30

The Sights, The Sounds, The Smells

The air is humid, and the summer heat has sweat dripping down the sides of my dress, only soothed by the swift wind.

Our horse trots toward the northeastern village, Yadir. It is small and quaint, with cobblestones lining a few streets and others only having dirt and grimy mud.

Homes of the citizens are built with stone and metal, their roofs varying with metal, stone, and thatch. Each wooden door is accented differently, and some have intricate carvings, metalwork, or colorful wreaths.

Nearing the center of the village, it is easy to see the merchant sections of town versus the market side. The voices of the merchants boom down the street, selling fabrics, metals, tools, spices, and more, as they try to barter and negotiate the right price for every customer.

The market area teems with citizens, traders, and children, and I can't help following the path each child takes, noting how some are laughing, playing, or hurrying toward their families.

Jerrick tightens his hold around my waist as families lower into bows or curtsies as we pass and providing a steady comfort.

Internally, I am pleading to the Makers I am well received, but the churning in my stomach only amplifies.

Many observe us, but I keep my head forward, smiling politely at those making eye contact and glancing away from others who are grimacing.

I acknowledge them, unsure of the relations Jerrick has toward his people as we reach a hitching post.

Jerrick dismounts and ties off the reins around the post. When he offers to help me down, I drift to meet his touch.

I land hard in the mud, my slippers sinking into it, ruining the hem of my gown. A grimace instantly appears as I fight the thick grime, hoping to push through the mud's resistance.

Jerrick holds my waist, providing support as I pull my feet from the sludge.

With my slippers free, I turn to Jerrick in appreciation, wiping the sides of my gown and eying the market. A soft brush of his hand has me reaching to interlock it, earning a small chuckle.

"Nervous there, Frostbite?" he teases as we walk toward the busy streets.

I shrink inwardly, not wishing to draw any more attention, especially when I already was on the brink of a breakdown before arriving.

We make our break into the sunlit street. The cobblestones are smooth and different from some of the villages in Axidoria.

But as we walk down the street where more townspeople stop and greet us, I remain tense and alert, bracing for the whispers and the scorn when others think I am out of earshot.

Through it all, Jerrick's hand remains fastened to mine, squeezing as we pass each person.

We stroll through the vendors and merchants, and I remain silent, waiting for Jerrick to approach and interact with each vendor helping with the upcoming masquerade ball.

I introduce myself and greet the people of Palaena as I would my own, understanding they probably know of the marriage by now, although I do not wish to feed them gossip regarding the events surrounding it. However, I am shocked that many I have conversed with are kind and responsive.

Jerrick addresses everyone with a quiet stoicism while still showing gratitude. And each person we speak with is engaged, lively, and excited to be talking to us.

Our conversations ease the tension in my jaw and shoulders. I even smile brighter with each person, hopeful somehow that my Snow Queen nickname and the cursed winter will not ruin their lives, too.

But my luck runs out when we approach an elderly merchant, a vendor with baskets full of crafted metals which might decorate the ballroom in the castle.

The hunched-over man is sun kissed with grayed hair. He is finalizing a trade when his brown eyes catch mine, recognition hardening his expression.

Fear locks up my spine as his gaze shifts into pure hatred. As much as I want to shy away, I brace myself for an unhappy resident of Palaena.

The man spits at my feet, disgusted, before Jerrick or I can even greet him. "I know who you are, Snow Queen."

I bristle at the nickname, my failures evident and exposed amongst the hushed silence transitioning throughout the market.

Eyes all around us burn into me, the back of my skull, drawing my magic forth. I have a death grip on Jerrick's hand now, hoping he can sense my power awakening.

"Have you so tired of freezing your kingdom you sought to come here and ruin our lives as well?" the merchant challenges.

The glimmer of hope for these people seeing beyond my powers dies with his question.

Unsure of the customs, the dynamic of the people, I don't know how to act. I am too petrified and caught off guard to do or say anything, terrified my magic could come out to play and hurt others. I remain silent and try to meditate away my powers, but the decision whether to let him finish his insults or react strains my concentration.

