11. Dove

11

DOVE

S leep eludes me after that tumultuous dinner.

I still feel on edge after my confusing exchanges with the King. More than that, the sun never seems to set here. As I lay tucked under ridiculously soft sheets with dozens of cloudlike pillows resting behind me, bright light streams under the heavy curtains covering the window.

All concepts of time are lost in this place. If I am not careful and remain dedicated to my desire to escape, I may lose myself to the strangeness of this land.

My only small comfort this evening is the King’s promise to keep my family safe. While I have no reason to trust him, I believe he was telling the truth. He seems to need me for whatever reason, and with my family safe, I’m more amenable to his cause than an escape attempt.

At least for the time being.

His words were not lost on me—my family is safe for now as long as I remain here and try to undo whatever foul magic is afoot. I cannot lie to you, it is one of my many punishments , he had said, but what was he being punished for? If I can uncover the reason, perhaps I’ll be one step closer to getting out of here.

That may be easier said than done, seeing as no one here can give a straight answer to save their life. Whatever spell this sorceress cast upon all of them is binding. Annoyingly so. My head continues to throb.

With a deep sigh, I rise from the bed, hissing as my feet touch the icy floor. I quickly shove them into warm, fur-lined slippers. I find a heavy wool robe inside the wardrobe and belt it over my silk nightgown. The room is bright enough that I don’t need candlelight to guide me.

Gently closing the doors to the wardrobe, I make my way over to the far wall. The curtains had been drawn when I arrived as the same magical force from before prepared me for bed. Now, I grip the heavy fabric and wrench it back in my hands.

Staggering light pours into the room. The snow-packed evergreen trees and small buildings dotting the edge of the palace grounds shimmer below. Only it’s not sunlight causing them to glow. Where the large orb of white light had once sat nestled between wispy clouds has been replaced by a large blue moon. With the curtains no longer obscuring it, the light inside my room takes on a blue-ish hue.

It is magnificent. Usually, the clouds in my village are too thick to see the moon, let alone the stars. Here, both are on full display. Countless stars twinkle down from their resting spots in the dark sky. It’s easy to forget where I am for a moment—to allow myself to absorb the sky’s simple beauty.

Taking a few steps back from the window to enjoy the view better, I’m struck again by how still everything seems here. There is no movement, no hum of life. In my village, even as remote as our cottage was, there were signs of life all around me. Neither Mama, Sophia, nor I could sit still for long, and there was always work to be done. Our town was the same whenever we would venture into it. People hustling from one job to the next or those with extra coin could enjoy a hot meal and mug of mulled wine at the tavern.

On this side of the mountain, there is none of that. There is no indication that anyone besides myself draws breath here. For the first time, I feel totally and utterly alone. No amount of fine clothes, food, or bedding can make up this feeling of complete isolation.

My heart pangs, and even though I owe him nothing, and he is the one who brought me to this desolate place, I can’t help but feel bad for the King. Being left to live in a place like this, it’s no mystery how he’s acquired his peculiar personality.

Despite believing him to be the one who cursed us, my village knows very little of the Frost King. Stories have been changed throughout generations. Once, he had been a disgraced farmer who made a deal with the Mother of the Snow for untold riches and, in his greed, cursed the land to attain it. In others, he was a beast, roaming the snowy peaks of the mountain, cursing our village on a whim for not offering him enough meat to feast on.

The heart of each of the stories remains the same. The Frost King can control the weather, and due to some slight by a member of our village, he doomed our land to endure an eternal winter, each year becoming more brutal than the last. Annually, he comes to select a tribute, and if one is chosen, he will release the land from his magic.

While I’ve never heard of anyone leaving our village, the few travelers who pass through all share similar stories. They suffer under the same wintery conditions and offer up their own human tributes to please him. All of us are forced to live under his thumb. The cold weather keeps us all hungry and weak enough to never fight back—the conditions for travel are treacherous at best. Even if someone wanted to mount an offensive against him, they could never make the journey here.

He was the cause of all my hardships—the one I pictured when the harvests were low, and Sophia and I shivered in our bed as cold air ripped through our cottage. However, as I stare out the large window to the still land below, I can’t help but feel like the blame was misplaced.

The King is just as much a prisoner as I am.

That is a dangerous thought—I try to shove it away as I look again towards the sky. Three stars glow brighter than the others. One resides below in the center, while the other two are slightly higher and flank both sides. The moon rests above the odd formation.

I take a few steps back until the window frames it. The stars with the moon resting above make the perfect arrowhead shape, pointing to the ground below. Three stars. Hadn’t the King mentioned something about three stars?

When the moon is high, the three stars will guide you to the key.

Taking another tentative step back, I gasp as the stars perfectly line up with the stones framing the window. They are pale in color and have the same smooth texture from which the palace walls are made. The one resting under the star in the middle is different, however. It glows with a gentle blue hue, shimmering in the moonlight, while the others remain matte and pale.

Surely not , I think.

Reaching toward the glittering stone, its smooth surface is warm as it greets my palm. Pulsing with life, it hums in my grip. I give it a sharp tug, but nothing happens. Its color dims as if annoyed by my efforts. I try again, to no avail.

With a huff, I shove my fingers in as deep as they will go until they bump into the wall it's nestled into. There is enough of a gap that if?—

Twisting my wrist sharply, a light pop sounds and the stone drops into my palm.

I don’t get to thoroughly inspect the rock until a loud, groaning sound rattles behind me. Whipping towards it, I watch as the wall next to my bed shudders until a small door splits from the wall and peels open. Frost and dust fall to the floor as a strong wind blows in from the newly revealed dark corridor.

