Cold Queen - K Webster Page 0,4

of the Eyes of the White with bright green eyes and a diamondblade sword in his hand meets us. “State the nature of your business,” he says gruffly.

“I’m here for the queen,” I tell him in a smug tone.

His posture is rigid and he stiffens impossibly more at my choice of words. “She welcomes you to dine with her.”

“And the princess?” I ask.

He raises his sword, anger flashing in his green eyes. “The Eyes of the White not only stand before you and in every corner of this castle, but they are behind you and beside you. They are everywhere. You live to breathe at the doors of the queen’s castle because she allows it. I suggest you remember whose kingdom you’re in.”

I let out a dark chuckle. “Ahh, protective. I’m sure the queen loves that about you. Now tell me, Green, which one are you warming up each night? The queen? The princess? Both?”

He growls and storms my way. Danser would cut his throat in an instant if I allowed it. Luckily for Green, I’m in a playful mood. When his green, furious eyes are inches from mine, he spits out his words.

“Your blatant disrespect is unbecoming. My queen has little patience for games or taunting. I suggest you come inside, state your business, respect her highness, and then leave.” His green eyes narrow. “That is, if you want to leave with your warm heart still beating.”

Ignoring the lowly soldier, I push past him, knocking my shoulder into his. I stalk straight into the castle, knowing if Green attempts to attack me, Danser will destroy him.

“I suggest you wait outside, young sir,” Danser tells Green from behind me. “Let the men do business and there won’t be any bloodshed.”

Green will do as he’s told because that’s what soldiers like him do. They obey. And if his queen wanted me dead, they would’ve taken me out miles away. I would’ve never gotten into this castle and he knows it.

The castle is different than my homely one, I realize as I walk through it. This one lacks warmth both literally and figuratively. The walls are solid white—either painted that way or formed from ice for all I know. The floors are white. The ceilings are white. So much white. As I walk down the corridor, I run my fingertips along the wall, summoning my fires along the way. Hissing can be heard as my heat melts the frozen walls in the path my fingers have traveled.

I come to an opening in a great room. One painting hangs above an unlit fireplace. Davven Whitestone. The former king and the queen’s father. He is regal in the painting. Regal doesn’t win wars. Regal doesn’t earn you passage past the Norta Layke and onto the Hidden Lands where the fabled Moral War awaits. Regal doesn’t keep you alive. Davven, of all people, learned the hard way.

He forgot his power.

He forgot he was a king.

He let down his guard.

I never forget. Fire burns through my veins, hot and furious. Men have fallen to my feet, burning from the inside out for lesser offenses than that of pissy Green. My temper remains checked, but if they keep pushing me, I can’t make any promises it will stay that way.

Finding no one in the great room, I try another long hallway, passing a few Eyes of the White along the way. Wisely, they do not try to harm me or stop me.

Voices—feminine and hushed—can be heard nearby. I follow the lovely sound, through a door, and into what appears to be the dining room. Before I’m noticed, I take a moment to study the women.

Yanna.

Dark hair. Golden skin. Full, red lips.

She looks as though she is a Volc. As though fire potentially burns through her veins. 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