flames.” He leaned in closer, his finger gently stroking the side of my face. With his lips by my ear, his earthy, masculine scent wrapped around me like a forbidden caress. “When was the last time you lost yourself in a pleasure so intense, you forgot your name? That you forgot your own mortality? Because that is what it means to be fae. I could make you ache with pleasure until you forget the name of every human who made you think there was something wrong with you.”

He stroked a delicate tip of his finger up my pointed ear, so light, and yet such a forbidden thrill that it made me shudder and clench tightly inside.

His eyes met mine again, and I felt that illicit, electric jolt of excitement at the unexpected intimacy. That close studying, like he was reading me. And that I was failing some sort of test.

“You fuck each other around the bonfires…” I repeated, like an idiot.

He traced his thumb over my lower lip. “And if you think I can’t see how much that excites you, if you think I couldn’t hear your heart racing, Ava, you are mistaken. Because if it were you and me, in the oak grove on Beltane, I would have you screaming my name. Calling me your king. I would have your body responding to my every command, shuddering with pleasure underneath me, until you forgot the human world existed at all.”

I couldn’t remember how to speak. “I see,” I managed at last.

“If I could,” he purred. “I would teach you what you really are, and I would make sure you never forgot it.” His gaze lowered to my mouth like he was going to kiss me, and I was surprised at how much I wanted it. And even more horrified at the disappointment I felt when he didn’t. “But that won’t happen, of course. Because nothing can happen between us.”

My breath hitched as he turned to walk away from me, and I muttered, “What was that about,” feeling like I’d already lost the trial.

His lips were faintly curved in a smile. “That was about you being astoundingly judgmental even though you are no better or worse than the rest of us. And now you know it. You belong here, fucking at Beltane like the rest of us.”

My pulse was racing out of control, and I felt as if I’d just lost some sort of battle against him. Particularly since I couldn’t stop imagining bare skin in the forest, his hands cupping my ass, bodies sliding against each other. I could envision myself glowing and clenching as the King of the Fae made me moan toward the heavens, my nipples hard in the forest air. Slick with desire, shameless, on all fours…completely unable to control myself.

So was a real Seelie party…

“No worse than the rest of you?” I repeated, gathering my thoughts. “It seems your estimation of me has gone up, then.”

“It went up when you woke sober and on time.” The king led me toward the dark line of trees.

“I can see why you wouldn’t want a real wife. You’d miss out on the post-sacrifice orgies. I’ll bet all the fae women are clamoring for a chance to get a crack at the handsome king all covered in blood from the stag fights.”

His gaze slid to mine. “That is the second time you called me handsome. Is this why you have to pretend to hate me so much? You can’t stop thinking about how I look.”

I’m sure he already knew he was handsome. It wasn’t the kind of beauty that went unnoticed.

He reached for my thermos of coffee and took a sip. I guess we were on “sharing thermos” terms now, even if we didn’t like each other.

We’d nearly reached the tree line, a dark row of evergreens, their branches thick with snow and needles. Mist swirled between the trunks, and it was impossible to see more than a few feet into the interior of the forest. A chill ran down my spine.

The fae were so beautiful and refined, it hadn’t occurred to me exactly how brutal they could be. And that made me wonder how much danger I’d be in during these trials.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, a flicker of pale skin slipped between the trees.

I turned to see a beautiful woman with long, black hair and silvery skin washing a cloth in an icy stream. Crimson blood seemed to stain the fabric. She was singing quietly, a mournful song in a language that I couldn’t understand. Nonetheless, it made my heart clench and brought tears to my eyes.

I’d stopped walking to stare at her.

Torin leaned in, whispering, “The bean nighe. She’s more spirit than fae.”

“Amazing,” I breathed.

She seemed to hear me, and she turned, her black eyes locking on me. Her lips were the same blood red as the cloth she washed, and her hands were stained with blood. She wore only the thinnest of white gowns. Black as coal, her eyes turned to the king. “Your Majesty?” she called out in a low voice. “Death is coming to Faerie.”

“It always is. Do we have permission to enter the forest?”

She glanced at me, then back at the king.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” she said at last. “That one belongs here in the wild.”

King Torin inclined his head respectfully. “Thank you, mistress.”

He led me deeper into the icy wood, and the fog enveloped us.

The creepy woman was right. I feel like I belonged here.