Cold Queen - K Webster Page 0,5
No doubt, this young Yanna is beautiful. Gray furs, like what come from the icewolves, are thick and wrapped around her body, hiding what lies beneath. She speaks in low tones to the queen. When her blue eyes like that of her father’s meet mine, Yanna sucks in a fearful breath and grips her sister’s arm.
Queen Whitestone straightens her spine. From behind, I rake my gaze along her silky white hair that’s streaked with gray and blue. Black vines are braided into her hair that hangs halfway down her back. Her dress is white and encrusted with diamonds, dragging on the floor behind her. Unlike her sister, she wears nothing covering her arms. They’re so pale and bluish in color. The urge to pull off my cape and drape it around her stabs at me suddenly, startling me for a moment.
She is a wicked weather maker.
You can’t warm up what doesn’t want to be anything but cold.
The queen turns slowly, rewarding me with a stunning view of her profile. Long, slender neck. Her collarbone protrudes and her jaw is sharp. The woman is beyond thin, but her breasts are full, nearly spilling from the top of her low-cut dress. Hanging from her dainty neck are blue stones that shimmer in the natural light pouring through the windows.
Sharply, she whips her head my way, her bright blue eyes narrowing on me. Her nostrils flare as though my very presence disgusts her. She doesn’t seem well. Dark, sunken shadows under her eyes that are heavily painted with kohl attest to that. The blue on her lips isn’t something she’s added. It’s natural and unhealthy. I note that her lips are fuller than that of her sister’s. Are they as cold as they look? The queen absently reaches up to her crown. It’s made of diamondblade—tall, shiny, sharp. One of the sharp pieces stands out from the rest. It’s reminiscent of Green’s diamondblade.
Ahhh.
Queen, you show your cards too easily.
You’re sick. You’re vulnerable. You’re dying. You’re scared.
I thought this would be more difficult than I imagined. But now, with the frail queen and her frightened sister within view, I see I was mistaken. She may rule the Eyes of the White and be The Punisher of The Damned, but I am the Truth Seeker. I have the sight into what isn’t meant to be seen. Besides my fiery gift, I have one of the mind too.
I see you, Cold Queen.
You hide in your castle and they do your bidding, but your time is limited. You’re just waiting for someone like me to dethrone you and end your miserable existence. Your wish is my command, your royal frostiness.
As though she can sense my thoughts, her blue eyes blaze with intensity. “What is it you want, Volc?”
My lip curls at her blatant disrespect. I am a king and she is to address me as one. “I came to proposition you, snowflake.” I spit back my own bitter words at her.
The door clicks closed quietly behind me and I sense Danser’s presence at my back.
Yanna tenses from behind her sister. I expect the cold queen to explode with fury. Attempt to freeze me into a statue or some other horrific thing she’s been rumored to do. Instead, she approaches me, hate glimmering in her eyes. I note the slight wobble of her step.
Careful, Queen, you’ll topple right over the next time a gust of wind travels through your drafty castle.
“You’re wasting our time,” she sneers.
Why? Because you’re dying?
I smirk and take a step closer to her. Several Eyes of the White along the walls tense. No one makes a move against me. “Your kingdom and mine are two of the cruelest. Two of the most powerful.” She doesn’t try to have me killed yet, so I continue. “I want access to Norta Layke. The Moral War awaits.”
She snarls. “The Moral War is nothing but a bedtime story that men tell their little boys hoping they’ll grow up to be noble and brave.”
“Perhaps. But it’s always been my desire to invade the Hidden Lands, Moral War or not. No one, not even my ruthless father, has ever stepped foot in those lands.”
“My father has,” she says coolly, a glint of satisfaction in her blue eyes.
I will not insult her. I will not insult her. I will not insult her.
“Let’s not compare fathers,” I grit out, unable to keep my anger in check. “Mine once battled with fifty thousand of The Damned. And do tell me where The Punisher