Cold Queen - K Webster Page 0,3

I have someone from my staff crawl up the chimney to clean it out, sichee spores continue to grow. The spores, when touched by fire, hatch eggs and produce sichee crawlers. My sister is deathly allergic to the sichee crawlers. Fire is forbidden in the castle for this reason. Those who prepare the meals cook deep below the castle so my sister doesn’t come in contact with the sichee crawlers.

I pick up my crown and wonder if it’s severe looking enough. It is tall and sharp. I wish I could make it more impressive. To add more pieces. Before my illness started draining the life from me, I discovered my gift. Father was right. I had to trust in it. Sadly, it was gone as quickly as it had arrived.

Another urgent rap on the door has me frowning. I am not to be bothered. Everyone knows this. I place the crown on my head and make sure it’s seated nicely before calling out.

“Enter,” I order.

The door opens and a white-clothed figure walks in. His diamondblade glints dangerously in his hand. This man looks like every other soldier of the Eyes of the White. It’s his eyes behind his mask that give him away, though.

Bright green.

Cavon.

“My queen,” he rumbles in greeting. “Princess.” He nods at us both respectively.

“What is it?” I demand.

“The Volcs are upon us. Give us the word and we will slay them, your highness.”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I shake my head. “If King Bloodsun wished harm, there would be blood on our land. He comes in peace. I will speak to him.”

Cavon’s eyes narrow behind his white mask. “Of course, my queen.”

Yanna rushes over to him and grips his arm. “How much longer?”

The fear in her voice nearly has me giving the order to slaughter them all. Barely, I refrain.

“Minutes now, Princess,” Cavon says, his voice gruff.

I give him a dismissive nod. “Prepare the dining room. Come get me when they are settled.”

Cavon remains for a long second before giving me a clipped nod and rushing from the room. Yanna frowns at me.

“I don’t like this,” she hisses. “Inviting them into our home.”

“Noted, sister. Now help me dress so I may greet the king properly.”

Ryke

I hate the cold.

I hate the Norta Icelands.

I hate the fact I’ve marched days and days to meet with Queen Whitestone.

And I really hate what I’m going to have to do.

But there is no other way. They are the most powerful kingdom besides my own due to their ruthless queen. With a pact in place, we could remove King Parsoni from the Easta Waterways and King Tai from the Westa Sandlands. Neither is strong enough to stand against both the King of the Souta Volcanoes or the Queen of the Norta Icelands.

Convincing the cold queen will be a challenge, though.

I’ve heard enough stories about her father and then later her. Cruel. Hateful. Murderous. Mad. My advisor, Danser Mahl, originally suggested I wed the frozen-hearted queen. Over my dead body. The queen would cut my throat in my sleep. I didn’t come this far to be dethroned and beheaded by a white-haired weather maker. I’ve spent decades honing my own power and her insufferable cold is no match against the fire I can create with a simple wiggle of my fingertips. Alas, I am not here to burn the queen to the ground. I am here to offer her a step up in power. Our kingdoms, together, could rule over the rest for eons to come.

“We still have our heads,” Danser grumbles to me from nearby on his horse.

I pull on the reins. “Whoa there.” My eight steed come to a stop, snorting. Clearly, they are as agitated about the cold as both Danser and I are. “We have our heads. For now,” I tell Danser. “Hopefully we still have them by sunrise.”

He smirks at me as he climbs off his horse. Danser is nearly as tall as me and lean. But despite his lack of muscle and the two decades of age he has over me, he is quick, intelligent, and clever. And since I’ve known him since I was just a prince, I have grown up trusting him. Our minds are as good as sewn together, for we often think as one. There is no one I trust more than Danser.

I step off my chariot, sinking knee-deep into the snow. Gripping my whip tightly in my hand, I ready myself to hurt anyone who makes an attempt on my life. Not that