The door slams shut, and I’m left to darkness.
Being imprisoned in a hole in the ground is about as unpleasant as one would expect. Worse than the chill is the thirst. The initial prickle inmy throat morphs into an ache, then fierce agony. I demand wine. They bring me water. Soon, sweat coats my skin.
My eyes adjust to the blackness quickly enough. The cell is tiny, nothing but packed dirt and a locked door. Unfortunately, the lock remains secure. I attempt to pry it open with my dagger. I even try to leverage the door off its hinges. Time and again, my efforts end in failure.
It feels as though I left Edgewood a lifetime ago. Elora—dear, sweet Elora. I’m sure she’s furious with me. Few know of Elora’s temper, but oh, it is stunning when she lets it loose. What did she think when she awoke, shaking free of the maniwort’s effects? An empty cottage. Her sister, gone. The Frost King, gone.
I made her a promise, and I broke it. But without the threat of the Frost King, she is free to pursue her dreams. I take comfort in that.
Days pass. I lie in pools of my own sweat, curled up in the back corner of the cell. Again, I ask for wine. Again, they bring me water. The stew I’m served is cold, the fat congealed atop the surface. By some miracle, I manage to keep it down.
In sleep, nightmares skulk and slither through me. Cold, blackened flesh and a hissing, spitting voice in my ear. With some effort, I drag myself back into the living realm, and wake with a start, breathing hard, muscles contracting uncontrollably.
Someone stands outside my cell. A figure, shadow upon shadow, little more than a phantom. Every few moments, I catch the outline of a staggering frame, shoulders all breadth, before it melts away and becomes dark.
My clammy skin stings in the stale air. Acknowledging the Frost King feels like defeat, so I ignore him. He can stand there for the rest of his immortal life for all I care. Turning my back to him, I rearrange my limbs, my head supported by the crook of my arm.
“Have you learned your lesson?” His deep voice floats from out of the void.
“If you’re asking whether I regret my actions, the answer is no. I’d switch places with my sister a thousand times if it kept her away fromyou. But how generous of you to show up. Had I known you’d grace me with your godly presence, I would have dressed for the occasion.” The pretty dress I wore for the wedding is coated in grime, the hem torn. I daresay it is symbolic.
“You brought this upon yourself.”
A slow exhalation centers me. I curl into a tighter ball, stare at the wall inches from my nose. Nothing the Frost King says can affect me. He is the wind, insubstantial and fleeting.
Something scuffs the ground, as though he is taking a step forward.
“Had you better control over your emotions, you would be safe in bed right now, back at your humble village.”
As if he knows anything about me. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Nothing would have stopped me from keeping Elora safe.”
“Keeping your mouth shut would have kept her safe.” As if sensing my confusion, he tells me, “She was not my first choice, but you drew my attention to her. You alone have earned this suffering.”
I push to my feet despite the aches in my bones, stalking to the front of the cramped cell. “I’m not even surprised you would say that,” I snap, curling my fingers around the chilled iron bars that separate us. His attention shifts to my hands, then to my mouth, my scar, before returning to my eyes. “The gods blame misfortune on mortals time and again. You are so concerned with the symptoms, you do not ask what disease blackens the flesh.”
His fingers wrap around the bars as well, those large hands resting a hairsbreadth above my own. “How quickly you judge,” he whispers. The blue rings encircling his pupils are the only color belowground. “You do not know me.”
“That may be, but at least I don’t throw people in the dungeon whenever they displease me!” I rattle the bars for emphasis. And what a thought that is. The deeper I contemplate it, the more I wonder as to the purpose of these cells. Holding pens for his past wives?
“Why are you here?” I step back under the pretense of appraising him in a scathing manner. In truth, standing so near to him makes me nervous. “Have you come to gloat?”
“I’ve come to release you.”
My brow furrows. “Is this a trap?”
He cuts me a bland look before unlocking the door.
“You know—” A laugh rasps out of me. Nothing about this situation is funny, but if I don’t laugh, I’m positive I’ll crumble, and I refuse to let the man who ruined my life witness that private moment. “I think I prefer isolation.”
The door opens with a harsh shriek. “I chose your sister as my bride, not you. Switching places was your choice.”
“If you knew what it felt like to love someone with your entire being, you’d know I never had a choice.”
I’m not sure what, exactly, changes. I only know the air stirs when he is displeased, and it currently rustles the hem of my dress. The Frost King’s expression, however, remains neutral. “Your attendance is required at dinner tonight.”
If he thinks I’m going to share a meal with the person I despise most in this world, he has a lot to reconsider.
“Unfortunately,” I say, my smile oozing false charm, “I’m busy.”