I cannot show frost and snow manifesting on my skin. It'll only prove his accusations true.

Lips graze my cheek, a crackling jolt of heat descending from my face straight to my core.

It seeps over the winter threatening to climb up my chest, guiding my breathing into a steady calm.

I glance at Jerrick to extend my gratitude for the distraction, but his menacing glare is focused on the elderly merchant.

"That is my wife you spit at," Jerrick says darkly, stalking toward the man till they are almost chest to chest.

The merchant steels his stance, a muscle ticking in his jaw, but it is nothing compared to Jerrick's tall frame hovering over him.

"The Snow Queen will ruin us." The merchant points at me. "Everyone should stay away from her. She is a merciless temptress! Fooling even you, Your Majesty, with her wretchedness!"

The villagers watch in silence, and the unfolding scene cracks my heart open, the joy of thriving snuffed away from the entire square.

All because of me.

I never thought hearing it spoken would hurt so much. Maybe it was because it was coming from a stranger and not my own people.

But when the man opens his mouth again, Jerrick grabs him. "You know nothing of that which you speak. You will apologize to My Queen this instant."

The merchant fights Jerrick's hold as if even saying those words would condemn him to Oblivion. The hatred remains in his eyes as he lashes out at Jerrick.

"She has doomed Axidoria, and she has come to bring doom upon Palaena as well. And when that day comes, it'll be all your fault."

Jerrick's entire demeanor shifts, altering into a darkened persona of the King of Palaena. He chuckles darkly, a smirk emphasizing his lone dimple.

"Well, if a little colder weather brings doom, I would hate for you to learn what I bring." The King of Palaena leans away, showmanship and awe drawing everyone in.

"Do you want to know what I bring?" Jerrick asks the elderly merchant curiously.

The air thickens as my face pales, knowing what Jerrick intends to do.

The merchant's brown eyes widen, realizing the king is waiting for his response. "Wh-What?" he stutters wearily.

Jerrick leans into the man's face, smiling viciously as his face turns cold and lethal.

"Your death."

The merchant's mouth falls, abruptly collapsing to the floor.

My own heart stops at the man lying on the cobblestones.

Lifeless, unmoving—dead.

There are no screams, no reactions. Only silence thick enough to send goose bumps up my spine.

Jerrick addresses the crowd. "You will all show the same respect you have for me to my wife. She is your queen as I am your king." He pauses, pointing at me. "She is here to help our kingdoms achieve peace."

His passionate voice embosoms my heart, and Niko's plan to attack Jerrick's home weighs me down. This is not the first time Jerrick has defended me in public, but it is the first time I don't feel scared.

Instead, I'm relieved someone did what I never could do for myself.

When he lowers his hand, the crowd still hangs on by a thread, including me, unsure of his next move. He straightens his shoulders as he turns to the crowd, making eye contact with everyone.

"Be wise to remember this day that between the two of us, she is merciful." Jerrick lowers his voice with a promise. "I am not. Now go."

His eyes rest on me at the finality of his words, and voices boom to life. Citizens weave around us, a few village guards approaching to attend to the elderly man who was alive mere minutes ago.

The dark aura surrounding Jerrick remains as I approach. The darkness of his mask and his curse ebbs away when our blue eyes lock.

I take his hand and interlace our fingers, squeezing. I should be terrified this same hand ended someone's life seconds ago, but I can't stop myself from running circles over it, his defense of me shocking and comforting.

Jerrick escorts us from the scene, and it isn't until we leave the crowded section of the market that I want to understand his motivations.

"Why did you do that?" I ask.

We pace a few steps quietly, our hands still linked, and ignore those who pass.

Only when there is a break between people does Jerrick respond. "He disrespected you, and to disrespect you is to disrespect the crown."

I nod, understanding the finality in his tone, and don't try to push him. When we turn down an alley that leads toward more shops and homes, I can't help but voice another thought.

