Cold Queen - K Webster Page 0,9

nice. Letting out a sigh, I give in to the fact I’m his prisoner. At least for the night.

That is why I rest my forehead against his chest.

That is why I don’t revolt at the way his thumb rubs at my hip.

That is why I fall into the first deep, comfortable sleep in years.

Ryke

Shivering.

I wake to shivering.

Not my own, but that of the cold queen. It’s not quite dawn and the fire has died out. I grip her bare arm and call my fire to the surface. Slowly, I guide my palm down the length of her slender arm to where my whip has her bound from behind. Her fingers are even colder due to the lack of circulation.

Don’t untie her.

Don’t do it.

Ignoring my own sane thoughts, I loosen the whip so I can pull her hands free. Then, I tug at both limbs until they’re curled up in front of her between us. Laying my hand over her arms, I increase the level of heat, hoping to warm up her chilled arms.

But why?

Because we need to negotiate and I can’t do that with a dead queen.

If she’s dead, though, negotiations are a moot point. I can take whatever I want.

It’s not supposed to be this easy. The hunger for truth becomes a ravenous beast within me. Why is she so weak? Why does she not summon her weather making abilities? Why is the frozen-hearted queen dying?

It was only a few years ago that I caught wind of The Punisher as she annihilated The Damned. Witnesses came forward—always rewarded handsomely for their truths—to testify of her greatness. Blades and spears made of ice shot from her hands, slaying The Damned as if they were nothing. The witnesses said it was terrifyingly beautiful. More powerful and wicked than her father.

What happened?

When I came to the Norta Icelands to meet with Queen Whitestone, I researched everything there was to know about her. Her mother and her early death. Her father and her stepmother. Her sister. Her Eyes of the White army. And her. Nowhere in all of my hunt for the truth did I find anything that said she was weak, incapable of using her ability, and dying.

I shouldn’t care.

She’s an obstacle in my way.

Now, I can easily jump over her on my ultimate trek to the Hidden Lands. Something sinister lurks beyond the stories and the secrets. The whispers of monsters who feed on human flesh make me that much more eager to seek out this Moral War and slay those on the wrong side of it. I’d love nothing more than to bypass this entire ordeal with Elzira, pushing past her as though she is insignificant.

But that’s not who I am. I don’t leave stones unturned. I wouldn’t be the powerful Truth Seeker king I am today if I did. I’m meticulous when it comes to knowing my opponent. With the fading queen, I feel as though I know nothing.

That will change.

Starting now.

I climb from the bed, making sure to tuck the furs in around Elzira before dressing. I don my cape, wrap my whip up and hook it to my belt, and then place my crown on top of my head. Now that we’ve commandeered the castle, I’ll need to meet with my men. The Eyes of the White follow strict command from their queen. Meaning, they won’t shed blood unless she instructs them to do so. Walking over to the window, I confirm my thoughts. My twenty thousand Volc army litters the pristine snow with black tents and fires as they camp. The Eyes of the White must be holding their position. I’ll need to make sure my men know to remain steady as I continue with my visit with the queen.

Slipping from the queen’s quarters, I’m pleased to find two Volcs protecting my door. Fayden and Jorshi. Two of my best.

I close the door and nod at Fayden.

“Castle is secure, sir,” Fayden assures me. “The Eyes of the White aren’t happy, especially their leader, Cavon, but they remain steadfast.”

“And the princess?” I ask with a lifted brow.

Jorshi speaks up, “I’ve met with Danser this morning. She’s nearly feral. Worrying to death over her sister. Demanding to speak to her. Danser has her sequestered away. She won’t be escaping, but he hasn’t harmed her.”

“Where’s Yashka?” My attention is back on Fayden.

He refrains from rolling his eyes. “Yashka is throwing a tantrum that would make the littles back home proud.”

I arch a brow. “And why is that?”

“He cannot work