There has been no groove in the wall indicating anything was there. The truth is buried deep —maybe I’ll find some of it through there. The stone pulses in my hand, glowing brighter with encouragement. As if my time here couldn’t get any stranger, I’m allowing a stone to guide me through a hidden passageway. My common sense shakes its head, but logic and reason are far from this palace.

Passing through the door, I see that this corridor has been abandoned for some time. Old wooden beams line the ceiling—cracked and dusted with crystalized spider webs. The walls are made of simple gray stones, as is the floor. The stone in my palm lights the way as a gentle breeze blows through me. The temperature is mild, and the scent of pine dances through the air.

The sound of my breathing feels out of place in the quiet hall.

After walking for what feels like hours, the stone flares in my palm as we reach the end of the corridor. My feet halt on the other side of a wooden door with chipped blue paint. The design on the golden handle has worn down in places from use. The stone pulses, warming the skin of my hand until it burns. That’s all the signal I need to reach for the handle and twist it open.

The room is barren, save for one polished wood table at the center. As I walk towards it, I see an engraving of the Frost Mountains etched into the surface. Whoever did it had remarkable skill, and the textures seem life-like. Along the edges of the table are the drawings of snow fairies. Some are in flight on their tiny wings, while others are resting on evergreen branches. Each one is depicted with a mischievous smile.

At the center of the table rests a small blue velvet pillow. Atop it sits a necklace. The pendant, made of gleaming white stone, is shaped like a snowflake and hung on a delicate silver chain. I’m transfixed by it. It’s the most beautiful piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen.

“ Take it ,” a voice whispers. “ Take it and see what has been forgotten. ”

Swallowing soundly, I reach for the necklace.

“And now I’m listening to a disembodied voice,” I mumble. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

My fingers brush over the smooth surface of the snowflake. It is not stone but a large crystal, iridescent in the low light.

The scent of metal burns my lungs. Similar to how I felt when the King sent me flying back to my room earlier, the world around me shifts and tilts. It is as if I’m inside my body, but I am also a spectator watching as I am thrown through time. Shifting and rolling, the world around me is a mass of darkness and glittering dust.

Then everything stops, and I land on my feet inside a room.

I blink to adjust my vision. The room looks familiar. Glancing down, I see the table I had just been standing at, with its etchings of mountains and snow fairies. Only this time, the room is not barren, and I am not alone.

Tiny, decorative furniture covers the marble floor. From a small bed with blue sheets and pillows to a low workbench decorated with crude drawings and piled high with small books. A fireplace snaps and roars off to the side. A chest engraved with some markings is seated in the corner. Pictures of the castle and a few portraits of a baby wrapped in a silver blanket line the walls.

Everything in the room is fuzzy, blurry at the edges, as if I am in a dream.

No, it's not a dream , I think, but a memory .

It is not one of my own. That becomes clearer when I register the two figures sitting together on a high-back chair in the corner of the room.

The older male looks up and directly through me, solidifying that I am not here but merely witnessing what once was. The male has fine wrinkles dotting his pale blue-colored face. His white hair is long, nearly brushing his chest. There is a proud set to his posture. His clothes are sturdy and adorned with metals that sparkle. As does the silver crown atop his head, the same one the King wears.

Glancing down at the small child in his lap, the breath freezes in my lungs as I take in the young male’s sparkling blue eyes. The ones I saw at dinner. The King does not seem so scary as a small child. He was pretty adorable with his round cheeks, small pointy ears, and thick white curls. He’s dressed in a simple pair of blue silk pants and a matching shirt.

The older male holds him on his knee, the snowflake pendant dangling before the young male's dazzling eyes. The father looks at him warmly, but there’s a sadness swimming in his gaze.

“It was your mother’s,” the older male says softly. He hands it to the boy, letting it dangle from his tiny hand. “One day, it will be yours to bestow upon another.”

The young boy furrows his white brows. “But how will I know who to give it to?”

Blue lips pull into a grin before kissing the side of the young male’s head.

“You’ll know, my son,” he says gently. “The snowflake will guide you home. Even if all seems lost.”

The little elf’s eyes look away from the necklace and connect with mine. He gives a small gasp as something flashes in his gaze.

The memory around me disappears instantly as if I have been plucked from a bath. Once more, I am back inside this barren room, my fingers still resting atop the necklace. The snowflake glows brightly and warms my fingers. Gently, I lift it from the pillow and hold it before myself. Is this the key the King had been referring to? Let’s hope so.

Even with that glimpse of his memory, I’m still at a loss for what happened here, nor do I know what I am supposed to do to solve what’s afflicting the land. Will returning this necklace be the answer? I can only pray the solution is that simple. I tuck the necklace into my robe pocket and lift the glowing stone in my hand again.

The wooden table creaks and snaps before disintegrating into a pile of dust carried away on a breeze. As the room begins to tear itself apart, I quickly make my way back out through the door and into the corridor. The blue paint on the door flakes off further until the wood splinters before melting into the gray stones of the wall.

As if nothing had ever been there.

Making my way back up the corridor, the memory I had just witnessed leaves me reeling. Something about it nags at me, begging me to look deeper, but I don’t know how. What was I supposed to uncover from that interaction between the King as a child and his father? Is his father somehow responsible for what happened here? I saw nothing but love between the two, even if the older male was still mourning the mother of his child.

The pounding in my head comes back with a vengeance as I, at last, make it back to my room. Returning to the window, I push the stone back into place with a click. The door at the wall rumbles before swinging shut and blending into the wall—no trace of the opening to be found.

I kick off my slippers and crawl into bed.

We’ve never heard stories of another Frost King. That memory must’ve been from some time ago. Its significance cannot elude me forever, but for now, sleep beckons. As I turn on my side, I feel the snowflake necklace in my pocket resting along my hip and pulsing with power.

It pins me to the bed as if it carries the weight of a million secrets.