"Can your magic always do that?"

Jerrick chuckles lightly as if he knew that would be my next question.

I half expect him to sweep it under the rug with a deflection but am surprised when he says, "It depends on whether I've hunted or not, but the majority of the time, I have to be touching someone."

I gulp a silent nod, the small admission revealing more about his powers and sending doubt rippling through my mind over mine and Niko's plans. I try to remember how often he has used his gifts on me, worried there are more instances than we have discussed.

"I don't use my magic as often as you think," he comments, as if knowing my thoughts.

"Sure you don't," I blurt, my mind reeling over every interaction I've had with this man, questioning my own feelings and bodily reactions.

He has used his abilities on me, and I know what it felt like in the moment, but what if there were other times I haven't?

We come to the end of the alley, I flick my eyes left and right, waiting for Jerrick to guide us in the next direction. But when he doesn't move, I tilt my head up.

The pale blue eyes I've grown used to seeing most days are not visible. Instead, his head is lowered, and he is avoiding my gaze.

He removes his hand from mine as if it was burned.

"I know what it's like to have something control you. I-I just killed a man."

His voice is solemn in the quiet.

The admission and lack of Jerrick's warmth cleaves at my heart. But I stand there, finding myself waiting for something within me to change. To have my questions answered and feel disdain or dislike for the quiet king in front of me.

But nothing happens…

Instead, there is a tug of understanding settling that his curse, and our powers connect us in more ways than I had considered. Not only that, but this man before me has offered me answers, given me everything he could regarding my mother and father, and has given me more knowledge about my gifts.

We have made no progress on his curse, and, yet he still has done this without any reward.

For me.

A quiet whisper resonates in my rib cage, my gut flipping, shaking my entire core as my trust and understanding for this king—this man—in front of me grows.

I exhale shakily, my stomach still reeling as I take another leap.

Reaching for his hand, I force his long fingers to latch onto mine once more. When our hands are linked, I wait, trying to sense the shift in my emotions and in my blood with him now touching me. Relief floods me as my emotions and feelings remain intact.

I run my fingertips in circles along his hand in our mutual silence, a comfort I hope will let him know I understand that small vulnerability. "I know," I whisper.

It isn't until his eyes meet mine that my heart skips.

"I-I try not to—you know, kill people," he confesses.

"I know," I repeat.

His curse controls him, and his magic and his feelings about it match my own for my abilities.

"Do you, though?" he asks worriedly, as if I cannot relate.

I tuck a loose wisp of black hair away from his eyes, his scar shining for me to admire as I smile softly. "I do."

Jerrick takes a long breath as my favorite smile of his illuminates his entire face. His dimple scrunches his scar in all the right places, and my own lips tug up into a wide grin at the sight.

We turn to venture on, and children run across the new street, playing with sticks, touching each other, and running in circles. Nostalgia waves through me at the interaction, remembering games from my childhood that Runa and I would play together.

I shudder at the thought of ruining children's lives with my cursed winter.

Manifesting my gifts beyond myself is like starting back at the beginning, and I can't help but wonder if drawing a large amount of magic will drain me.

If what I am already doing is exhausting, will there be a way to melt it rather than remove winter from Axidoria?

I've not made enough progress in learning about my abilities, and if I am going to avoid that elderly man's prediction, I need to push myself and find my limits. I halt my steps, looking at Jerrick with another question playing on my lips, hoping it will keep me focused on the present.

"Have you ever been able to give rather than take with your abilities?"

Confusion etches across his features as he turns to me, biting his lip in contemplation. He offers me a small shrug. "I've never tried."

I dip my head and lower it in contemplation, trying to puzzle together how to stop my winter.

Jerrick tilts my chin up to him, and his eyes scan mine.

"You okay?" he asks softly, leather and cologne thickening in the air.

I blink, seizing the courage to practice more of my gifts. "I'd like to start training."

