“With what?”
I make a show of considering his question. “Anything. Everything. There are so many possibilities. Choose one that satisfies you.”
Two strides bring him into the cell, the scent of cedar trailing him. Pain pulses through me in a hot wave, and I have to fight to remain standing. It’s been years since I’ve gone without the bottle for this long. It feels like an age.
“You may be my wife,” he murmurs, “but nothing says I have to house you. I’m happy enough to chain you outside, since you insist on acting like an animal.”
I expel a furious breath. “Animal?”
He studies me dispassionately.
“How dare—”
The hand at his side lifts, fingers curling inward as if crushing an unseen object in his palm—my throat, I quickly learn. I wheeze sharply, struggling to breathe.
“Stop. Talking.” His cool, whispered breath wafts across my face. “You will attend this dinner. If you decide to forgo your duties, I will have you chained outside. I hear it’s uncomfortable at this time of year.”
My face grows hot, yet I step closer. He eases the pressure around my throat, perhaps in surprise, perhaps in curiosity.
“Unhand me,” I say, the words clear despite the fog gathering in the corners of my vision, “or I will castrate you, immortal or not.”
The tip of my dagger, which was hidden in my arm sheath, slides out to rest against his groin.
The Frost King goes still.
Intrigued, I watch his eyes darken with emotion. Shock? For half a heartbeat, he is unbalanced.
“I will not repeat myself.” I shift the blade closer in warning, and he flinches. “An eternity is a long time to be deprived. I know how you gods love your sex.”
The Frost King could easily disarm me, but this is not about strength of power. This is about respect. Hewillrespect me. I may not be Elora, but I am a person, and I will not be mistreated.
Eventually, he steps back, lowering his hand. The pressure at my neck vanishes.
“Dinner will begin at sundown. I expect prompt arrival.” Only when the echo of his footsteps has faded do I slump against the cell wall. My hand shakes as I return my dagger to its sheath. Never again will he gain the upper hand. From this moment on, I must utilize every weapon at my disposal. Mind, body, blade.
The North Wind will rue the day he decided to cross me.
6
HOURS BEFORE DINNER THAT NIGHT, I raid the wine stores. The guards, mindless fools that they are, were happy to point me in the right direction. If I’m to suffer through a meal with the Frost King, then I need to be sufficiently drunk.
With two wineskins in hand, I teeter back to my rooms and plop onto my ridiculously elaborate bed. Eight pillows for one person? Pointless. Tipping my head back, I drink straight from the container. The liquid burns my throat and sets fire to my belly.
“No, Husband,” I whisper to myself, gulping more wine and swiping the back of my hand across my mouth, “I will not attend dinner with you.” A hiccup squeaks out of me.
Husband. I gag on the word. The Frost King is no husband of mine. I am an obligation. He is an inconvenience. That I must remain here until the end of my days weighs like a stone around my neck. Oh, I’ll figure out a way to steal that spear of his. Or the dagger.
Kill him, and freedom is mine. One thrust through the heart should do it.
That’s how Orla finds me hours later: boneless form poured out across the pillows, one wine skin empty, as I contemplate my husband’s murder.
“My lady?” She rounds the mattress, leaning over me in concern, her gray curls reminiscent of a rain cloud. My eyes cross in an attempt to focus on her face. “Are you ill?”
It takes a moment, but I manage to right myself, the second wineskin clutched to my chest. “The Frost King is a”—I burp—“monster.” My eyes fill and my breath hitches. What kind of man locks his wife in a prison cell? I take another swallow, and another. The wine won’t fail me.
My maid stares at me as though I’ve grown a pair of antlers in her absence.
“Orla.” Spittle drips down my chin. “You have to help me.” A wave of dizziness sucks me under, and I lean back against the headboard. “He said…” What did he say?
