3

A Close Call

Niko shuffling for the first hour was distracting and vexing. I ordered a chair for him for my own benefit, but peering from the corner of my eye every so often made it hard to tell if he was anxious or angry.

After a man from the northeastern village of Tarrgien leaves, Niko heaves a huge sigh, pinching the bridge between his nose.

"Is something the matter?" I ask, my cheeks stinging from plastering a polite smile all evening.

He removes his hand and meets my gaze. "I don't think any of these men are good for you, Tee."

Even I knew that going into this week of celebration.

I want to brush off his comment and tell him I will find someone, yet I don't stop myself from asking, "What makes you say that?"

His jaw works. "You need someone who is going to put your needs and the kingdom's above their own. Someone willing to make tough calls for governing this kingdom. And it wouldn't hurt to have them skilled in combat. But most importantly, they need to be completely devoted to you."

With three glasses of wine loosening my tongue, I am a glutton for punishment. "Huh." I pause, then lean into my poor attempts at flirting. "That sounds like you."

"No! No, that's not what I meant!" Niko's cheeks redden.

I bite back my own grin, the sight of him blushing sweeter than any wine.

"Are you sure? It certainly sounds like it to me," I push, wanting to keep his blush there a little longer.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Niko bristles at the bite in his voice, looking around in hopes our conversation is not being overheard.

His cheeks remain red, and I can't stop my toothy grin as I go on. "You say no one is good enough for me, but I am beginning to believe this whole grumbling process is because you want to be in their shoes."

"Tee."

Niko's voice comes out in a breathy whisper.

I brush off his impending rejection, reassuring him with a gentle pat on his hand.

"Don't worry, Niko, I know you don't have any interest in me." I chuckle, my head buzzing as a small truth slips through. "But I hope you understand, in my eyes, no one is like you. I enjoy your company immensely, but you are the one who told me I needed to find a husband, so you can't have me all to yourself anymore."

Niko blinks rapidly, stunned by this revelation. He latches on to my hand, all jokes set aside as he stammers through those adorably red cheeks. "You—You enjoy my company?"

A change in the air from his stutter has me inching closer, wanting to tell him yes. The lust and thought of him drown my senses.

But I swallow quickly, searching his eyes for any tells, any signs.

My mouth parts, trying to formulate words—

"Queen Tove!" a joyous voice booms from the ballroom.

I beam toward it.

Bernard Sylvaine, the King of Belmur, approaches the dais with the light of the room reflecting off him.

He is a kind man, reminding me so much of my father, except for his fading red hair and sun-kissed freckles. His beard is lighter, trimmed close to his jaw, moving, as his grandiose laugh echoes through the ballroom's conversations. His height and bloated belly can be intimidating, and he uses it to his advantage, forcing guests to steer clear of him.

"King Bernard," I say when he reaches the dais. "Thank you so much for coming this evening."

It is hard to hide my enthusiasm around King Bernard. He makes everyone want to feel loved and carefree.

"Oh, come now," he says through a genuine smile, offering me an overexaggerated bow before rising to his full height. "How many times must I tell you, Tove? Call me Bernie. We are well past that, don't you think?"

Bernie's kingdom was one of the first to reach out after my accession to the throne, offering visits and words of wisdom in every trade meeting I coordinated with him. His poor wife, Johanne, passed away a few years back, leaving his twin daughters without their mother.

Bernie's glee is purely infectious, a cathartic lightness that consumes me as I reply, "Very well, Bernie. But only amongst each other. No need for others to hear us breaking protocol."

I find enjoyment in the moments when he visits our kingdom because, in his presence, I don't feel like a monster—I don't believe I am the Snow Queen.

When inviting the other kingdoms in Draymenk, I knew Belmur and Unterkirch would be the only two in attendance this week. They are the ones I have the closest working relationship with.

I am on friendly terms with King Beauvais Rosselot of Torgem, but he always seems busy, given most letters I receive are from his advisors rather than him. Then there are Queen Zarina and King Vinzent Geissler of Northtry, who remain distant. But according to my parents, they have always been like that, only attending and joining meetings when all kingdoms call.

And the last kingdom, Palaena…

Stop it. Don't dwell on them, Tove. Don't sour your mood around watchful eyes.

One of Bernie's daughters, Princess Vivienne, promenades from behind her father, dipping into a curtsy.

Her tall, lean frame nears her father's height, with a heart-shaped face buried beneath long, wavy locks red as a rose. She does not have freckles, but her skin, too, is kissed by sunlight. She is polite and mindful, always keeping to herself while wearing the same inquisitive look I see now.

I dip my head. "Princess Vivienne, such a pleasure to have you here joining your father."

Her emerald-green eyes meet mine as she rises to her full stature, assessing. "The pleasure is all mine, Queen Tove." She beams.

Bernie's pride shines through as he looks upon his daughter, and I can't help but feel a tinge of pain at witnessing the love exchanged between the two.

She catches his stare, sheepishly pulling some hair around her face.

A cough from Niko at my side reminds me I am not as alone as I think. Shaking off the tug of pain and maintaining appearances, I smile back at my guests. "Is your sister in attendance?"

Vivienne is about to speak, but her father's voice booms over hers. "Oh, come now, Tove. Someone needed to watch over our borders."

"And you trust your daughter to do that for you?" Niko asks.

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.

"Good evening. Thank you for joining us in tonight's festivities."

Niko's voice grounds me as I square my shoulders.

I avoid the sensation of Niko's gaze burning into the side of my cheek as the mystery man's eyes never leave mine.

When the handsome man lowers to one knee, I lean away with alarm. But he takes my hand regardless, kissing my knuckles.