A hint of skepticism graces his features, and I take it as a challenge. I close my eyes with excitement in my veins to finally show him what I have been meaning to since he last went hunting.

His hold on my chin disappears as I tap into my breathing, my thoughts directing me to my powers. I harness my strength and show Jerrick what I can do, what I need to do, and breathe through my own beliefs, my own encouragement, and Jerrick's supportive guidance.

Lifting the palm of my hand, I see my breathing turns cold, and the glimpse of ice prickling across me ripples down my arms in stride. I channel that energy, focusing on targeting all magic toward my hand.

My eyes open to a beautiful snowflake twisting in the center of my palm. Pride shines through as I nurture this gift, gently coaxing it back into slumber. When the sensation of magic in my core has ebbed, Jerrick's eyes shimmer.

"We can start our first lesson tomorrow," Jerrick says.

His hasty reply earns me a moment of success, the relief of something finally working out for me, and I can't help wrapping my arms around him in an embrace.

I've caught him off guard, but I still whisper softly into his chest, "Thank you."

Only then do large arms encompass me, pulling me in tighter and planting a kiss on my forehead.

"Always," he whispers into my hair, my head buzzing when we resume walking.

Jerrick's movements cease upon our arrival at a shop with wide windows surrounded by rose bushes.

My eyes widen at the displays of gowns in varying colors. Each gown is decadent and vibrant, details visible even from far away.

"This is the best seamstress in our kingdom, and I thought it would be good to save best for last by picking up a gift for you," Jerrick says, continuing toward the shop's entrance, holding the door for me.

"You—You got a gift for me?" Guilt swirls from his thoughtfulness, unsure of what I did to warrant this. "But I don't need any gifts, Jerrick."

"Don't worry, it's a surprise."

He winks mischievously as we both enter the shop. Jerrick releases my hand to close the door behind us, leaving my heart to somersault at his words.

I follow his movements, uncomfortable at the thought of a surprise. A surprise is a change in routine, and I live off my routine. Anytime it's different, my entire day needs adjusting.

When he faces me, I swear he notices my train of thought. I evade him by glancing at the shop, a small gasp escaping.

Varying fabrics hang across the sides of the shop, organized by hue and material. I am obsessed by the rainbow of color. Every tone is separated by little ladders with patterns, line work, and accessories that can be added into a gown's ensemble.

Even though I could stare at the interior prism of color, the gowns are what have me stepping further, examining each one with envy. They are all so intricate and original, nothing like the day dress I currently wear or the outfits back home.

The thought has me inspecting my outfit, making sure the dirtied hem does nothing to touch these stunning gowns.

A large wooden table built into the foundation of the store sits at the back. Packages big and small are being wrapped by an elderly woman.

She looks fragile, but each task she does is accompanied by a soft hum, which lingers in the shop. Her short pixie hair is light brown, with mixed sections of white around her face. She is short and petite, and there are wrinkles visible from where I stand.

The more I observe her, the more I admire the tenderness of each fold she makes on the emerald gown she fits into a medium-sized box.

She lifts her head, warm skin complementing her own ensemble as her brown eyes meet mine. Her upturned eyes flash over toward Jerrick as a grimace covers her features.

Why does she look so familiar?

Confused we've done something, I look at Jerrick to see his demeanor shift. He runs a hand through his hair, offering her a wave in greeting.

My brow remains raised while the woman maneuvers around the table to approach us.

Her stomps creak on each wooden plank of her shop. When she comes face-to-face with us, I lean away from her as she rises to her tiptoes to swat Jerrick on the side of his head, leaving my jaw on the floor.

She swatted the King of Palaena.

Jerrick winces as she crosses her arms and shakes her head.

Looking between them, I try to answer questions no one seems to be addressing. Who is this woman? Why isn't Jerrick doing anything?

I grip the sides of my dress, ready to lift my skirts to flee if this woman tries to swat me. Sweet Makers, I don't think I would risk coming to the best seamstress if getting a swat was her form of payment.

