My lips pinch in displeasure. If he insists on being rude, I refuse to feel bad about my poor attire. This is my reality: married to a man whom I despise, and who despises me.
The king is fastidious in his plating. The foods do not touch. He digs a neat hollow in his potatoes where the gravy pools. In fascination, I watch him slather butter onto a slice of bread. He carefully smears the butter to the very edges.
“You missed a spot.”
His gaze snaps to mine.
“The butter,” I explain, pointing to the bread he holds. “You missed a spot.”
He returns to his task, doing what he does best: ignoring me.
If I hadn’t been watching him so closely, I would have missed it. The edge of his sleeve pulls back, revealing smudges of what appear to be soil, and a few blades of grass, on his wrist. I blink, and the sleeve slips forward again. There is no fertile land for hundreds of miles. And yet, we’re served vegetables and fruit daily. There must be a garden nearby, or a farm. It’s the only explanation.
The Frost King moves on to his quail, chewing slowly, as if savoring the taste. I shovel greens into my mouth as though they might disappear.
“Why am I here,” I ask mid-chew, “if you insist on ignoring me?”
His expression twists with borderline revulsion at the mashed food in my mouth. “It’s to keep an eye on you,” he states, lips sealing cleanly over his fork and drawing a piece of roasted carrot between his teeth.
“Where would I go? I’m trapped here, remember?”
“I don’t want you meeting with Zephyrus.”
Ah. So his brother remains the issue. “You sent him away,” I remind him. “I haven’t seen him since.”
He dips his chin, acknowledging my response. Then—more silence.
Since the king refuses to converse, I use the opportunity to study him. So far, I know very little about the man I married. He is closed and aloof, prickly and inflexible. I’ve yet to see him smile. I’ve yet to hear his laugh. In order to end his life, I must identify his limitations, exploit his vulnerabilities. What will it take to thaw this man toward me? Somehow, I need to earn his trust.
But he is also, I admit, quite pretty. His blue eyes have deepened in the low light, his pale skin luminous, smooth as porcelain. His bone structure contains an impossible symmetry. Truly, he bears every marking of perfection.
What a shame he has an intolerable personality.
As if sensing my gaze, his eyes lift to mine, and a current of shock runs through me as his focus shifts briefly to my scar, the faintest line pressed between his black eyebrows. Does he wonder why I stare? Does he care?
I finish my drink, and a servant appears to refill it for the umpteenth time. He watches me take another sip, gaze narrowed. With my plate nearly clean, I scrape up the last of the potato with my fork. There will be no food wasted on my account.
Scrape, scrape, scrape.
His left eye begins to twitch.
I pop a piece of quail into my mouth and chew with gusto. This dinner isn’t so bad. Why, if I focus on clearing my plate, I hardly notice the tense atmosphere. It’s as if we’ve been married for years rather than a week. Here we are, an unhappy couple, sick of each other’s presence, no longer even bothering to maintain civility.
Elora would find herself right at home here. She lives for dresses, dinners, meaningless small talk. She would soften this man toward her. They would discuss the weather, the king charmed by her kind nature. Maybe the lack of conversation isn’t the king’s fault. Maybe it’s mine.
Scrape, scrape—
The Frost King slams his fist onto the table. Plates and cutlery rattle. My wine glass topples, spilling red onto the white tablecloth.
Calmly, I inquire, “Is something wrong?”
“You are purposefully doing everything in your power to irritate me.” His voice has lost its chilly calculation. Now, a hint of fire thrums beneath.
“Yes,” I say, finally giving in to laughter. He recoils at the flash of half-chewed food, a piece of which drops onto my soiled tunic. That only makes me laugh harder. Annoying the Frost King is the best entertainment I’ve had in months. “Is it working?”
The lines around his mouth press into mounting fury.
“I’m teasing you.” I appraise him with slight concern. “You do know how to laugh, right?”