Flames erupt and shoot up my entire arm from where his lips meet my skin.

The man's eyes glint as he smirks.

I blink in astonishment.

Why do I feel like I am melting into my throne from the sheer gaze of this stranger?

Don't combust, Tove. You have appearances to maintain.

The scarred man then winks as his thumb rubs a circle over the top of my hand, the heat underneath my skin abruptly cut off by the burst of ice shooting out in my veins.

My heart plummets as the brisk kiss of frost creeps down my stomach.

The man notices something is awry and steps away, studying me with an arched brow.

I feign a tight-lipped smile, trying to calm my magic. But it stirs vigorously, not having escaped from my fingertips in such a long time. An itch needing relief.

I can't do this here.

I spare a glance at Niko, hoping my worried expression will be enough of an explanation, but he is preoccupied with studying the man instead of me.

"I-I need to be excused," I blurt, rising and disregarding a formal departure.

I rush for the back room, thankful of its proximity to the throne.

By the time I close the door, the force of the winter prickles against my skin so much I try to scratch it away… but it persists.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!

I can get this to stop. I know I can. But the urge to let it out feels too good, and for a moment, I'm tempted to indulge in it. No.

I can't.

The hearth blazes with fire, the cracking of wood burning and shooting embers upward as I pace in circles behind the red couch.

The mantel is barren, trinkets of value removed in fear of someone untrustworthy sneaking in here during the party. But the mural painted across the back wall, depicting a gathering of people, feels as if those eyes, too, are watching me.

I try to distract myself, my fear getting the better of me at the dark thoughts even as I try to breathe. I thread my fingers through my hair, but nothing makes my magic ebb. When I run over a sore spot on my scalp from my crown, I hiss.

The door bursts open as Niko rushes in, almost hurdling over the couch. "What's wrong?" Niko demands with worry in his features.

He pins my arms to my side as he looks me over.

Shame draws forth tears, and all I can do to keep them at bay is hide from his gaze.

No one should be seeing me like this. Not even Niko.

"Did he hurt you?" He pats my arms, checking for any signs of weakness before meeting my gaze. "I swear I will kill him if he hurt you, Tee."

My brows furrow at his question and threat. I shake my head in earnest, hoping it is enough to warn him away.

The Snow Queen is awake.

"It's my magic," I blurt.

Niko stills as I scramble to get the words out faster than I can formulate. "I was fine one moment and then the next—I don't know, but something happened. I was warm and then I was cold."

Niko's face turns grave, and before he can flinch away, I fold into myself and collapse on the couch. I stare into the fire, studying the flickering of the light casting shadows on the wood floor while trying to stop my gifts from expelling.

"I can direct the guests outside early for the fireworks in the courtyard, and you can go down the front hall so you can be away from everyone," Niko offers, still standing and hovering near me.

I nod silently.

"It'll be alright, Tee. You've handled this before." Niko moves his hand to rest on me, but he hesitates and steps away.

That hesitation has tears blurring my vision, agony ripping through me at the monster I am.

I try to offer an explanation. "Niko, wait—"

The flash of fear behind his amber eyes cracks my heart.

I tuck my pain deep down, masking it with indifference. "Thank you," I force out.

He dips his head, promptly returning to the throne room as the first tear cascades down my cheek.

I wait a few moments, trying to calm myself, and hope that sitting while evening out my breaths will ease the power rippling through my body. The tug of control between myself and my magic is a constant war.

I rub my hands together and resume pacing. Maybe wearing down the wooden planks might make me feel like I accomplished something.

I glance between the two entrances, one to the throne room and the other a door that leads to the secret halls.

The ballroom would be faster, but I find myself incapable of waiting for the throne room to empty.

So, I brave the hidden halls that are built to run parallel with other hallways of the castle, opting for the lit path that will take me to the front entryway, knowing no one will see me escaping for the fields beyond while watching the fireworks in the courtyard.

I wait in silence when I reach the end of the tunnel, opening the door when it feels safe. A few beats pass, and I slink through, unnoticed, the threshold for the entrance coming into view. A whoosh of relief washes over me as I made it here without running into anyone.

The crisp, cold air blows in, drying the light sweat beaded on my brow. Heaviness guides my stare upward to the dark night sky.

I reach for a nearby lantern to take with me, but I hiss, my hand burning from touching the hot metal. I shake my hand in frustration, a poor attempt to make the pain go away.

Too self-absorbed that my ignorance thought it safe to play with fire.

I swear to Yeva, if I could get my powers to stop, I—

Wait…

Awareness of warmth instead of cold has me pause, peering down at my reddening hand.

Did that stop my magic?

An explosion of sound from the right of the castle jolts me back a step.

I clutch my burned hand to my chest, covering my pumping heart as each firework shoots into the sky.

They illuminate the stars and night in blues, reds, and yellows. Shapes form in the distance as the ear-piercing noise of each pop has me covering my ears.

I marvel in awe alone, grateful I could be by myself and not act indifferent to the presentation.

The staccato rhythm of each firework builds as the finale progresses, fireworks trilling in rapid succession as the pinnacle of the symphony ceases in an arpeggiated chord.

The world halts.

Applause erupts from the courtyard, telling me my distraction has run out.

Glancing down and seeing my skin welting, I wait to sense if the chill comes back. When it doesn't, I find myself amused and in debt to this little bit of pain.

I apply pressure over the burn, blowing on it with my breath, hoping to prevent the tightening sting I will feel for the next few days.

The sounds of music resume in the ballroom, and guests returning echo down the hall.

I look to the night sky once more, sending a prayer of gratitude to the Makers for saving me from disaster.

I back away from the threshold, my posterior making contact with something hard.