"Months without paying a visit to your grandmother and then you show up without warning and with a wife no one has seemed to have met?" she scolds, her tight voice heightening at the mention of wife.

The anger laced toward Jerrick delays me briefly while he rubs the spot she smacked.

Realization dawns, and my heart constricts at the thought of having a grandmother as part of this new family.

"You're—You're his grandmother?" I ask, my own grandparents flooding through my mind.

My ancestors all died when Runa and I were very young, only flitting memories of them watching us when Mother and Father traveled.

Her hooded brown eyes give me a once-over, scanning slowly down my frame. They lingered at the dirty hem of my dress, sending self-consciousness to the forefront, and I lift my skirts above her shop's floor. With one brow raised, she judges Jerrick's bride.

I shift uncomfortably.

"Yes, and I suppose that makes you my new granddaughter," she declares, drawing my attention.

Jerrick clears his throat. "Gran, this is Queen Tove of Axidoria and Palaena."

The woman humphs in acknowledgment.

"This is Frida Johannesen, my mother's mother," he says to me.

Paintings of Jerrick's mother are few and far between in the castle, but her features match that of her mother's, answering my question from when I first laid eyes on the seamstress.

Unsure of whether to speak first or not, I wait for her to meet my gaze. When she does, I rush to break the silence.

"A pleasure to meet you, Frida."

She tosses her hand as she huffs again, turning for the rear of her shop as if she isn't meeting a monarch.

I flick my eyes to Jerrick while her back is turned to us, only to see him gesture for us to follow her. Following his lead, I allow his tall frame to shield me, knowing he has had years of dealing with this woman.

Her steps on the wooden slats of her shop creak quietly, but mine and Jerrick's are louder, making this visit more uncomfortable than I would have liked.

I keep a firm hold of my dress, preventing it from touching her displays of fabrics and gowns.

"Short or long?" Frida asks Jerrick as we meet her opposite of her workstation.

Jerrick braces his hands against the table, and I follow, careful to avoid her bubble.

A sigh escapes Jerrick as he responds, "Short."

I stand and observe their interaction, unsure of what to do. My thoughts swirl as I try to piece together the meaning behind the words as Frida inclines her head, rotating to her shelves of boxed orders, grabbing one from the very bottom and putting it between the three of us.

She goes to open the box, but Jerrick shoots out a hand to stop her.

"It's a surprise, Gran." Jerrick earns an even deeper scowl from Frida, but he tries to win her over by adding, "Besides, I trust your work. It's going to be your best creation."

What surprises me is Frida's instant grin. Her face wrinkles in pure joy at Jerrick's words, and she pats his hand, holding his cheek with her other palm.

Frida pecks both of Jerrick's cheeks affectionately, and Jerrick returns kisses to his grandmother.

"I knew my sweet Liva raised you right," she chides, bringing a hint of color to Jerrick's cheeks.

I almost question her statement, still unsure of the man next to me.

The hint of pink remains on his face as he pulls away, withdrawing a large sack of coins and dropping it on top of the workstation.

Frida's eyes bulge, and she reaches for the sack as Jerrick takes the boxed package. She wiggles it, the sound of coins smacking against each other as she smirks. It's uncanny how similar it is to Jerrick's.

"Always treating your Gran Gran right."

Completely lost to the conversation, I'm surprised when Frida acknowledges me again with another once-over before adding, "You better be doing the same for your wife."

The warning in her tone takes me by surprise, and I can't stop myself from attempting to save Jerrick from another smack on the head.

I tell her, "Jerrick has been very kind to me, ma'am." I maintain eye contact with Frida, Jerrick's bewilderment burning into the side of my head.

My cheeks heat.

Frida beams in approval, and I immediately fiddle with my gown, desperate to distract myself from speaking again.

"We should be going now. Thank you again, Gran," Jerrick says.

His footsteps turn toward the exit, creaking on each wooden panel, and I meet Frida's gaze again. "It was a pleasure, ma'am."

I dart off after Jerrick.