3. The Frost King

3

THE FROST KING

T his is a useless task—a yearly ritual he has grown to hate.

It’s the only emotion he feels now—hatred. For this task, the snow, and what he did to make things this way. It will be over soon, and he will give himself over to his beast's waiting jaws. Who’s to say he hasn’t already—it is a rare day the monster isn’t in control.

Atop his horse, he can barely see them. He has not been at this settlement in some time. All of these villages look the same, and there are all without what he needs. Even if he can’t remember what it is he’s been looking far all this time. Still, he must visit them. A different one each year no matter what.

The five figures atop the platform appear as all the others do.

Near death and freezing, their skin blue and their lips cracked. His horse snickers, its head already turning in dismissal. He grabs the reins, ready to return, when something gives him pause.

A biting breeze blows past him, tousling his hair. Its scent causes everything within him to shudder. Turning towards the platform, he wonders how he missed her.

She sits in the center—glowing in comparison to the other humans.

Snowflakes decorate her dark hair. Her round cheeks and full lips are pale. She’s fallen onto her side—twitching periodically. It is the only indication she still draws breath.

Something that’s laid dormant for centuries rises within him. It pushes to the surface, bringing magic and warmth. It unfurls from his chest and reaches for her.

Her eyelashes flutter on her cheeks and a puff of cold air blooms between her lips. The human’s dark eyes lock with his. Gazing into their depths, he nearly falls from his horse. His cold heart hammers against his ribs. A long forgotten feeling tickles the deep recesses of his mind.

The Frost King turns, her scent settling into the marrow of his bones. There is only one word he knows as he stares at her.

Mine.